Best Breaded Poems
Many ingredients bake writing inspiration.
This recipe combines a stirring sensation:
Heaps of desires never realized
as marinated in teary sore eyes;
Quantities of wide open spaces
caramelized by nature’s appeal;
Ageless genuine emotional traces
sifted thru heart rendered graces;
Equal parts family and romantic love
as roasted within, without and above;
Measured creamed ideals of peace
with blanched pain and battle grease;
Diced wishes braised with thrill
bearing aromas of tangy heat or chill;
Slices of awe from a glorious tree
breaded with traits strong and free;
I do not forget sour spices of greed
dusted with mankind’s violent seed;
A mix of fears dredged in anxiety
with stress jelled in complexity;
and, lastly, faith garnished spirit
grown in a soul conscious thicket.
If able, I mix love with ingredients above
before sampling my recipe once warmed up.
If savory, I enjoy serving in poetry cups.
Categories:
breaded, desire, food, how i
Form:
Rhyme
No Toilet Paper
My mind is boggled.
What is with the Coronavirus mania?
Why is everyone going freaking nuts over this?
From what this writer understands,
It is much like the regular flu,
Which is killing thousands as we speak, and
Hospitalizing even more. And this has been going on,
As long as I have been alive since 1952.
But this particular microbe is novel, and
Since little is known about it apparently,
People are afraid they will “get it.”
So off to Costco they all go, and
Buy as much toilet paper they are all permitted to buy,
Take it home, store or hide it with the other family treasures,
And then realize, inexplicably, that now
They are all magically immune to “getting it.”
Is that what these crazed souls are thinking?
I can think of a fate worse than “getting it.”
Worse than sports games being cancelled;
Worse than concerts and plays going on indefinite hiatus;
Worse than school classes and Sunday services finding the exit door, for now;
Worse than millions of vacations being cancelled, and
Entire industries being brought to their knees;
Worse than the world economy taking a complete nosedive
Into depression and financial paralysis;
Worse than millions of human beings dying
Horrible, agonizing deaths due to this little microbe.
No, I can think of something even worse.
Imagine going to Steak Corral - All You Can Eat,
One night soon, and you wanted your money’s worth.
So you load up your plate with:
Whiskey-laced, barbecued baked beans and garlic bread;
Two breadcrumb-laced quarter pound char-burgers,
Each smothered in a half dozen beer-breaded onion rings,
With ranch dressing dripping over them like lava.
Then you go get some more beans on french fries with
Big raw garlic chunks nestled in them, and then,
You wash it all down with three beers.
Imagine the next morning.
Imagine the horror, the horror,
Of voiding all that Steak Corral stuff, and then
Having the absolute worst possible thing
Happen to you in today’s crisis times.
No toilet paper.
Categories:
breaded, america, angst, anxiety, fear,
Form:
Free verse
She The Ravenous Queen, That Can Have All My Tomorrows
Ah that creamy chocolate
swirl
of gold-blasted passion,
it fingers roaming and
gifting deep titillating pleasures
with both our lips
that gift honey-breaded
sensational
love
a steaming arena
of delight
your body
its sexy curves
and ravenously
hot
hidden
oasis .....
O' my this soul
seeks none other
than you
my princess
with
that raven-black
smooth hair
luscious lips
ten mile
long
tanned legs
come with me
to our oasis
let us drink of
passion's sensational fruits
whilst
the Heavens
our song plays....
and watch the
fingers of dawn
gently caress
our beating
hearts
as we
seek what our
bodies
so need
you my dearest
my angel
my beautiful
queen.....
shall we forever
see the
rainbows
hear the
melody
and wake
to
dawn's
hot swirling '
breath.....
as we walk along
our white
sand beach
nothing around
but blue
ocean and
birds
we strip down
and upon
the white sand
make feverishly
deep love
just
you and I....
may we
have all
of our tomorrows
be as today
together with both
arms reaching
for that
golden cup of love
and exist in
our
Heaven
upon
our wonderful earth....
tonight dearest
the stars
will shine upon
our two bodies
entwined
upon silky satin sheets
with purest bliss
within
our
two sweet
beating hearts....
