Best Broil Poems
I, treasure you.
But, would you stay if I ever said goodbye?
Would inferno’s pilot light succumb to your tears
Knowing tomorrow’s uncertainty
Is our greatest fear?
Would my ill-timed laughter
Make you cringe in disgust
Changing your perception against my heart?
Would you
Hold me
As we wade through baptismal waters of sin
Without bruises from cedar scented crosses?
Can I count the ways
You would be my exhale
When insanity chokes the living within
The living, within!
Within cracked glasshouses
Covered by umbrella’s demise
Would you come to despise
My true colors
Shaded in blues & violets?
Would I need to come to your rescue
After you’ve kicked me when I’m down?
I WOULD!
I WOULD CRAWL WITHOUT YAWN’S FATIGUE!
I would sacrifice my Agnostic flesh
To become a new believer
Born-again
Within YOU!
I would remove my 3rd eye to present what I see in you!
I would become your contact lens that you’ll never have to remove!
I would taste degradation
Simmering in a gentle broil around my arms
And season you with my smiles
Just to make it through choke-holds of a Winter solstice!
I would become your handsome error
Hoping we can write each others wrongs!
I, treasure you.
But,
Would you be there upon last dance’s syllabic end?
My friend,
I’ll wait by this stainless steel chair.
Embracing the “never-say-never”…
…because, with you, my humanity is willing to believe in forever.
© - 4/22/2013
Submitted for the “What a Friend really is” Contest, sponsored by Becca Lucas; Won 5th place.
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!
A diaphanous mist hangs over me
Blurring my thoughts and fancy
Or is it that my Muses have gone into lazy slumber?
Whatever thoughts I have, they come fragmented and scrambled
In no way I can piece them into a string
As I try to nest them together, they wheel away like pigeons
When I struggle for utterance,
Like a child, I lisp at the very first word
Though thoughts strike me like pellets of rain against windowpanes
I fail to broil them in the crucibles of my imagination
I am a miner searching for a nugget of gold
In tons of drilled out mineral ore
In the dead of the night, in frightening stillness
I am awake, with a pen in my hand
A heavy weight pulling me down
Caught in a creative maelstrom, I whirl and whirl
I hope the ink will soon spill over
Scrawling coherent lines and letters
Like an emboldened farmer,
I sow seeds of my thoughts into a land barren,
Not fecund enough and not watered with imagination!
Who can say some of them won’t strike root
Even in the cleft of a rock and struggle bravely into sunshine
Spreading over their sterile birth place
With beauties any eye would love to behold!
I wait for that moment...
Yes, I am a poet in the making...!
October.1.2022
~ Placed Seventh~
2022 Marathon mile.23 Poetry Contest
Sponsor -Mark Toney
Untamed and overflowing snug jungles thick and fruitful burst rife pregnant and spouting lavish green expressions. The white broil of the day globe supreme in its blistering febrile; relief sought in the milky turquoise waters teeming smooth unbroken tide. Rain falls in delicate melody curling upon lazy afternoon buffalo. Torn coconuts nestle upon the waterfalls as locals, sweet dove like drifting valley flowers. Ants fuss upon the barks of the mango trees, white stalks and avocado lark free. Here lies an island of unbroken weight, primeval and rampant, supreme unearthly, an equatorial heaven, here on earth.
anger, anxiety, fear, howl, natural disasters, nature, seasons,
A Brewing Storm ©
Thunder and Lightning, ‘Me Oh My’!
Blasts and ‘vamps’ its warring symbolic call
Ceiling clouds roll in a ‘smoking’ broil simmer
Pressures build, stirred to exploding crescendos
Light-bolted charges sent to spike a ground
Heavens open and release bright fire bolts down
Blackness is now showing cut sliced silvery veins
Few if more 'rests' between a signature storms charge
Will stay the night for a short reprieve to woo us into not
Sending in their hushes before the dramatic storm slammer
Is its 'gift' of quietness for reflection to what comes next
Beware, time to take a breath and watch and listen, listen!
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
ACH! Don't tell me you've never been to an Oktoberfest!
Folks, that's food, drink and entertainment at its best!
Men in lederhosen, frauleins in dirndls, all so full of cheer,
Enjoyin' tasty bratwursts and steins of Hofbrau Beer!
Jamaicans enjoy Red Stripe Beer with red beans and rice.
They like their pristine beaches and they are very nice,
But for simple pleasure and taste buds that you'll endear,
There ain't nothin' like washin' down a bratwurst with a beer!
Friends in Italy enjoy the view of Vesuvius sippin' a Poretti,
Fortified with plates of fettuccine alfredo and spaghetti.
But I can't visualize anything just a whole lot sweeter,
Than a simple bratwurst washed down with suds by the liter!
