Best Baste Poems
There’s a party tonight so I bouffe up my hair
Pamper and powder my sweet derrière,
Arrive at the door, all done up to impress.....
Oh man, I forgot! Invite said “fancy dress”!
Pete and Sue are here, seems their theme’s ‘Tarts and Vicars’,
Sue’s skirt’s microscopic! Look at her tiny knickers!
Pete’s in a nun’s habit; the image is scary,
I’ve not seen a nun with a chin that’s THAT hairy!
And there’s Spider-Man! (although I’m perfectly certain,
His cape is made out of his living room curtain),
His curve-hugging costume’s quite “cosy” in size,
I think our friend Spidey gobbled too many flies!
In the corner, a lady has come as Snow White,
Gee, her bosoms are out there, her corset’s so tight,
They look like two bald heads squeezed into a sack,
Glad my hubby’s not here - he’d have a heart attack!
In the hallway, a robot is looking well-oiled -
Her costume’s made out of three rolls of tin foil,
She looks more like a turkey at Christmas, so later,
I really hope no one is tempted to baste her!
By the buffet, Fred Flintstone is looking contrite,
I think he and Wilma are having a fight,
Behaving all “caveman” has got Fred in trouble -
He showed his big man-club to poor Betty Rubble!
There’s a massive man-baby dressed just in a nappy,
The “milk” in his bottle has made him quite happy,
He’s shaking his tooshie and sucking his dummy,
And asking a lady, “can I call you Mummy?”
On the sofa is Princess Fiona from Shrek,
Blimey, Count Dracula’s nibbling her neck,
I avert my eyes to avoid his rising passion,
In walks his wife, and his face turns quite ashen.
His irate wife’s dressed up as pop singer Cher,
In her see through outfit she looks almost bare,
Then she lays into Drac just like Rocky Balboa -
She’s drunk as I skunk, I’m relieved I don’t know her!
Suddenly, Batman bursts through the door,
In his skintight costume - my jaw hits the floor!
He’s so muscular - bulges in all the right places,
If I play my cards right, could be me he embraces!
Well sadly I haven’t a costume of course,
Til I spot a young chappie dressed up as a horse,
I leap on his back - I’m a great improviser -
Strip off and shout “Hey I’m Lady Godiva!”
Collaboration between Jan Allison and the amazing Nina Parmenter
3/17/18
i'm just getting started
unraveling the threads
of this tattered lonely soul
sewn so long ago
apparition's crooked hands
grapples the rusty needle
as she unsteadily threads the eye
...flashback to childhood years
where a mother ties the loop
of darkened threads
cleaved from her own spool
pierced by torment
of each aberrant stitch
i am sealed in the seams
bound, unable to break free
as i bleed through the confines
of my soul's weary cries
my blood spills crimson
through shadows cast
of harvest moon
as she rocks unsteady
upon the walls of mind
beneath the hum
of unsung lullabies
watching as i undo
each crooked thread
sewn by her hands
unable to baste
with death's bony hands
she pricks through my heart
with soulless glower
as i disenthrall
the last threads
i stitch her deep
within the weaves
of memories
and poetry
...i'm just getting started
September 18, 2019
Just getting started poetry contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
One individual called "she" stepped into the sheets of a life story
Sheets that used to be occupied
She walked back and stopped at a chapter which tell the story of an obsolete chamber
A space which stands for behalf of the memory and wounds
A diorama played by shadow
A story with no beginning nor end
They've been there with decent backgrounds and decent light spectrum but called gray
The view was frozen, the chatter was muted, and that feels fell into the melancholy
Those with the outstretched hands which too high to be reached
Those with the self existence but too blind to be seen
They abandoned as a figure of reserves without knowing the essence of a solace
And that individual creature went on her way back to the labyrinth of time
This time someone seized by the story of a root baste
Those roots were heart in shape and the hue carved a warmth, but once howled a bitterness
This chapter tells the story of a lush tree with the fruit of love
Fruits that contain the complexity of love, passion and a place to berth
And the fruit of love revealed its story to someone
Those who hide behind their false mannerism had carved their name on her shoulder
Those who have offered their hearts and bent on their knees
Those who play fire in a lust, fell into a seek
But the love that she wants still unable to cover the part of this story
From the fruit of love to the sheet's of light
This chapter tells the story of an old house with extensive bed of flowers
This house represented the aesthetics, peace and harmony
A house which brings relief, spaciousness and joy
In that house she knelt, release all her mess
To the house the journey was anchored
In every sketches that have been through
None could live without the presence of others too
Obsolete chamber, lush love tree, beautiful bed flowered old house
Those who were involved in each story of the bulkhead of life
Those who were crawling along and came from different angles of infinity
Those who were instantly filled the pieces of shoot and became the shoot
They are the perfect gift for the imperfect souls
Not as a complement nor as a reserves
Yet as the major part of the heartwarming life story
rub my butt with spices
baste my breasts with olive oil
slather my wings and things with sauce
butter my thighs, slow broil
ah, the savory delights of a summer BBQ!