Robert J. Lindley, free verse
9-14-2023
Note : This poem is dedicated to the memory of my dear sweet wife that passed away
right at eighteen months ago. I miss her and so deeply and truly love her with my all. RJL
Categories:
breaded, art, beautiful, desire, heart,
Form:
Free verse
WHITE SHADOW
-------------------
Cornered in opalescence
No walls to be found
The abyss its residence
The address unknown
Its countenance clear
As frozen solid stone
Collaged in aqueous blue
Painted misty gray
Its irridescence seen
But presence unseen
Epitomizes the trace
Of a fallible illusion
Portray as fumes of
Charcoal colored flames
Steams of vaporous smoke
Swim the swarms of air
Bounding deep its breaths
Breaded by the blare
Of pugnacious myriads of pawns
Barricading the breeze
As brooms' brushes to dust
Swept in swift and soft
Reversal rhythmic rush
Pieces' plethoras ensnared
By touching tips of the hay
Collected quick, no care
Absent a tic's delay
A patent feather has found
Its primmest of places
As paupers planted in pits
In primes of penurious spaces
This putrid particle puffs
Within subsisting liquid
As pints of pluvial drops
Descend devoid of sound
Upon the grazes of glitch
Within the greenest of grasses
A flood of footsteps fringe
Upon the ears of deafened ground
Each heels howls its horns
But gravel hears no sound
Ignites the morning spark
As gently candle lit flames
A sightless, sceneless spurt
Illumined just the same
~Poetra Jah~
Categories:
breaded, mystery,
Form:
Light Verse
I can fish on Lake Notashebun
in September for pike: 'Great Northern.'
Known as 'Esox lucius,'
it's so delicious
breaded and deep fried lakeside; that's heaven.
Categories:
breaded, food,
Form:
Limerick
Straight rows of soft chairs, larval eyes stare blank
Absorbed by glowing colors on the wall
Their jaws slack, fetid whiff, unwashed and dank
Arrested minds the blue screen does enthrall
Their horticulture, growing docile strains
Indulge the twisted whims our lords conceive
The whores to culture, placid in their chains
Reclining prostrate, ready to believe
Our nation’s spirit sinking to expire
Omniscient demigods behind the screen
Transmuting our light to synthetic ire
Red, white, and blue bows to red, blue and green
Unconscious fulcrum, force you can’t deny
Black keys in gray hands of the puppet priest
Subliminal, no chance to wonder why
Clandestine reins pulled taut, they lead the beast
Imbue the symbol with gilt qualities
Admire how they conspire, our life rewired
Such dazzling tricks to blind the polity
In breaded, cheap amusements, we are mired
Our brave new virtual reality
With hidden craft, untruth is overlayed
Eclipsed sun darkens to totality
Beneath benighted noon we walk as day
Predicted, instinct’s base reaction known
To tidal waves of violence and sex
Minds titillated by distraction’s bone
From our Media-Government Complex
Our internecine hatreds stoked, inflamed
Creating and enhancing the divide
True culprits are protected, victims blamed
Incessant war, the great rift yawning wide
Unseemly freedoms have been made taboo
Renouncing power, most don’t even grieve
Relieved to give up guns and money too
Behind red tape and laws lurk skulking thieves
Resounding echoes, our once great New World
Through wavelengths, diodes, context redefined
Cold software guiding social plots unfurled
Far colder people fine-tune the hive mind
Inheritors of might presume the role
Unburdened by the ballast of remorse
Their dark ascent to power and control
Soul-searing wind as you climb to the source
Some zealots hold that this is Satan’s world
Each object of desire imbued with blight
Much clearer when the plan becomes unfurled
So glaring it becomes they have the right
This morbid monolith, our freedom’s bane
Temptation steals your breath, you’d best beware
Choose reason in a world that’s gone insane
Reclaim your only soul and say a prayer
© Thomas W. Quigley
7/17/16
Mostly Iambic Pentameter
Categories:
breaded, america, political, power,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
That's it, I've had it
She uses Miracle Whip on her sandwich
I just can't handle this, I can't take anymore
I am real careful when I leave how I slam the door