Scots socialize with their clan at the neighborhood pub,
Drinkin' pints of Innis and Gunn, eatin' haggis for their grub.
French sip Trois Monts dinin' on delicious escargot.
Japanese slurp their noodle soup with a brew called Sapporo.
Mexicans gulp Salitos Beer to quench the tamale's spicy tang.
Folks in Indonesia quaff Bintang Bir with their nasi goreng.
Of assorted foreign beers and their fancy fare I've had my fill;
I'm content to sip a Coors and broil bratwurts on my grille!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
My wedding ring fell in the toilet
So I asked my wife if she'd boil it
It then burnt my hand
My own wedding band
For she thought that I asked her to broil it
big fat greasy cheeseburgers
big and fat
fat and greasy
1/4 lb.
1/2 lb.
1 lb.!
just give it to me good
Come to daddy!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!
Big and cheesey
Fat and greasy
Big and greasy
Fat and cheesey
Cheeseburger!
Bacon?
Yes, I hope it's not taken
Pickle?
Of course, it's just an xtra nickle
Extra cheese?
Are u kidding? Absolutely...please!
Mayo?
not today, i'll have a french fried potato
grill it
broil it
fry it
just let me eat it!
Cooking is a science and an art
That allows you to have these two in one
That when done just right is so smart
It also can be so very fun
You don't need tubes or brushes
A pan or dish will do just fine
You can serve a meal with fine touches
Like a glass of your favorite wine
Let's bake or broil but do not burn
A dash of this and a pinch of that
Get creative it's how you learn
Just make sure it's lean not fat
New recipes you try now and then
Some will be your own creation
If it's chicken, then use a hen
When glazed it is a fascination
Now for dessert what shall we do
Perhaps you'll make something great
I recommend souffle for you
Don't let it fall for heaven's sake
You'll have the neighbors over soon
To show off your skills oh so true
The date will be sometime in June
For them you'll make something brand new
For The " A Merger with Food Poetry Contest"
I feel the tears come as I half close my eyes
A familiar old song plays in the background as my personal
torment grinds down the old bones of wounds not yet healed
I carry the burden of my actions with
few or little outlets
My brain is turned to broil, hotter than
hell and ready to burn
Rest is all I truly crave, I beg anyone of you,
when will it be my turn
Dark forces are at work tonight, the
embers burn down low
Time is my enemy, a constant confrontation, it
moves so bloody slow
As I watch the moon rise over the mountains tonight,
my angry festering thoughts move to you
My confidant, my only true friend, my partner in crime
I am hurting deeply and I can’t get what I need,
to stick to you like glue
My outside shell is strong as ever, determined to stand
strong, resistant to attack, ready to conceal
My inner portion, soft and vulnerable is torn apart,
bleeding and wounded now, ready to reveal
Let your fate take root
On hard rock, tangle and bury
Before the coming storm.
and before the coming of the storm
amidst a garden of your crafting
Beliefs and memories planted
and like seeds watered
Take root amidst your cherished greens
Take hand in hand your
memoir
and brace with rooted tangled feat
-mangled,
The coming storm
Come to wash away
come to whisk away;
This is a magical storm
something fantastical
like myth was born
from your hands, as you shake them left to right
and wrestle from them
seeds
trample on your well-trodden soil
and in waves bead your sweaty water
shelter little sprouting
take shelter in his shadow,
Did you nurture your garden?
like I have nurtured mine
mine, lush with little ideas
lush with my graceful evasion
of duties unwatered
moments hoarded
lush with little trees, that in my shadow
do not grow,
and their little fruits, so sour born
Yours, that garden, a gnarled tree
posies tangled on mangled fields
bounties of fruit, in your mangroves
children of our labor
all alike stand before the storm,
Dark clouds gather, broil forth like no afterthought
an army summoned to war, the tax collector come for dues
and bubbling forth
Comes lightning and thunder like sickle and torch
Come to reap the song and sun:
and it is in this shadow they finally grow
and gnarled hand takes my own
-I will not rot away on my own
I stand before my fated choices
and together
our bonds new, old and gnarled
stand firm these moment’s beliefs and
creations
children and parent, arms locked, heads on shoulders both
eyes cast out and tears exhumed
before the coming storm
Our legs take root in our
garden soil
and we cling to what
we know
we hold to what knows
us
but the storm is just
so grand
and our roots are just
so shallow.
speak it as it was to be
something for a world of
people to love and admire.
delicious and special.
she wanted something that was flavored naturally.
we determined that a sweet fruity flavor would
be best. because she was cooking chicken
and felt it was best to have as much chicken as vegetables
she decided to make it easier on herself by using
something large to marinate the birds in.
she was cooking twenty game hens, and wanted a mixture of flavor
to marinate the birds in.
she came up with this.