PoetrySoup …
I Was Heartily Welcomed… As I Sat At Your Table
By: Carol, Sara, Carolyn, Dane Anne, Moses, and Abel
Tim, Leon, John, Michael, Jim and Yoni
Deborah, Krista, Adeleke and Charlie
… James, The (Two) Ruben(s) and (The Quik-Composer) Raul
… and Many, Many More, I Love to Hear At Dinner-Call !
The PoetrySoup …
… It Has Member – Mushrooms
Chew and Chat Lunchrooms
Delectable Hors d'oeuvre
Every Ear-Full… Heard
Every Mouthful… Taste
Spoonful of Gourmet Grace
Voila’ Words, Don’t Waste
Simmer-Slow and Baste’
In Dug-up, Sweet Potatoes
Ripe Food for Thought Tomatoes
And Onions, That Will Make You Cry
Artichokes and Lemons that Squeeze – ‘til You Die
Garlic and Oregano Are Just Some Suggestions
And Here’s Some Mint… for Your Digestion
Parsley to Parley and Jive-Chives, Just Keep Stirring
But There’s No Clam Chowder, Shrimp, or Herring
A Dash of This… A Dash of That Seasoning
A Pinch of That and Sprinkle This Reasoning…
On The Side with the Mustard and Relish, so Fresh
Are the Cucumber-Contest and Radish Requests
And I Can’t Forgo the Tongue-in-Cheek Puns…
Your Laughter is Passed Around, like Hot-Buttered Buns !
… Poets … Are Proverbial Peas In The Pod
The Harvesters of Herbs-Heard, in The Garden of God
so... Salt and Pepper to Your Superb Style
Did You Say Cheese, Please ?... ( Full Mouth Smile !)
There’s Hot Chicken Broth, When You Are Cold
Everybody Knows… Its Good For The Soul
And All That’s On The Human Menu… It’s In There !
… Even A Mother’s … Tenderized Care
Like Campbell’s Brand… Its Umm… Umm… Good !
The Aspire – Asparagus, I Took… I Understood
So, PoetrySoup’s Cupboard is Never Bare
And There Ain’t No Bones, No Medium, Just Rare
And On The Star-Burner… Is The Savory Meat
So… Grab A Heartbeat-Bowl… and Bona Petit’…
Yes, Thank You, PoetrySoup
(You’re Up There with MoonBee’s FruitLoops !)
It Has Been A Pleasure Getting To Know You All
Thru Your Beautiful Expressions, Coming Straight
From Your Warm and Welcoming Hearts
God Bless You......
MoonBee
Use it or lose it, but try not to abuse it.
Confuse it, amuse it, but you should not refuse it.
Lick it or stick it, but you should never pick it.
Deny it, defy it, but I know that you'll try it.
Take it and bake it, they say that's how you make it.
Fake it or break it, but no need to forsake it.
Shell it, repel it, hell, you can even sell it.
Define it, refine it, but don't you take it's mine it.
Prefer it, defer it, it might even be her it.
Forget it, regret it, but the odds are that you'll bet it.
Prepare it and share it, but you should never spare it.
Baste it and taste it, but you should never waste it.
Say it, don't spray it, but you can still display it.
Love it or shove it, put nothing else above it.
Contrive it, derive it, take control and drive it.
Hike it or bike it, what ever way you like it.
Your Majesty, your meal is served.
May it fit your royal taste.
Only the best for you reserved,
Sweet milk with wine is laced.
Please make your judgment not in haste,
Dear Sir I plead with you.
This dish before you humbly placed,
I offer sav'ry stew.
.
Only the best you have deserved.
May it be not a waste.
You are so slim and nicely curved
It adds not to your waist.
Your fish well cooked with a nice baste
Fine flavors coming through.
In finest china it’s encased.
I offer sav'ry stew.
