Best Cook Up Poems
I adore our beautiful island
in the middle of the Irish Sea.
And since we've entered lockdown,
there’s no other place I’d rather be.
All my travel plans were cancelled,
so I’m enjoying a super staycation,
and my lovely little bungalow
is a perfectly natural destination.
I often visit ‘Casa Del Back Garden.’
It’s a picturesque place, I must say.
I love to potter about in my greenhouse.
For safety sake, it’s at home we must stay.
Despite us being on lockdown
we’ve got ample food to eat,
and I get creative in ‘Gran Kitchena,’
where I can cook up a real tasty treat.
I miss seeing my friends and family,
but we contact each other by zoom,
and we can chat away quite freely
from the comfort of our own living room.
My holiday doesn’t ‘Costa Fortuna’
as lockdown rules mean we cannot roam,
so I created my own virtual vacation,
but in truth... there’s no place like home!
02/02/21
Categories:
cook up, home,
Form:
Rhyme
Night of a thousand tears
Another day breaks,
and I'm still here
I was kind of hoping,
I would just disappear
Since you left,
I want to, sleep my life away
but I haven't slept now,
for twenty days
I should try to work, because,
my rents, in arrears
I'm what you might call,
a guy in between careers
Bridge 1
When you we're here,
we had lot's of dreams,
but for you,
they were nightmares
at least to me,
that's how it seems
Chorus
Just another night,
of a thousand tears,
days turn to weeks,
and weeks to years
but, I'll polish our memories
like prized souvenirs,
it's, just another night,
of a thousand tears
I wake up ready,
to make the best of the day
I cook up our breakfast
in the usual way
The coffees all ready,
brewed nicely for two
Your mugs still on the shelf,
now what do I do?
Days turn to weeks,
in the blink of an eye,
I'm getting older,
and I don't even try
My life had a purpose,
when you were here
and just like a fool,
I'll wait for you to appear
Chorus
Just another night,
of a thousand tears,
days turn to weeks,
and weeks to years
but, I'll polish our memories
like prized souvenirs,
it's, just another night,
of a thousand tears
Bridge 2
I just can't get used to
being on my own
I'm not the kind of person
who likes to be alone
My heart feels like it's been pierced,
by a thousand spears,
it's, just another night of a thousand tears.
It's just another night of a thousand tears
It's just another night of a thousand tears
repeat and fade to zero
John Derek Hamilton
July 8,2017
Categories:
cook up, absence, break up, devotion,
Form:
Lyric
Rare Cooking This Fine Morn
To have deep-thoughts, dreams a poet slowly eats
Or spiced casseroles of ink-piggy feats?
Meals written on yellow paper to enjoy.
Chinese fried rice with steamed adjective soy!
Experience new dishes, of rare flavor
Spread like butterfly wings upon glazed ham.
Pour tasty hot liquid words to thus savor
Bluebird wings sprinkled in blackberry jam!
What ? No essays, delightful adverb desserts?
No pans of Poe-like raven-baked pies
Yes! And add in boiled rhymes and magpie tales
Booming baked echoes of Mobydick whales!
What next? Fiction, tasty mysterious spurts?
With deep fried fish and red-button from shirts.
What taste? Tonight toasted Spanish serenade
With sweetest Sangria spice red Kool-Aid!
To have deep-thoughts, dreams a poet slowly eats
Or spiced casserole of ink-piggy feats?
Meals written on yellow paper to enjoy.
Chinese fried rice with steamed adjective soy!
Robert J. Lindley
Rhyme, Lin 10/11
Syllable count
11 10 11 10 0 11 10 11 10 0 11 10 11 10 0 11 10 11 10 0 11 10 11 10
Total # Syllables: 223
Total # Words: 146
Note, a Lindley family tradition, I cook the last day of the old year..
I've already completed breakfast and got the idea to cook up something on paper..
Lunch is running a bit late...
I cook but no hurry, is my motto.
