Best Cooked Poems
When you come home late at night
Open the door and turn on the light
You had better be extremely quite
Or your goodly wife you may excite
And I'm sure she will not be polite
When she orders you out of her sight
There is no use trying to be contrite
The dog will have company overnight
Your goose is well and truly cooked alright
Categories:
cooked, funny, husband, wife,
Form:
Monorhyme
People like spokes of a wheel
Streaming in the church on a Sunday morning hill;
The preacher talks of the prodigal son,
While the gathering ends in a reverend song.
And Mama cooked a roast on Sunday.
The smell of the enticing pot
Of chuck and potatoes and onions, carrots,
Conjure memories of Sunday dinners,
Where a table was set for returning sinners.
And Mama cooked a roast on Sunday.
Filled and sleepy I had to wash dishes,
And left alone with my own wishes
That I, too, could nap while the folks read papers,
Instead of stuck with cloth and scraper.
While Mama left the roast on Sunday.
My mind would drift to people foreign thin, hungry and hot.
In other worlds across the seas,
And my young girl’s heart would dejectedly drop
Like my recent church bowed knees.
Where Mamas don’t cook roasts on Sunday
And now that I am old looking back on my life,
I hope my little coins helped feed a needy child,
Shooing away some flies from its mother’s eyes,
I pray that I’ll remember why,
Mama cooked a roast on Sunday.
Categories:
cooked, christian, mother, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
I Cooked the Book that Would Not Tap
A Doomsday, a nightmare gone wrong,
My hand shot with pain and didn’t stop,
Bandages hid the wound I wove for kong,
The silence echoed round the wheel fop.
I screamed with tears which said the news,
When sirenes had been screened for writ,
Draughts unveiled the blood for reviews,
That cared enough to dare read the fit.
Arching, the doctor stood vacant and here,
Physicalism bent metaphor until she looped,
Analogy personified emphatic nature’s fear,
When realism criticised cubisms’ truly trooped.
Critical realism still made no ontological sense,
My metaphysical slippers knew no god,
Subjectivism objected to empirical arms tense,
When constructivism departed from my odd.
I could not write to epistemology for methodology,
‘Cos clearly my relativity had got it substantive.
Moral absolutism saw humankind as pedagogy,
Still, not yet a guess, a list, a bond, gift, a plaintiff.
Rationalism was not a natural phenomenon, fair,
No predicates set my entities alight to condition,
The proposition adjunct to abstract and layer,
I imagined the mathematics that truly supposition.
This OR that, tip AND rat, not for me or negation
FOR ALL humanities THERE EXISTS a surreal,
Mere, underneath my formula, nude propagation,
Creating the sum of me that axiomed regal’s legal.
Logic. Logic, just pure blooded logic. Critical,
Crucial. Conscience, not questioning the cost, fact,
Never asking for terms or claim, the carer brutal,
The dame. The lame as mentioning the act.
Structural.
Rhoda Monihan
Categories:
cooked, analogy, angst, appreciation, atheist,
Form:
Quatrain
A mathematician, I am not
How to figure I forgot.
Forget the hypotenuse,
For it ain’t no use.
Pythagoras, keep your theorem,
For it causes me delirium.
A mere child said he’d explain,
With a smirk to cover disdain.
“Three 3s are 9; four 4s are 16.
Stay with me, and see what I mean.
Add 9 and 16 for 25.
And then the hypotenuse comes alive.”
By this time I was feeling quite glum.
So, I chimed in, not to sound dumb.
“The square root of 25 is 5,” I smiled.
“You’ve got it, Mister,” replied the child.
Right then I knew without doubt,
When my wife and I ride about,
Our traveling miles will greatly reduce,
When we take the slanting hypotenuse.
Categories:
cooked, math,
Form:
Quatrain
Mommy and I have to eat home cooked meals
At the restaurant
Because mommy is determined to keep up this
Fam’ly front.
No one can know we live in misery.
Though we wear Oleg Cassini and
Carry a Coach purse
We live in love’s poverty.
I think I’m getting an ulcer.
But, she eats slow
And I clean my plate
Don’t want to get home too early
We want to waste time
And get home very late
We eat out almost every night
To make people think everythings alright
I no longer ask why she doesn’t confess
And try to get us out of this mess.
She just feels she’ll never be blessed
And she wants to keep her designer suits
And bags…
She thinks she’s trapped
And it’s all very sad…
And
I think I’m getting an ulcer…
Categories:
cooked, abuse, childhood, crazy, family,
Form:
Rhyme
I cannot anymore say “I do not give a hoot!”
When a policeman pulls over my car,
First thing I say is, “Officer, please don’t shoot!”
Now, I am afraid to go--to venture very far
From the security of my very own back yard
I no longer visit my local neighborhood bar
These days we need a personal security guard
To feel safe when we go to the village malls
Guns from all public places should be barred
Once we could handle old-fashioned brawls
But with serial killers and snipers on the loose
I am afraid our backs are pressed to the walls
Discarded social mores have cooked our goose.
Categories:
cooked, how i feel, social,
Form:
Terza Rima
Cigarettes are the cornerstone
Of any nutritious breakfast:
Try them in omelettes,
Over easy - Or sunny side up!
Crumble them on cereals,
Hot or cold
- For a flavor combination
That is absurdly
Out of this time zone!
It'll put curly hair on your legs and chest
- Regardless of your sexual preference!
What the hell are you waiting for?!
A personal invitation? - Then consider this the one!
