Best Cook Poems
My driveway is packed with the cars
of friends and family,
chips put out, and the little ones
are running joyously.
A cooler filled up with bag ice
keeps cold soda and beer,
I think half the folks I know
were able to get here.
I stand over a charcoal grill,
today it is my thing,
propane may work in a pinch,
but briquettes remain king
Coals seer some discount longhorn steaks,
bought from a friend of mine,
will turn the meat ninety degrees,
get perfect grill-mark lines.
My vegan niece sits not far off,
always looks thin and ill,
ready to tell everybody:
“It’s not okay to kill!”
As if the plants she likes to eat
didn’t go to their death,
some day she might see how it is,
but she ain’t got there yet.
The youngsters go high on the swings,
I hear metal chains squeak,
one even gets up far enough
to brush against some leaves.
Every few moments one flies off,
and lands half-stumbling,
turns back to his cousins and cries:
“That jump was amazing!”
The older kids are further back,
shagging some fly-balls down,
they mix it up with fast bouncers,
racing across the ground.
Inside men sit and watch the game,
share opinions on sports,
each convinced they know the deal,
which players to exhort.
Not a word of work goes around,
and to me that’s just fine,
Boss-man gets five days of the week,
but these two? They are mine.
Wives and sisters sit on the deck,
indulging in girl-talk,
it may be a stereotype,
but lordy, how they squawk.
Then again, maybe it’s just me,
the introverted type,
gossiping in a big circle,
not something I would like…
Take off the ones medium rare,
three more minutes—well done,
plate them up, then give a shout:
“The steak’s on, everyone!”
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!
Shhhhh, here comes the Warden
He’s just about to open the door, Frank
Well, that’s good ‘cause I’ve been in this slammer too long!
and, it way too cold in here, Patty!
I never did ask you Frank, what are you in for?
Wrong time at the wrong grocery store, I guess,
before I knew it, I was in the big house, feels more
like an ice house. I was in solitary for while, frozen stiff
Then, I found myself here with you and Bangsy and Cherry.
You know Cherry, she’s Bangsy’s tomato!
She was picked fresh off the line and ended up in here!
Let me ask Olive, she’s been in here forever,
Hey Olive, when did Cherry get out?
I wouldn't talk about that too loudly, Patty,
she went to the counter!
Oh no!, not the counter, that’s death row for everyone!
If you hear them say they want to grill you Frank, don’t
believe it, it’s not what you think.
Bangsy never did come back!
Poor Bangsy, such a silly sausage!
Door’s open, this is it!
Bye Patty!
Guess it’s hamburger time for me
OH, sorry Patty!!!
I mean, I guess I’ve seen my last bun!
7/9/18
Solomon Cook
1820 – 1900
It was a miracle.
I entered this wicked world with
Mother’s umbilical wrapped around my neck like a noose,
Inside a cold cabin made of stone.
My mother,
A beauty of burden,
Chopped the wood
And served chicken neck soup on special occasions.
My father taught me stories from the Bible
And swatted my behind with a strap
If I slept in past 6.
My eight siblings and me
Worked the fields from the rise of Phoebus at dawn
To the fall of the day’s eye at twilight,
And we barely had enough to eat,
Except after the harvest.
I taught myself to read at ten years old
And as a young man
I travelled by steamer as a swabby
To Europe, Asia and Africa
And I took in the local colors like one of Twain’s tramps.
I met many women of questionable reputation
In many exotic ports-of-call.
But my one true love was my wife of 42 years;
My lovely and patient Pearl.
By train and stagecoach
We came to this quiet Quaker town in 1892,
And lived in the white Queen Anne on Olive Street.
Pearl and me walked on many a Sunday morning
To services at First Christian,
Shaped like a cross,
And together we smelled the gardenia blossoms
In Pastor Crain’s eccentric garden.
Why, my Lord, did I have to live so long?
Why did I have to watch my wife and friends die before me?
And why, my Lord, was it a simple cold
That finally stopped my old lived-in heart?
And now I am resting in peace at Clark Cemetery
Under the sprawling sultan-like fronds;
Under the magnificent golden nucleus
Of a single desert palm.
Pity her as she cried
On the floor, ragged, she lied
She's covered with odd bruises
And hell things on mind cruises
She was there left alone
Mourning for help at home.
Hungry and parched she was,
Hoping someone would pass
“Click! Click!”, the door knob sounds
At last someone’s around.
Who’s there? Who could that be?
At last! She will be free!
But it widened her eyes
Scared and again she cried
‘Twas a man who appeared
Went to her and she feared.
He touched her hair and said
“Hush! Hush! Just go to bed
Stay quite, don’t be a heck!”
And kissed her on the neck.
Poor girl, she just abide
To the man whom she feared
“Why is he doing this?
I’m his daughter, why’s this?”
In the bedroom they were;
Father started kissing her.
Poor lil girl can’t defy
If she speak up, she’ll die.
“Oh my Lord, please help me,
I can’t take it, save me.”
Said her mind as tears flowed
Grieving in pain; she moaned.
Then suddenly she smiled
From what she heard outside.
A sudden hope in her eyes gleamed
From something she perceived.
She heard her mother’s voice
"I'll be saved" she rejoiced
“A miracle for me
Lord replied to my plea.”
And the door opened
Mother saw what happened
Shocked and startled she was
Then screamed for help, at last!
Mother bellowed and slapped him
Outraged and said to him
“She is your daughter!
Why did you rape her?”
Then neighbors came
Naked -- poor girl was ashamed
Dazed and shaken they were
Staring at poor girl and her father.
Then two cops came along
Grabbed the father for his wrong
He panicked and dreaded
Denied all he acted
Livid and offended
Lil girl stood and stated
“Oh yes, that man raped me,
Not just once but many times.”
