Best Beefy Poems
To Eat A Peach
Spring is here.
The delicate tree blossoms replace
the delicate white lights of Winter.
From the petals fruit will grow.
Pears, plums, apricots, cherries,
nectarines...
Peaches.
I set the unripe soft rose and yellow
orb on the windowsill.
Two days later I tenderly lift it
and gently squeeze its warmth before
I wash it.
Biting into it...
the sweet liquid is Ambrosia.
The juice runs down my chin onto
my tee.
I greedily suck the peach’s flesh dry.
I daydream as I munch.
Peach cobbler, peach pie with a lattice crust,
peach shortcake, peach muffins,
stewed peaches, peach tea bread,
slices on your cereal, slices in a bowl with cream.
OR...only for dessert?
How would a
chicken breast soaked in a peach marinade taste?
My taste buds begin chattering.
Summer’s here!
corn on the cob, okra, tomatoes:
small ones that pop in your mouth
and big beefy wedges that
garnish crisp celery slices, carrot medallions,
tender Bibb lettuce, sliced mushrooms, cucumbers,
asparagus, broccoli, Vidalia onions, cauliflower...
Watermelon, blueberries, cantaloupe,
strawberries, honeydews, raspberries...
Juicy hot dogs, spicy barbecue, thick charbroiled hamburgers,
hot German potato salad, 3-bean salad, macaroni salad,
potato chips and French onion soup dip,
soft pretzels dipped in brown mustard, popcorn...
chocolate chip cookies, Snickerdoodles,
strawberry shortcake,
chocolate cake with red, white and blue frosting for the 4th,
apple pie
— softball, Mom, doggies —
I awake with a start. There is drool
on my pillow.
Another day begins but it’s really
not another day.
It’s the same day I’ve been living
since 1 May 2017 ~
The day I let the dentist pull
out the last 5 teeth I had
in my lower jaw.
And as I come to consciousness
my tongue pushes
against and spills out over the
the soft toothless tissue that burns constantly
and is covered in a thick gooey saliva ~ place a
teaspoon of Elmer's
glue in your mouth ~ if
you care to have a taste
of my reality.
Summer’s here.
Clear your palate.
Clean your plate.
Barbara Dickenson
1 May 2018
- [ ]
My life in an aquarium, so great,
But fearsome, with unknown fate.
Swimming against the fresh water,
Flapping my gills for a breather,
The air pump producing bubbles,
Sending my body in jiggles,
The actinic lights send a spectrum,
Each time causing a spasm,
And I move downward in fear,
Hoping I might disappear,
My life in an aquarium, so great,
But fearsome, with unknown fate.
Re-surfacing after a short while,
Assured of a safe profile,
Going back to my previous dance,
The water brewing romance,
Keeping my eyes wide open,
Of course with great caution,
I detect vibratory ripples,
Must be time for something scrumptious,
My life in an aquarium, so great,
But fearsome, with unknown fate.
Following my meal lead nobly,
I come upon a worm on a spree,
Hidden by the blue green algae,
Yes it seems so beefy,
Covetously I swallow my meal,
Trying to elope with zeal,
I notice my mouth is hooked,
Sooner or later I might be cooked.
My life in an aquarium, so great,
But fearsome, with unknown fate.
Jingle jingle jingle jingle
Mac succulent and simple
Hamburgers, Cheeseburgers
Chicken & fries
Ice-creams ,desserts
long coffee with ice
We have tutti fruties
to suit your sweet toothies
Thick milkshakes
fresh juices and smoothies
We shake every wish
with salads and fish
We offer hot wraps
from our Donalds hats
Oh, Forget 'bout the rest
In beef pounds invest
Cuz uncle Ro Ronald knows best.
Jingle jingle jingle jingle
Mac succulent and simple
Jingle Jingle Jingle...
Parapapa, I 'm lunching it !!!
Offer of the day -One pound mac beefy burger
and another free pound ( to carry you home : )
Just a commercial poem...
Not for the commercial contest , but thanks for the inspiration L.M
Well to find a best game can be quite a wild ride
But just how should a fellow begin to explore?
If appropriate girl is not there by your side
There’s a chance that you won’t even get in the door.
But to come out on top you’ll need other’s support
I am guessing that solitaire’s boring for you,
You’re not beefy enough for professional sport
And think those who play golf all have something askew.
The smart money’s on making of money for sure
Or on power perhaps, drugs and fun, lots of craps.
Maybe brains turn you on, normal fare too obscure.
Subterfuge of some kind, like a job singing raps.