I’ve sought the best with zeal unswerved.
To markets I have raced.
Your every fancy I’ve observed
Ensuring fare be chaste.
For rarest dainties I have chased.
My liege deserves his due.
Delightful delicates I’ve traced.
I offer sav'ry stew.
For you my feline prince I’ve faced
More worries than you knew
That your fine taste be not debased.
I offer sav'ry stew.
For Ballade contest
"Moonbound"
golden Moon tempts lovers to taste
fruits of sweet nectar 'neath glows baste
lips part to kiss ...
passion ignites flesh to make haste
inhaling fragrance without waste
ecstasy's bliss ...
*For Black-Eyed Susan's Favorite Tail-Rhyme Contest.
*Nov. 14, 2012.
Halloween is dead without witches brew,
carefully conjured up to make the best stew.
Adding only the finest components,
making sure of its exact exponents.
No substitution is ever allowed,
a solemn oath all witches have vowed.
Steep slowly over the hottest coal,
the makings of the best mortal soul.
Check the brain for the final test,
be assured it is at its very best.
Add a pinch of all spice to taste,
most of all don’t forget to baste.
Don’t forget to add plenty of ginger root,
a smidgen of oak moss and an owl’s hoot.
If available add some swamp muck,
that is only if you want good luck.
Stir for five minutes somewhere about,
then drop in a large black pig snout.
Before serving, invite the cat to savor,
this delectable dish’s succulent flavor.
If the cat sits and begs for more,
that is the sign you’re looking for.
But; if he screams and humps his back,
throw it away and grab a snack.
Copyright © 2008 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Eighth Place Winner ~ "Halloween (old poems)” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Poet Destroyer A
Nov. 16, 2015
We met in Heaven and hung in freedom
Laying in fields of clover and joy
Just thoughts and unable to express our love
You were wonderful and I called you Beauty
Mine
God met with us and readied
You will go where I send and wait
I had forgotten you until prayer
It was then I heard you calling
He
I saw you in my dreams and danced again
Tried to recall but there were no answers
I picked you and you picked me
But it was cloudy there
Sun
Your eminence diminished and the shining
We promised to wait until GOD sent his signal
And I waited at the crossroad
My lovely came to me and whispered
Well met
I saw you walking across the lawn
You caught me and the photos
My heart was full and the snapping and flash
I remembered and thanked God
My lovely
The wedding came and love
The rice was thrown but you
Always you and your warm hands
The heart which I waited took
Released
We were well met
But we had to go our separate
It wasn't convenient
Silently and moving
Love was placed in the freezer
Ritorno
Return to me
Our love can be thawed
We can baste and nurture
You bring the best of me
Tea
And the leaves crushed
Water boiling and rolling
Only the finest China
We were freshly brewed
My friends say this magnificent rose
Gives off the most wonderful aroma of spring
I am catching a scent somewhat obscure
As yet no recognizable thing
For I'm losing the sense
Of smell in my nose
Perhaps what I'm smelling
Though peculiar and unselling
Is this lovely flower
This most fragrant rose
Most likely it's the pasture
Expelling natural gas
Which is nostalgic and familiar
With its hint of ammonia and pungent aroma
But, I fear, even this shall pass
There's the most angelic sound in the meadow nearby
That is what my lovely neighbor conveys
She jots down the melody with each bar and clef
For I cannot hear it
I am practically deaf
But I do hear the shrill voice
Of my neighbor's young lass
Which is nostalgic and familiar
Though disconcerting and frightful
And never delightful
I fear, even this shall pass
The most beautiful creature stops at my house
It arrives every day to feed
This is just what I've heard
To me it's all blurred
For a new pair of glasses I need
But I do see the glare
From a bonfire of grass
Which is nostalgic and familiar
Though odious and weedy
And noxiously seedy
I fear, even this shall pass
My neighbor is bringing a dinner she will baste
Which others around highly praise
The sensation for me is hardly a meal
I have lost the better part of my taste
But I savor the peppers
She always brings me in mass
Which are nostalgic and familiar
Though indigestible and spicy
And especially dicey
I fear, even this shall pass
I fondly remember my wife's gentle touch
But this sense too I now lack
If it weren't for the fall
I'd have no sensation at all
But, for these sharp piercing pains
Down my back - Alas! Alas!