Then her father uttered
“My dish is my daughter.
I’m the one who made her,
So I should also taste her.”
Wretched from what she heard
She spoke not a single word
Woeful and quite, she sniveled
Suddenly collapsed and fell
At last poor girl’s now free
From nightmare and agony
Yes she has a father
But she’s his dish not his daughter.
Captain Cook was cruising in Hawaii
Yes,he deserved better fate, no wifi
But his lucky star smiled
He found Venus beguiled
He nailed his colours to the mast, said, "Hi"
I’m in Cook County Jail and don’t know why
All because of a devious lie
When I bend for the soap
It’s the only one not on a rope
The one eyed pirate gets a poke in the eye
*This poem was written for Nikko's contest. The letters "H E A D S" weren't allowed. I won 1st place in the contest :)
Pimp, Cowboy, Gigolo willfully confirm Cook off
Vow to cook juicy concoction!
Pimp forgot cumin, Gigolo forgot flour, Cowboy forgot corn
Gigolo plotting to corruptly copy Cowboy concoction
Cowboy growling “You forging fool !!!”
Unruly Commotion!!!
Cowboy flipping Gigolo; Gigolo tromping cowboy, Pimp crying “knockout”!
Conflict fizzling…Cook Off Critic got nitpicky….Implying civility
Critic nibbling Gigolo gyro concoction…critic crying
Critic nibbling Cowboy wonton concoction…critic vomiting
Critic nibbling Pimp minty concoction…critic grinning
Pimp winking, flirting
Critic wiggling, winking, flirting
Critic confirm Pimp Cook off Victor!
Cowboy mournful
Pimp ogling!!! Glitz...Glory
Gigolo crying, “You floozy!”
Unruly Commotion!!!
Cop cuffing Gigolo to go to court
Tick tock…tick tock….Tick tock
Jury confirm Gigolo guilty!
Pimp, Cowboy, Critic go clubbing
Beryl Cook.
Painted faces of sheer delight
Others full of horror and fright
Ladies night with sexual tones
Anticipating moans and groans
Lady with a glass of wine looks happy
Admiring the lingerie looking snappy
Beryl Cooks paint brush has no fear
Colours and strokes are definitely clear
Brings out the delight in her work for all to see
Bright colours held in lovers fantasy
Makes you feel you should join the fun
"The Lingerie Party" bet you'd buy some
The kind heart ***** cook saved me, “Pitch all your sweet meats over-board and turn upon the hearty salt beef and ship bread . . .you’ll be as
hearty as any of ‘em afore you are up to the horn.”
They called the cook “Doctor”, and you should want to be in his favor,
Should you need to dry your stockings, lite your pipe or get a little extra scouse on your tin. The doctor taught me superstitions of the sea. Of stories and dreams and the unusual behavior of men before death. Plaguy and vexatious things and event that were bothersome to him. He had special affection for “Old Bess” the ships pig.He felt that Finnish sailors were wizards with power of wind and storm. There was no reasoning with him for he had experience on his side and was not to be moved. He called on elders to back his story, and they did regaling their own wizardly tales of Finnish ghost ships and the like.
“Dar,” said the cook, “what you tink o’ dat?”
He was a free man this simple-hearted old African.
What a spectacle Betty was making
of herself in the kitchen while baking.
She kept tripping and falling.
Other cooks found it galling
all the dishes each day she kept breaking.
Today it’s much better she’s faring,
for the cause was made known for her erring.
Betty now feels relieved
that her boss is not peeved
since new spectacles she has been wearing!
(this has now been revised as a quintain for Joe maverick's contest.
If you happen to see the quintain version. I'm just curious to
to know which seems more effective, this limerick version or the quintain form?)
The cooks in the restaurant found it appalling
how Betty messed up every pie she was baking
and how- from her tripping and falling -
dish after dish Cook Betty kept breaking.
What a spectacle of herself she was making!
Today, however, Betty is relieved
because of how much better she is faring.
All the other cooks are no longer peeved,
for Cook Betty has stopped all her erring
thanks to the new spectacles she's wearing!
(Revision of my previous post, which needed to be a quintain
for Joe Maverick's Contest)
In the larger view I'm the better cook.
Some folks can hardly boil water.
They'll take a recipe by the hand
and lead it straight to slaughter!
Yet I don't need a recipe.
My hands and mind are strong.
If you let me taste your dish you'll see
I'll capture it like a song.
A dash of this and a pinch of that
are really all that I need.
When I put on my pretend chef's hat
for my know-how you will plead!
So don't even try to imitate me.
I'm better than Betty Crocker.
I put to shame Chef Boyardee
or maybe I'm off my rocker!
for contest "I Spit Fire"
November 26,2013
One
day I
thought I would
boil some eggs so
I put them on the
stove on high heat, being
the impatient lass I am.
I got distracted in the yard.
The eggs blew up and the pan almost
melted. That’s why my husband is the cook!
For Susan Burch's Contest "Ridiculous Self Exaggerations"
Captain Cook.
I built a ship in a vale of stones and thorny bushes
it took 24 years and a bit more .
from here I set sail on the dream boat to China.
I met her in the blue sea off of Malaga, sailed
on her to she was 71 and sought refuge in coastal
water and anchorage in the bay of Mandal.
Deep sea ship are so limited, they only sail from
port to port and are not allowed to stray from
the chart set by the man in charge; and every ship
looks the same, practical and sleepless.
Not once did they let me be in charge go back to
your galley you mad cook, they bellowed, you´ll
only collide with Dogger Bank, so I built my own
ship, four decks and a bridge too far from shore
to be of annoyance to no one and the locals call
me captain brave heart, the man who cleared
the dale of snakes.