Categories:
cook up, appreciation, art, creation, food,
Form:
Rhyme
I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:
This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve
But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails
It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk
So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind
Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle
I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no payday at all, just your ego imploded
There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice
And now I am back as a voice for the ages
Except I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark
I bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
Dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat
Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe
____________________________
For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman
Categories:
cook up, angst, humor, humorous, self,
Form:
Rhyme
I have trouble sleeping,
Yes, that's true,
No matter how many blankets heaping,
They all wind up on the floor,
Yes, that's makin' me blue,
And I don't wanna' stay up no more....
So I went on line,
To some South American place,
They ship goodies oh so fine,
Imagine, from the Amazon River!!!
And they usually come on time
Yes, it's true,
I wouldn't lie to you....
So I ordered this big body pillow,
Bigger than you or me,
And an expensive satin cover,
Oh, what luxury, you see?
I got it yesterday,
Yes, it's true,
The damn thing took up
The entire bed!!
What was I to do??
The two of us can't fit,
I was kind'a feelin' sh__,
Another Tom Bell Dumbbell idea,
What'll I cook up next?
I feel like Ralph Kramden,
Foiled at every turn....
So I took the pillow outside,
Lit it up, and let it burn...
At least I got a little heat,
Out of this dumbbell feat....
What'll I do next?
Why, do I have a hex?
Maybe if I try to do something real dumb,
It'll turn out a brilliant thing...
But, then again, with my luck,
I'll wind up in Sing-Sing.
Categories:
cook up, adventure, funny, satire,
Form:
Burlesque
Higgledy-Piggledy,
Young Dr. Frankenstein.
thought he was able to
cook up a man.
baking and broiling and
incomprehensible
things to invent such a
Frankenstein plan.
Categories:
cook up, crazy,
Form:
Double Dactyl
There are so many talented poetesses and poets
waiting patiently in the long PSoup line
Each got an able, ready pen in their hand,
and some expressive, creative thoughts in their head
It’s worth the wait to get some of that special poetry bread,
which is visually waiting to be eaten ...
exotic, existential food
that warms the heart before you go to bed
Mystic Rose and Broken Wings,
I love how their words dance and how their emotions sing
Connie and Eileen,
two strong women who knows how to make you come clamoring
to read their rich, satisfying musing
Daniel T. and Charlie,
two poet chefs with keen culinary skills,
they can cook up some savory prose meals
Probir and Chris G.,
two of the best PSoup romantic maitre d’
serving up delicious love poetry
Maria, Lisa and Nette,
a trio of talented poetesses who’ll get your appetite whet,
their introspective appetizers are the best
Lin, Cheryl and Sunshine Smile,
another trio set whose sweet poetry aromatic style
wafts on the wind for miles
Andrea, Catie and Janis,
do these triplet creative pens ever rest?
Phil C., Dean W., Akkina and Alexis Y.,
brothers and sisters whose poetic stars shine in the night sky
There are countless other pen bright stars whose auroras I see each day,
far too many for me to individually say
But when I read their poems ... the intimate thoughts they share,
I become more wiser in my heart and head
In fact it tastes so good, down to the last bite that’s read:
I always have to get back in the PSoup line
for another serving of that scrumptious poetry bread
Categories:
cook up, friendship, metaphor, poetry, poets,
Form:
Rhyme
On Monday I tried to call you but no one was home.
On Tuesday I walked to your home and rang the doorbell.
There was no answer.
On Wednesday I baked you some cookies thinking it would cheer you up.
I ended up eating half a dozen or so.
On Thursday I walked back to your house and you were dead on the floor.
I was shocked. I lost my breath as I stood there over your cold body. How did this happen? I didn’t even see it coming. My heart was grieved and all I could do was sit there petting your dog. I began to pray and ask the Lord what happened to you, my dear friend. How did I not see this coming? I felt as though I had been the world’s worst best friend.
I looked back on my friendship with Kate. It spanned a period of seventy years. We were best friends in kindergarten and we even shared a few boyfriends along the way. We used to skip rocks in the creek and capture tadpoles with our bare hands. Where did the time go?