A James Bond kind of fight, that can light up the night,
Your own video game, even better than fame,
Scientific insight, now you’re in the limelight,
Or a critic’s acclaim, that makes fans scream your name.
Well, I’ll tell you the truth, all this crap is passé,
Most important is truly the girl on your arm
You can count all the rest fairly worthless per se
For her smile is the well that gives life to your charm.
Brian Johnston
October 14, 2015
A stoma and a scar
like the Grand Canyon
form a conspiracy
against my body.
The stoma--raw and
fleshy--looks like a red
and beefy barnacle on
my side that constantly
oozes and drains feces
and waste like an
overflowing, backyard
cesspool. It sickens me.
Near the red and moist
stoma lies a huge,
crooked scar on my
stomach and abdomen.
It is like the Grand
Canyon of Arizona--an
immense displacement
of the local landscape,
only instead of earth
and rock and soil it is
my skin and muscle
and tissue that has been
gouged away. Like my
stoma, it sickens me as
well. Because of them
both, my body now
seems to me like the
raw anatomy of
disgust.
The young boy was pale,
He walked slowly in the alley
No. 41.His skeleton hand hold a rusted tin can.
He was in business,for him it was.
On his innocent face,
In a modern world,who really forgotten
Kids like him was also human too.His eyes
Pasted on a piece of bread on the dirty pavement.
On his side was tall buildings,on the other was a busy EDSA.
A dove whose feather blacken by the third world metropolis,
Peeped down from the lamp post,
Measuring the distance of the bread on the ground
Look at the child,inclining its head side ward,
Then,their eyes meet,resting on each other stare
Like eternity,
And it flew toward the blinding sun.
The boy saw a man approached,
Polished shoes landed on his lunch
The gold Rolex,tailored clothes,big ring,
A heavy necklace hung loosely on beefy neck.
Surprised on a sudden hand that raised on his way,
"Move out!" bellowed angrily,then scurried quickly on a green traffic
light. "Fool..."the boy sighed.
Business is business,he thought,as he reached out the crushed bread
Uttered a little prayer,ate it religiously with tears on his eyes.
Every bite he remembered his little brother he left this morning
on their cartoon box house
At Smokey Mountain outside Manila,its smoke ascend forever
Till the end of time,because of the corrupt lordship in kings palace
His little brother burned at stake alive waiting for his pancit.
His father was an inmate at Bilibid prison selda katorse (14)
His mother was a girl in the street.
Then an old woman came out at the Binondo Church.
Walked briskly as the wind swept the dusk on summer days.
Stopped,a discolored dirt hand spread for an alms.
Irritated,she rummaged her purse,and gently place the one peso
on the boys hand,made sure to slow her movement,maybe the rest
Were looking at her, she raised her brow and smile
"Of course.", she said sweetly
Father hope will see this act she thought that
Might mention her name in homily,Mrs. Cerbo was kind to the poor.
He spit the coin and swipe it on his dirty torn shirt
And say..."God Blessed Maddame."
Then he ran at the little Sari-sari store
Brought a piece of bread,break it into halves
He hid his share on his pocket
Then tossed the half on the side walk
When the boy had gone, blue wing landed
Ate with pride and thinking, "stupid boy..stupid boy..".
Delicious and warm to eat,
Corned beef hash,
A real treat,
Mix-up mash,
Anything goes,
Or a concocted prose,
Very simple,
Not hard to do,
Carrots, onions potatoes
All in your stew,
Beefy oxos too,
All your own desires,
Best veggies for you,
Just like a poem,
Or a herb garden you grew,
Stir up with your spoon,
Ready very soon,
Smelling great!
Delightful in its taste,
Nothing left to waste,
Poor it on your plates,
Filling for your tummies,
A recipe just for dummies.
21/01/2017
You'll smack your lips, at his silver side
Our beefy lad will cure your ham
His tender loins, are worth your coins
And if you ask, he'll stuff your lamb
I tell no fibs, you'll love his ribs
It ain't no joke, his crackly pork
Worth every pound, his piece of round
No crumbly biscuit, beats his brisket
Like chocolate drops, his porky chops
You cannot beat our Tristans meat
His chunky thighs, don't criticise
His seasoned beef, won't crack your teef (teeth)
I tell no fibs, you'll love his ribs
It ain't no joke, his crackly pork
Worth every pound, his piece of round
No crumbly biscuit, beats his brisket
A butcher always, in the making
But the creme de le creme, of his meaty treats
His able hands, will cure your bacon
He's the nicest guy, you could ever meet
The Lay of Sir Donald
(Or: Le Chanson de Donald)
An orange man – of red and trailing tie,
Small hands, and copious twitter-feed – sing I!