Categories:
cooked, america, anxiety, cancer, change,
Form:
Free verse
Smoked ribs cooked to perfection,
Slow with anticipation.
Like love, is much better savored –
Than quick hot cooking.
Ó November 15, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Categories:
cooked, food, love,
Form:
Dodoitsu
The First Time I Cooked Pinto Beans
By Elton Camp
I wanted to eat some pintos
So I cooked up a pot of those
And when done, I tried a bite
Found they didn’t seem right
Didn’t know stones to dispose
Categories:
cooked, funny
Form:
Rhyme
Every now and then,
When the moon is in the right quarter,
I think of my daughter,
And then,
I want to bake a cheesecake that is even better,
Than the one I baked to impress her then.
An invitation to tea when the moon was in the right quarter,
So out came my old recipe book then,
A lemon cheese cake, could not be better,
A week to get the ingredients then,
And make a cheesecake that trumps the last one I made my daughter.
And then,
Back to the recipe book before the moon moved to an unfavorable quarter,
Now where in the book was the lemon cheesecake recipe then,
It had to be there, the moon was still in the right quarter,
What other explanation could there be then,
Later after an hour and a quarter,
I found I was not yet going out of my mind then,
And could put off upsetting my daughter.
If it is a lemon cheesecake I told my other daughter,
That is what it should be called then,
Especially when the moon is in the right quarter,
So why call it a superb cheesecake then,
As I have no wish to upset my daughter,
Before the time comes when?
.
i
Categories:
cooked, anxiety, baptism, blue, celebration,
Form:
Burlesque
A curve of sky
in a corner cusps a smooth,
thick dusting
of carrot-mauve hues
tonight. Drapes over heather
trees
whose arms
and hands bend with this drowsy sky
as it starts
to fall asleep-
the cyrean "silk" upon
which this
cantaloupe tint
is traced, daubed, by the brushstrokes
of Mother Nature;
is ready
for the deep onyx doves-with halos-
of a cold Spring night.
With the Heavens'
cut diamonds-for the Goddess-
and immaculate
lambency.
This soft lusty Dusk will Father
a shiny glass red
rose,
a radio balefire
that will
capitivate
through the limbs of the esteemed
trees,
wink
through this Springtime's beetling
intimacies
on a windy night.
The man-made magenta
comforts
as it beams
next to the "Sunrise Field",
mowed emerald blades
under
another sky of day-break
pigments-
a dawn
placenta of bright lemon
vanilla,
and little
sugar- coated strawberry
juices-
another corner
of the clay, sea, and cloud-and ash-
colored campus-
bewitching
oil paintings in crystalline
emblems...
Categories:
cooked, allusion, appreciation, beautiful,
Form:
Haiku
Cooked
If Mr Ramsey tasted my food
His head would crease, and say something rude
But I do my best with what I’ve got
And I bung it all-in a great big pot
No one listens to my excuses
And my eggs gratin has several strange uses
My pis de resistance is egg and chips
Hurts your stomach; stays on your hips
I gave some leftovers to my dog
He trotted upstairs and spat it in the bog
He’d seen this happen lots before
He’s an intelligent dog do I need to say more?
So Mr Ramsey if you're ever near by
I could use some tips and some crisp and dry
I’d make you a meal you’d not forget
And a dog’s free transfer if you wanted a pet.
David Cox 08/12/21
Categories:
cooked, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
The whole day food of all lives,
Already cooked in huge pots,
And brought to the tables by angels,
Not packed,
But still hot,
Huge meals for men's tongues to tongues,
Small,small meals of birds and ants,
The big meal of big elephants times three,
To have anybody any time,any where free,
Toiling men day and night,
Going for work in the Snow white,
In the hot summer to fight,
To get their portions of cooked meals,
But not as they look and feel!
Categories:
cooked, creation, food,
Form:
Free verse
A HOME COOKED MEAL IS THE ORDER OF THE DAY.
A TAKE OUT MEAL WON'T DO.
A BOX MEAL IS NOT MADE FROM SCRATCH.
COLD CUTS ARE FOR LUNCH.
COME ON GIRL AND STOP PLAYING AND PUT
A POT ON THE STOVE ; AND GO FOR WHAT
YOU KNOW.
HOME COOKING IS WHY I MARRIED YOU.
SO DO WHAT YOU USED TO DO AND STOP
CRYING THE BLUES.I'M TIRED TO. I
WORKED ALL DAY LONG. I DESERVE A
HOT MEAL WHEN I COME HOME.THIS IS
ONE OF THE BENEFITS OF BEING MARRIED.
I KEEP A SMILE ON YOUR FACE.I DRESS
YOU WITH CLASS ; AND YOU NEVER LOOK
LIKE TRASH. PUT A POT ON THE STOVE;
BECAUSE YOUR MAN IS COMING HOME.YOUR
HOME COOKED MEALS ARE MADE FROM LOVE.
THIS IS WHAT MY STOMACH IS THINKING OF.
A HOME COOKED MEAL IS THE ORDER OF THE
............DAY.........................
Categories:
cooked, caregiving, family, food, satire,
Form:
Rhyme
Sun-kissed dipped and baked
Wonderful gifts to man for him to take
Be it from a tree or a vine
Please take with grace and in kind
No need for a stove, microwave, or grill
It's been perfectly cooked by the sun so
you just need to see, smell and feel
Bountiful blessings beautifully unbound
Leafy greens, meaty melons, and juicy berries
all around
Categories:
cooked, appreciation, blessing, food, fruit,
Form:
Rhyme