I knew she suffered from depression. She had many demons in her closet. She even had other people’s demons in her closet too. She had a heart as big as Texas and the jolliest laugh. She used to cook up the meanest spaghetti meals. The days have come and gone like a fast approaching winter. Now I sit on her front porch sipping hot cocoa. I reminisce of the days of gold-of the days of old.
I tried to walk in her shoes one day. It’s just an expression. I tried to shoulder her burdens and carry her messed up marriage and disobedient children on my back. It was too heavy to carry. Years of abuse, broken dreams, empty beer cans, overeating. Her pain was too intense to fathom. I tried to help her to see how much she needed Jesus and she would just sit there and grin.
One day she said to me, “How do you think I’ve made it this far?” I knew she was saying that Jesus was her best friend, so I spoke about her endurance at the funeral. I was the second person to read a eulogy. I knew one thing. The eulogy that I wrote blessed everyone in attendance. They loved her and wanted her to return. I spoke of the good days and reflected on the life of my kindergarten friend. I looked around the room and intently listened to each eulogy. I walked in her shoes once again.
gwendolen rix
9-16-15
Categories:
cook up, best friend, farewell, feelings,
Form:
Prose
Twos, threes, and one-eyed jacks,
And jokers thrown in too,
These were the wild cards in our poker game,
May seem a lot to you....
But four of a kind to open,
Somewhat evens up the score,
And this was a time of fun,
And we did much, much more
This was our "Military Club"
An idea I did cook up,
To give reason to live,
For old men lost to desperate time
Who's life otherwise passed by them
Turned out an idea sublime
All got ranks in our club,
My uncles were Majors, you see
My father I made the Colonel
And poor old lowly me...
A mere Lieutenant
To drive the staff car around
This became so important to them
My idea had been more than sound
We loved our pool halls
Like most women love a shoe store,
And took turns at each others houses,
And what's even more
After pool we'd have some beers
In one of our watering holes,
And after poker later
A good meal would enrich our souls
Ah, to go one more time
Out with them,
Alas most are gone
And all I have is memories
To help me carry on.
Categories:
cook up, angst, caregiving, depression, family,
Form:
Bio
Santa whats wrong with you
did u forget me
Why is there no girlfriend
Under my Christmas tree
You know I been a good boy
Didn't give any trouble this year
So tell me where's my gift Santa
Are you still flying in the air
Last year I ask you for a girlfriend
To spend my Christmas in trinidad
But you said I was misbehaving
So you only give one to my brother Azad
Well .2015. I was at my best behavior
You could ask my friends on Facebook
I didn't post not one bad word
Just go on my timeline and take a look
Christmas is almost here Santa
Just one more week to go
And I seeing so many nice single girls
Shopping down in San Fernando
And its so hard for me to choose one
Because the beauty factory in Trinidad never stops
It keeps producing nice girls one after another
The whole country is like one big candy shop
Last year you didn't bring me a girlfriend
Cause you said that I was very bad
But my nephew junior was on the naughty list
But still he has girls in San Fernando,penal and fyzabad
So just jump in your sleigh Santa
And come down to Trinidad and Tobago
And don't worry about that big red coat
Because down here we don't have no snow
santa i know you will like trinidad
and you will want to stay right here
cause you don't like the other countries
its why you visit them only once a year
This is the land of the humming bird
steel pan chutney soca and calypso
And the most beautiful women in the world
You will see where ever you go
So this year you promise me a girl
To spend Christmas with me
To open gifts with on Christmas eve
And cuddle under the Christmas tree
I want to wake up Christmas morning
with my beautiful trinidadian queen
and i will take her for breakfast
up in corinth junction by Naz Cuisine
So Santa don't waste no more time
Cause I'm waiting under my Christmas tree
Just work your Christmas magic
And send a Christmas girlfriend for me
You know that a Trini Christmas
Does have a party every where
Trinidadian like to have their parang
With rum,sorrel and Carib beer
And when Trini cook up their nice food
They does always like to share
So bring a Christmas girl for me Santa
And come and enjoy Christmas down here
Categories:
cook up, christmas, for her, girlfriend,
Form:
Light Verse
Loose are the oven mitts that covered Mama's hands.