When I left, I took with me
Not clothes or money
No rare painting or the Mingh Dynasty vase
Just what was in the Prenuptual, my jar of mayonnaise
I don't care for the store brand, Sauer's, Blue Plate or Best Foods
With Hellmann's by your side, to have a sandwich, you never have to be in the
mood
A BLT, can you imagine that without the B
Let alone it would be just as disastrous without the LT
But then again, this is America, you can fix your sandwich any old way
That's why when I left, there would be no misunderstanding, I would take the
mayonnaise
Some kind of bagel, bread or bun, sun dried tomato, white or whole wheat
Put whatever you want on the bread, but without out that one thing, it will never be
complete
Maybe I will become a Health Inspector and find out which brand the restaurants
use
If it's not my brand, I will write them up for sandwich abuse
I will find out which type they use, for instance in their Tartar Sauce for their
Breaded Fish Fillets
Or maybe become a Divorce Lawyer to ensure that when my clients divorce they
don't lose out on their mayonnaise
This is a lesson I learned even though
It was in Black and White in our Prenuptual
It still seen its day in court
My girlfriend's lawyer said quit playing hard ball, come on be a sport
He further states she's willing to give you the car and your favorite 45 record by
Stevie Nicks Leather and Lace
I turn it all down and stick to my guns and retain custody of the mayonnaise
To this day, we no longer speak to one another
I got back at her, for years I have secretly shared it with her mother
Is this something I should feel guilty about, show some remorse
I am going to see if can marry the thing I love the most, it will never end in an ugly
divorce
I don't believe that I am going through a mid life crisis or some kind of phase
Please RSVP me and tell me if you feel this strong about your mayonnaise
Categories:
breaded, devotion, food, funny, love,
Form:
ABC
8/11/12
----------------------------------------------------------
There is a small soul within every crowd
A soft voice against the senile bickering of the strong
And the small souls wish they would listen
Wish you would listen
But the ears of the majority have been stuffed with pride
The puffed up breads have come out of the oven
And the oven closes on the non-finished
They were never finished
The masterpiece was torn
They ripped off its horn as they lavished in greed
Letting the soul bleed in the cruel wreck of silent despair
As they laugh knowingly and unmercifully
And I am left to listen to the blood trickling, groveling at my feet
I am left to the weak—the strong
The purified—the gone
I do not want to ruin everything by mending
As everyone is breaking I am bending
And my throat is constricted
The air has caught wind of a little soul’s voice
Begging for acceptance. . .for love
For an ear that isn’t breaded with self-indulgence
Crusted in disgust. . .drooping the damned
I am transformed into an image of a god
For this poor, sweet, ignored soul
Lies are his god. . .listen to my words
And rot
Listen as it constricts you—as I inflict you
It is better if I had never existed
I will not be worshipped in this prison!
You are everything to me and nothing
And the cursed breads rise
Sweet scents pour into your flaring nostrils
Watering my sunset eyes
And you see me watch as they turn their minds away
A guide towards lies and sticky debris
You follow the path not caring where it leads
Hearing the voices that refuse to clear their ears
And that therefore blind them
In worry and fear
I caress your tear and swallow
Your words like a vacuum
The disposable bag is always empty with dirt
Like a hearse I drive your body away
My blackness flaring
My horn honking
As everyone is staring. . .not wanting to know what I am carrying inside
Categories:
breaded, confusion, devotion, fear, friendship,
Form:
Free verse
I love shrimp
Oh how I love shrimp
Whether it be breaded
And deep fried
Or steamed
With melted butter
On the side
I love shrimp
Categories:
breaded, food,
Form:
Rhyme
One fine late midnight coils back the whole universe
And asks me in eager voice, what is the source of the race of man?