Most staunch ’gainst Saracen and Mede is he,
Bare-armed and ruddy-necked his followers be.
Brightly he barteth, and knows how, full well,
In sev’n-score characters his truth to tell.
Courtly he is to nymphs – yea, most correct –
And any contradictions he’ll reject:
Talk of “ailuric rapture”, he maintains,
Was nothing more than banter between swains.
And though, by direst foe as “dotard” shamed –
By REGAL liege-man “moron”, too, proclaimed –
He’s shunned by ANGELA, the Teuton queen
For policies much nearer black than green,
He’s loved by VIKTOR, chief of Magyar horde,
And (still?) VLADIMIR, Muscovy’s dark lord.
But all now tremble at his reckoning,
In Orient far, with JONG the Hermit King.
Tis hard to know whose head is the more beefy
Or whose hair more eccentric’ly coiffefe.
“Since in ballistics you indulge, and fission,”
Quoth he, “Let us contend in micturition.
My country’s armoury is locked and loaded
To make yours but a wilderness,” he goaded.
You doubt he sets his cap at Tyranny?
That risk of Bloody Warre augmented be?
As well to doubt the POPE’S denomination,
Or Silvan Sites of Ursine Defecation!
He’s just your average lazy bum —
a sweet, lovable loser
Who loves to stick his index finger
high in the air,
and tell you he’s number one
When in fact, technically,
his favorite sports team is
It’s success by association,
as he moons the neighborhood kids
Because he don’t have much else going on in his life,
in the way of personal achievements
Lost a good job,
lost his good wife
Even his best friend ran away twice
Doggone it!
But rest assured, he loves living
the surf bum life
He’s just your regular couch potato,
a sour grapes eating man-bear
Giving out high-five grunts
when he snore
Highlight reel dreams of when his team
made the game-winning score
As a matter of fact, technically,
the refs blew the call ...
his team never shoulda had the ball
He once entertained big dreams,
as a two-sport high school stud
Now, he’s a balding barrel of trash talk,
his star flamed out ... now his fizzled life is a dud
It crash landed with a thud
He blames everybody but himself,
as he cracks open another Bud
Flagstaff Flash is just your average lazy bum,
sweeping the carpet on his chest
for any broken taco shells or salad croutons
Relaxing all day in his Laz-e-Boy,
got his beefy hand on the five-position lever
Life ain’t never been so carefree good ...
he’s winning again,
as his fantasy team is doing better than ever
Lifeless, I lie here
On the bed of lust
Under the beefy quilt
of mounting shame
With oozing hurt
And fading flame
To feed your lechery
with drops of salaciousness
Behind the closed doors
of raging prurience
As the rays of sun melt
In the heart of burning sky
I lay self down in gloom
And crouch down at your sight
As I bow, you drag me down
To feed your hungry soul
With the tender flesh
Of my puerile charm
And strangled glow
when the moon shines
Over the dying remains
Of my ebbing mind
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My interpretation of the portrait named 'Sleeping Child'
http://www.stephaniedeshpande.com/porfolio/
Evergreen Community
Here is a tale to astound and to stretch any viewer’s fantasy and imagination…
Proudly presented by the creative people behind The Twilight Zone productions..
A loving family of a couple and their 2 daughters arrived at a guarded community…
Having sold off everything on a gamble to begin life anew in this new community…
They are out of options on how to bring up their ever rebellious elder teenaged daughter…
Who is heavily tattoed with hair hideously coloured, bubble gum chewing and bad mannered..
This new community is touted to bring about a positive turn to any family in suffering..
There are even beefy security guards to quell any dissenting teenagers from rebelling..
The leader of the commune guides and controls the flock of registered families..
Whenever there are disruptive teenagers, the whole commune meet in harmony…
They then cast their lots in colored beads, black or white, their numbers will decide for free…
Treatment for any troubled and rebellious kid, the family will be assigned a healthy tree…
The leader extols the use and love to be derived from any unmanageable teenaged mutiny…
Once treated, the love and benefits will be immense for the continual health of the commune…
So the plot thickens as our colorful teenaged girl was changed in appearance to conform..
But her rebellious and suspicious character was not a little diminished nor was she reformed…
She realised to her deepening horror the nameless dangers that are in store for kids like her..
Her unflinching love for her younger sister was ever uppermost in her mind, big sister like her..
Witness her confusion, her growing horror as she realises the depths of a sisterly betrayal…
Hear her desperate pleas and screams for help, when her family as one, turned away in denial..
Shades of the Stepford Wives, what a twist to such an incredible tale of imagination…
Little wonder in the Twilight Zone, a viewer will be lost in a world of wonder and astonishment..
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBaOAUG1zr8&list=PLbxdxEWxTqX81L3NnAU3nEwvPhkT7FuRm&index=23
Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
POETIC LYRICS BY THOMAS L.H. ANDRESS
Aspen to Maine...London to Rome...Tok-y-O-to Mars
And Mars to Venus'...outter-stars!
When your mixing bowl...is...set...just-right
Cars come rolling...and the Stars...in their cars...PETAL-TO-METAL
To reach your stars!
FIVE-STARS...when the recipe is...SET RIGHT!
Beefy-guy...cheesey-girls...ALOTTA-HOT-AIR
Baking-it-Right!
MIXED-RIGHT!
Fruity-Cakes...and a Cheese-Cake Princess...ALOTTA-TO-MATOES
Baking-it-Right!
MIXED-RIGHT!
None-of-your-business!
It's a FIVE-STAR-DINER...in Pink-Champagne and Ice!
THAT'S-Nice!
It's a FIVE-STAR-DINER...in Pink-Champagne and Ice!
THAT'S-Nice!
Beefy-guy's STRO-GAN-OFF...ING...'NOTHER-GOLD-EN PRINCESS!
Beefy-guy's STRO-GAN-OFF...ING...'NOTHER-GOLD-EN PRINCESS!
MIXED-RIGHT...Danger's...Only a Silly Name
In a Gameless...RECIPE!
MIXED-RIGHT...Danger's...Only a Silly Name
In a Gameless...RECIPE!
Mahi...Mahi-A...a-LOTTA...HOT-AIR!
When a tasteless BURGER...WON'T-DO!
SET-YOUR...DO!
Golden-Spurs-'n-Saddles!
Riding...TO-A-SUMMER-SET...TING...and-Wonders
When Stars-in-Cars...Come-Rolling...To-an-Endless-Summer!
Mahi...Mahi-A...a-LOTTA...HOT-AIR!
When a tasteless BURGER...WON'T-DO!
SET-YOUR...DO!
Golden-Spurs-'n-Saddles!
Riding...TO-A-SUMMER-SET-TING...and-Wonders
When Stars-in-Cars...Come-Rolling...To-an-Endless-Summer!
Tacos and Stars...Stars in Joints...Joining Together
In a Mixing Bowl...A RE-CI-PE FOR SUC-CESS!
Tacos and Stars...Stars in Joints...Joining Together
In a Mixing Bowl...A RE-CI-PE FOR SUC-CESS!
PLATING A BOWL...Mixed-Right...it's just beef, beans, pork, chicken
Or Just Hashin It!
PLATING A BOWL...Mixed-Right...it's just beef, beans, pork, chicken
Or Just Hashin It!
A-RE-CI-PE...A-REST-AURANT...It's-FIVE-STAR!
A-RE-CI-PE...A-REST-AURANT...It's-FIVE-STAR!
I open the old door and it squeaks,
then a cobwebbed, dusty ceiling appears...
what I find brings me to tears:
a moaning cat about to die, his weak heart still beats.
If all cats have nine lives as my cat has,
this one may know only one because of someone's shameless neglect and cruelty;
I check his yellowish eyes, and he dares to meow and lick my compassionate face...
as he clings to me for help and sympathy.
How did he survive under a cobwebbed, dusty ceiling
with no food and water...did he feed on spiders?
What about breathing in a sunless room frequented by mice?
Oh, he must have had a feast, while burping!
Ah, I shouldn't talk about rodents, it makes my hair standup!
All I want everyone to know is that the cat is doing well and loves a beefy treat,
not something he was forced to eat...oh, poor animal with a fiant heart!
No, sweet kitty cat: cobwebs and dust won't fall on you...here it's safe to sleep!
Entered in Francine Robert's contest,
" Cobwebs And Dust "
Written by Andrew Crisci
on 3/ 19/2012
Tortellini stuffed with cheese and spinach
Divine when coated with Alfredo cheese sauce
But not with some kind of beefy gravy finish
When those shells are cooked just tender
Light and delicate easily cut with a simple fork
Coated with Alfredo I completely surrender
Sometimes when stuffed with three cheeses
Topped with Marinara of such beautiful color
My eyes, tongue, and tastebuds it pleases
It is even better when the family visits
And on that day I have stuffed Tortellini
Stuffed pastas that really have their merits