Cold are her rustic pots and pans.
Stained are the pages of her favorite cookbook.
Lull hangs her ladle on its metal hook.
Hiding on the ceiling is the once dancing steam
of beef stroganoff's sour cream.
Silent is the spatula that served family guests.
Quietly the food processor rests.
Daddy can only cook up a sweat,
and I'm too young to read a recipe yet.
There's no warmth in the kitchen since Mama's decease.
These objects are resting, but not in grease.
Categories:
cook up, absence, bereavement, death, food,
Form:
Couplet
Feeling the spirit of rhymes moving through me,
I've been labelled as first fruits in this writing movement,
With improvements of thousands of years within this environment,
Preforming with these comments straight onto this poem submission form,
Letting you know I'm drawn by something within that transforms,
Thoughts into words in this order for ya as I search,
Within my own church I'm never left in the lurch,
As I feel the urge of letters coming together into words,
Words into lines and eventually into verses with no rehearsal,
With skill my mind roams all my brains zones and connects,
Cerebral cortex flex's as I detect what comes next,
Ya see I trust my subconscious and don’t see it as complex,
Giving it respect while I’m fully conscious,
With no distortion words come as different options,
Flawless questions and given constant insight of great proportions,
Never losing sight, I write with strength and might,
Like a mighty eagle soaring through the sky at height,
I invite my imagination to find me wisdom that’s right,
But how do I even know? I might be shown words that are false,
Could there possibly be faults within my brains biology?
Am I just a poetry wannabe? Probably………. Not,
I have lots of ideas that cross from a to b,
Being dots that find each other, then show me,
And even when I read a book, I cook up ideas and put them in my notebook,
But damn, I just looked at the time and this free rhyme needs to come to an end,
So I send out positive energy as I contend with this life while I transcend,
I bend rules and defend my ill skills that can keep going and going filling up a paper mill.
Quincy Mac
Date Written: 29.4.2016
Categories:
cook up, poetry, simple, spoken word,
Form:
Free verse
I’m visiting ‘Casa Del Back Garden’
it’s a beautiful place I must say,
I‘ll potter about in my greenhouse
for safety it’s at home we must stay
Despite us being on lockdown
we’ve got enough food to eat,
So I get busy in ‘Gran Kitchena’
and I’ll cook up a real tasty treat
My holiday doesn’t ‘Costa Fortuna’
as we’ve been told that we cannot roam,
so I’ve created a virtual vacation
but in truth there’s no place like home!
We were due to be going to Edinburgh next week of course its all cancelled due to CV so i am having a holiday at home.
05/09/20
Categories:
cook up, home, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
'I'm having the children for dinner',
she meant it quite literally
a combination of the old
woman in the shoe and
Red Riding Hood's wolf
she was a peach most days,
til her blood lust went array,
still a humanitarian in some ways,
when it came to small-fry stew
she'd never cook up more than two,
gracious enough to ring up the parents
to inform them how well-seasoned
their children inexplicably were,
subsequently invited them for dessert
yet, she would never dine on
anyone over three - -
hardly tender enough to whet
one's appetite, when they arrived
told mum and dad the kids
had gone yonder for a quick dip,
proceeded to serve up
sugar and spice and
everything nice
on a fresh bed of
snips and snails and
puppy dog tails
Bon Appetit
Trick or Treat
Categories:
cook up, children, fantasy, hyperbole, imagination,
Form:
Imagism
The way to cook up a good Limerick
Is to add the right words, then simmer it
But if it begets raunch
That’s unfit for your paunch
Then I wouldn’t touch it for dinner, ick!
-and for dessert-
My gal loves to make Limerick-sicles
On very hot days to be whimsical
But the more we licked
The hotter it git
And often it’d even get critical.
Categories:
cook up, food, funny,
Form:
Limerick