In sotto voice i whisper in his ears that it is God who created Adam first
Infuriated he becomes and rushed down with a loud bang
And spread all over like a huge carpet as if there is no end
Meanwhile he, in an isolated island, met with a bearded man
And learnt from him who learnt from a pecking woodcutter
That its beak is longer, sharper and stouter than rest of the birds
And this happens due to his repeated pecking
And he pecks repeatedly to fit in the policy of survival of the fittest
So far so nice except the mercilessness of the strong
In killing plundering and invading whoever is poor and weak
Here is not the end of the story;
It gave the breaded man more, a great hint
That life struggles to survive and struggling evolves into evolution
Pay attention to the great game, the race man is not from the race of man
Man is from monkey, so, all the monkeys are our forefathers
There is nothing wrong in it,
After all we are all respectful to our ancestors,
Sorry, to lovely monkeys except human beings.
Till this turn of logic there is no darkness
No end of the world,
We are only sons and daughters of monkeys and not the *****.
But there is a huge problem to the universe
Being confused he crawls secretly into my rooms before the night’s death
And charged me red faced why did I tell him a lie?
No, i did not tell you a lie, I answer
In fact we are both correct, he tells his story and I tell mine
Categories:
breaded, earth, father, fear,
Form:
Free verse
breaded, deep-fried
freshly severed nuts
Is anyone hungry?
Categories:
breaded, food,
Form:
Questionku
Hear ye the testimony of my worth as a Dandelion:
Since I belong to a family of flowering plants
I’m a marvelous creation* of the Supreme Designer
With a blessed role not only to beautify nature
But also to glorify my Creator with my beneficial wonders.
Though recognized as the quintessential garden and lawn weed
I can boast of my high nutritional value, attested by research facts…
Greatly edible, tasty am I both raw and cooked
From the roots to the blossoms: as steamed, breaded, and fried;
I’m even used to make wine or as a coffee substitute.
Being a multipurpose herb, all my parts are useful…
I’m revered for my traditional medicinal properties
For centuries, I treated a myriad of physical ailments
With my diuretic and laxative strength of potassium content
Including being a liver tonic and an effective wart remover.
Beholding me midst my yellow color, you can feel heat’s radiance
Since I symbolize the sun and its power
Representing happy unions, resilience and re-birth…
With my name’s meaning as “the official remedy for disorders”
I, Dandelion, yield to God for me to praise Him in doing His will.
*Psalm 98:1 O sing unto the LORD a new song; for he hath done marvellous things: his right hand, and his holy arm, hath gotten him the victory.
April 6, 2019
3rd place, "DANDELIONS" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier; judged on 4/17/2019.
Edited on September 1, 2025
3rd place, "Let The Flowers Grow Again" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose; judged on 9/2/2025
Categories:
breaded, appreciation, blessing, flower, god,
Form:
Personification
The channel islands off the coast
of California were my home
on weekends sailing with my dad
on glassy seas, on froth and foam.
On Fridays after work he’d head
to Catalina on the wind.
Sometimes, the trips were fast and rough;
sometimes, you thought they’d never end.
I’d go below when it got dark;
he’d often sail late in the night,
drop anchor in a quiet cove,
and hear the gulls at dawn’s first light.
My father would go snorkeling
and abalone were the game:
delectable when cooked just right,
breaded, sauted on a flame.
The prize, not easy, on the rocks
some twenty feet below or more.
A suit and weights to take him down
to pry them off the ocean floor.
I stayed up top and manned the oars
and kept the dinghy close at hand,
collect the catch and be right there
when things did not go quite as planned.
Though this was fifty years ago,
I picture it as clear as day.