While nostalgic and familiar
And though crippling and painful
It is nothing disdainful
And I fear, even this shall pass
Now when I'm gone all will be quite sublime
I will have transcended to the sixth sense
I will be free as a bird
Free from the limits of time
Reunited with the Lord of Providence
Let us discuss the circus alive in the theater of your conflicts,
the Master of Ceremonies cremates caution
in the center of curiosity's conciet
where birds bleed songs of azure agony,
madness remembers the melody of a midnight march
to a shrine built from bricks baste with war sweat and stress
as Death sits solemnly thumping it's cranial cudgel methodically
atop drums taut with elephant hide,
a child approaches through the Hippodrome's east chamber
juggling three radiant orbs, omni, omega, ovation,
the audience of thousands uproars unanimously
when Hate, Love & Fate manifest as beasts of the best brutality
encircling the child with a primordial hunger in their bellies,
their handlers cocky and competitive, controls the animals with elements
such as air, fire & water, one by one they rush the child
with violent intent, in their hearts victim & victory are synonomous,
the tiger repelled by the fire of the child's imagination,
the bear repulsed from the whistle of his innocence,
and the lepoard refrains from the current of his youth,
in the balcony, Venus and Mars applaud proudly for sagacious survival,
acrobats appear, the grey one Fatigue, the green one is Resolve,
despite loathing each other they must be team or die from the heights,
gasps from a crowd caught in a conspiracy of soul piracy
as self destruction stands cackling on the arena floor with his anger crackling red,
attempting to whip the hands of the acrobats with a dragon's tail
encrusted with the crushed vertebrae of cowardice,
he strikes their wrists but they secure the dizzing stunt in defiance,
cheers collide with the chimera of acrobats transformed into an eagle's scream
while the Master of Ceremonies welcomes the women of warhorse wishes,
J.A.B.
Here at our Cafe'
We serve the best brains in the City
We only pick the freshest
The pink, the plump and pretty
We like our brains real lean
It's the healthy way to eat
So we trim off all the fat
And we cut-out all the meat
But Our recipe's a secret
You mustn't tell a soul
We use a lot of fruit
And of course veg-e-ta-bles
Then we, Chop, slice and puree
Filet, fry and boil
Dip, roll, then saute
Season, salt and oil
Cut, mince and marinate
Stuff, simmer, stew and baste
Freeze, and refrigerate
Then add more salt to taste
Bake, broil, and then roast
Steam, stir with ladle
Sear, brown, braze and toast
Then serve it to your table
Who brought the Spam to the first Thanksgiving?
The Pilgrims brought the Spam I think
The Indian’s brought something to drink
Though history books do not repeat it
There's more to do with corn then eat it
A spurkey is a wondrous sight
All pink and juicy if cooked right
Shaping it's a little quirky
But you can make it look like turkey
So what's your pleasure, breast or thigh?
Or other part you'd like to try?
No light or dark meat, it's a shame
All the parts taste just the same
The best part is, there is no waste
And also, you don't have to baste
But unlike birds raised in a coop
There are no bones for sprukey soup
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone
11/20/2011
Buried beneath blood-shot baby doll eyes
where drowns dark truths dwelling empty despair,
finds five fraught faces from false idol lies
clinging cold-coffins caused by cruel affair;
Saddled by sorrow seen in mother’s stare,
washed while awaiting where water is filled
pouring in porcelain planned to be killed;
Languishing lost lacking warmth much less love,
ended in eerily foul episodes,
angrier now than Almighty above
mumbling murmurs in murderous modes;
Ripe for wrongs reversed through revengeful roads,
tantalized terrors too tempted to taste
blood brought by bathwater boiling in baste;
Chastised and chided, these children chilling
journey for justice with jealous intent,
mystically moving, maddened minds milling,
howling horrific while haunting content;
For sins suffered by souls salvation bent,
never they rest now, now nestled in night,
purposed, their plight, seeks parents punished right;
Aiming as arrows at any ones found,
dripping disgust at desolate devils,
grumble gigantic than gnash to the ground
lustfully lashing in lunatic levels;
As rancid bells heard, rusted rung rebels,
thoroughly thrashing throats within their reach,
fifty fingers, if figured, ten for each.
And why wouldn’t what withered weary do,
dragged desperate to death by der’lict brain,
taught terrible things when tongues tied untrue
incited mother inside turned insane?
Silence should swallow who speaks sour on slain,
judgments be gentle, gestate not Hell’s gates,
for these are the children of Andrea Yates.
9/16/2016
Submitted For: Scare Me Good Poetry Contest