in a large roasting pan she added,
5 pounds of grapes (vines and leaves)
2 trouts (scaled and cleaned)
4 garlic bulbs (halved and unpeeled)
5 medium onions(quartered with peels)
10 lemons(squeeze the juice and and halved)
5 sprigs of rosemary
4 sprigs of thyme
2 gingerootz (chopped)
5 small chilis (halved)
1 cup of cilantro
roast for about one hour( to extract the pungent aromas)
you only want the juices that are extracted from the mixture
drain by using a colander, and a fine screen.
allow to cool.
in a blender add
2 cups of olive oil
1/4 cup of salt
2 green peppers
1 large red onion
2 small chilis (seeds removed)
2 cup of red wine
3 cups of lime juice
1 cup of light brown sugar
4 tablespoons of ground ginger
1/2 cup of white vinegar
7 cloves of garlic
mix smooth and add to the cool mixture
2 two five gallon buckets with lids
add the game hens and pour mixture to cover all the birds.
marinate overnight.
broil birds in the oven until done.
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1 and one half cups of lemon juice
1 cup of coconut milk
1 cup of grapefruit juice
4 tablespoons of cayenne pepper
1/2 cup of honey
8 tablespoons of crushed garlic
1 cup of minced shallots
1 cup of coconut flakes
1/4 cup of light brown sugar
6 tablespoons of rum
4 tablespoons of grounded cumin
1 and 1/4 cup of olive oil
1/4 cup of mint leaves
3 pounds of deveined shrimp
marinade.
in a large roasting pan, add 1 cup of butter
and a half cup of olive oil
sautee about
6 cups of chopped eggplants,
6 cups of diced (cooked potatoes)
1 cup of green onions
add shrimp (cook shrimp underdone!)
add marandae and thicken with cornstarch
'Twas the night of school program, I was happy because
I was playing the role of good old Santa Claus.
I was dressed all in red as he always is
And eagerly starting to get down to biz
Of filling the stockings all hung with a flair.
I opened my pack and the gifts waiting there.
John has asked for ice skates and I found them at once,
The same with Nell's book, but I felt like a dunce
When the doll for young Susie was not to be seen.
There was nothing but wrapping where it should have been.
The teacher hissed at me to get off the stage.
It was time for the scene that was on the next page.
So I left Susie's sock with out wanted gift
And I knew that next morning, she'd surely be miffed.
I'm wondering how Santa can do what he does.
That he keeps it all straight is a marvel because
He must travel the world in one single night,
Fill millions of stockings and still do it right.
I'll just go ask my Mama to broil him a steak.
Such a big job takes more than some cookies or cake.
And if on Christmas morning, my gift is not there
I'll not be mad at Santa for I wouldn't dare,
When I lost Susie's doll from my little sack,
And Santa must carry the world's largest pack
To hold all the toys that he must deliver,
As he flies over world and ocean and river.
I'll look down the stairs as he takes a big bite,
And silently wish him a wonderful night.
Closed
Arabic Poem by: Hammoodi Al-Kinani*
Translated From Arabic
By: Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_n_silk)
=======================
Closed, so said the first door
Dead End, so said the second door
Don't Worry,
Sayeth all the doors!
Destitution! Destitution! Destitution!
So shouts the beggar in my face.
Drought! Drought! Drought!
So speaks the river to me.
Me ....?
I am still dancing in ecstasy,
Searching for leftover from a loaf
My mother baked in the first year of the last century;
I carry my portfolio of official documents
Containing,
A fake birth certificate,
Certificate of citizenship bearing odd digits,
Green housing card
Disclosing that I am still a Bedouin
Searching for a lost camel!
Our ration card
Does not contain, yet,
Materials quota;
It bears my name, my third, grandfather's name,
And the doubtful surname;
What else is there in my papers portfolio?
My permanent address
And house number
One, slash, One
District Number One
Not inhabited with people like me
Street, haunted by mud
And side-walks walking barefoot
Over pedestrians walkways.
Still wearing my father's shabby cloths,
I touched my belly to learn
How to broil hunger patties on it;
A policeman saw me,
He waved his whip to my face,
"Exposing your private parts and defects is prohibited!
Your belly is a defect,
Your unusual appearance is
A defect,
All these papers in your portfolio are defects;
We are charged with watching
Those who expose their defects in public."
Standing in line to receive
Laundry detergent is a defect,
Even scratching one's back
Falls within the Forbidden section;
When I felt frightened,
I went to visit my father's grave;
My mother was lying in his flank.
I prayed for my mother
And asked God his forgiveness
For my father
For repeatedly rubbing his belly
Because of bug bites.
------
Translated by; EM. prof. inaam Al-Hasjimi
USA
September 23, 2009
--------------------
* Hammoodi Al-Kinani is an Iraqi writer