My father found a hunting spot.
The waters, calm; the skies were gray.
He’d found an abalone bed
with numbers plenty to be found,
and so he’d bring them to the boat,
inhale, and take the next trip down.
But then, he came up rather quick
and backed up slowly with his fins.
His snorkel made the strangest moans,
and then he dived back down again.
Again, he came up fast and tossed
the catch into the boat and said
a large black manta ray down there
was quite protective of the beds.
’Twas near ten feet across in size,
and though they shouldn’t cause one harm,
when they are coming after you,
it sets off all the fire alarms.
On one last trip, he headed down,
and next I know, he’s like an otter.
The ray had come straight up at him;
he might as well have walked on water!
He managed to get in the boat
in one smooth motion, in a blink.
Normally, it was a struggle,
requiring help and lots of strength.
He laughed and said we’re done today;
whatever’s here, we’ll call it good.
No arguments from me, for sure;
I’d never been, and never would!
Categories:
breaded, father son,
Form:
Rhyme
Tormented
A crude soul remained, of a life of a hero silent but brave. Tormented with dreams of days
gone past, tormented of lives of whose destiny didn’t surpass. It wasn’t a gun or a knife that
altered his way; it was the reckless humanitarian way. To watch kids as hard as veterans to
watch a country broke but resilient and brave. This changed the mindset of a selfish man this
changed the outlook, of a spiteful man, a man trying to survive the darkest desires of a sick
spiteful way. Not murder but genocide, not ethnic cleansing but a deviant sick mindset of a
twisted soul, breaded out to an unsuspecting nation. A nation without a goal but bloody
violence, in its toll.
How I long to see him there, standing toe to toe with those who are left reeling with they’re
despair.
The torture remained taking innocence along in its way, taking lives filling graves all for the
name which, the deviance betrayed. To be human the soul remains, when tortured and
beaten beyond repair, how can a soul remain. How can they stand tall when all that is left is
an empty black hole, with memories which once were good, all turning sour as they knew
they would, ruining life in such a sick violent way. I see those tortured souls, not giving up
not letting go. They are in his dreams they are in his past hopefully this felling of hurt will
succumb and not last.
Civil unrest remains in the heart, not in soul.
How I wish to see them there, unarmed and afraid, the same way they left the innocent who
remained, left in the darkest coldest of days in a country so broke but so brave.
Sleep well tonight for you hold the flag of your country, in your eyes, power of all nations in
your arms, for you we salute our proudest day, it was not what we done but what you gave,
this honour and resilience is what made you all so brave.
Categories:
breaded, warlife, sick,
Form:
Light Verse
A seam in a sock is a whistling clock. Wheelbarrow hours like a treading of grapes for wine. But swamped with the rest of the waters, teas, coffees and creams can bring a mingle of music to a break. But breaks are not breaking nor brave really for the breaks are merely for beakers and brooms. Who enter rooms and chat in slow monosyllabic voices with largely low accentuated accents. Apathetically apples appear appropriately at a arch. And the dust busters move in with their cloths and clothes hinged with a tinge of lint emulsion spray. Lint emulsion spray is quite popular and should never be confused for a carnation, a carriageway, a cart horse or a canned carrot cake. It is to be said that there is over one million ninety three thousand nine hundred and fifty three trees lining up in the foot long yard. How rather interesting that is really? And to say hello from the frozen pieces of pie is to take the meaningless ingredients for a walk on an extendable lead. Well they must exercise mustn't they? Little pieces of cut meat and vegetables love to run and run. And sauces can climb quickly over stiles. Ha the bracken bracket beckons to a bullfrog. Ha the deluge of indelible inks in a cotton shield of sanctification. Ha shoes on a coat walking with a petticoat in a goblet. Xxxxx therapeutically z z z z z taking the washing line and abseiling down the stairway of the breaded grassed house of Oven. Z
Categories:
breaded, baptism, beautiful, beauty,
Form: