Best Curd Poems
Dripping doorsteps or bubble and squeak
I ate so much I couldn't speak
Apple pie and clotted cream
Used to make my taste buds scream.
Home made parkin or treacle toffee
Steaming mugs of dads camp coffee
Corned beef hash or dumplings and stew
Onion gravy with a Yorkshire pudding or two.
Roast beef sarnies covered with mustard
Sherry trifle with banana custard
Hot steak pie and mushy peas
Cauliflower and melted cheese .
Lemon curd tart or angel cake
The sausage rolls my mum would make
The massive helpings on my plate
Turned me into a heavy weight.
My mother thought it a wonderful sight
To see a child with a healthy appetite
After years of dieting I'm now much thinner
Though I must admit I want my dinner.
You unfold the mantles of paradise in my eyes,
As I, ambassador of beauty in curtsy arms, rise!
When I stand from the deck with awe and wonder,
I wish our ferry flies and soars high like a bird.
All charms I see are truths of songs I’ve heard,
As whirs of zip wires play like violin over yonder.
While I stroll the landscape to explore and wander
I’ve glimpse of the moon peeking behind a day cloud curd.
moonlight smiles with sun
as bright foliage unfurl
pirouette cold gentle breeze
adorn forest field
eyes dance on green lake to shore
sun-moon ballroom I sojourn
October 19, 2016 11.50am
Copyright2016Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
First Place
Contest: Three Style II (Couplet, Sedoka, Free Verse)
Judged: 10/22/2016
Sponsor: Poet Laura Loo
Who cut the curd cyanide cheese,
thinning out the rank suspect crowd?
Who gassed death in the air bleed,
releasing an odor murder most foul?
Follow the phew olfactory clues,
motive scented everywhere ghoul smell
Mrs. White was it your grey hairs ...
leaving a poison bottom bottle mist trail
spiraling down the Library stairs?
Professor Plum where did you
just Hallway fruity fungi come from?
The Observatory Room window was open,
but now it’s mysteriously been closed
Did you concoct this suffocating wrench plan,
and what’s with the cotton-stuffed nose?
Everybody here got the crimson royal flushed face,
that could only mean one candlestick thing —
Miss Scarlet’s been butt creeping around the place,
no doubt, looking for the hidden bling-bling
Still, who got the super bad mojo Bathroom bowels,
so flatulently criminal ... making eyes roll?
Who put Mr. Green’s intestinal aerosol-laced towels
in the Kitchen behind the snuff dish bowl?
What do those Clues tell you, Lady A.C. detective,
it’s a foul play odor-kill so Murder She Wrote
A farted-out farce, very nasal encore hard to sniff —
the last big reveal is an Insp. Clouseau note:
Colonel Mustard did it
with a gastronomical strangling choke
In the Guest Room
with a belly-loosened, vapor belt rope
I followed milky and mouldy scents,
down cobbled and narrow paths,
only to see it riddled with rats,
feasting on Feta and Camembert,
whilst the wine sipping Uppers prepared to
clash against the cider swigging downers!
The Fromage Frenzy and Curd Craze deli.
across from the Dizzy Duck and the Boastful Bard taverns
had been ransacked with only cracker crumbs on the floor.
All the cheesemongers were hiding in their basements.
All the landlords locked away in their cellars!
Bar stools dripping with Chardonnay and Merlot,
carpets soaked in 'Scrumpy Jack' and 'Strongbow.'
It was utter chaos as the 'cheese shed' raged on...
The goats and the cows watched,
as the town folk gathered on either side.
Anger in their eyes, yelling insults like;
'Cheap cheddar gobblers' and 'stinky Stilton munchers.'
This was not cultural tensions,
nor issues with tariffs, quotas or labelling practises-
this was a war of the social classes!
They were not fighting with fists or weapons,
oh no, no no..
The Downers started squirting stinky cheese sauce,
drenching the Uppers with its reeking stench.
However, when the Uppers started hurling
Storico and Caciocavallo Podolico,
back at the Downers, they simply,
started consuming it with their cider!
Both fractions kept pelting and sprinkling,
until little Joey from the farm,
reminded them the football had started,
so off they plodded to watch the game,
singing and laughing together,
arm in arm, munching on cheese
they had salvaged from their skirmish.
Apple many varieties sweet and sour
Banana soft fruit many uses
Cherry's are sweet watch out for its stone
Damson like a juicy plum
Elderberry fragrant good in wine
Fig many seeded fruit
Grapefruit similar to oranges but tarter
Honeydew melon lovely juicy type of gourd
Indian gooseberry good in pies
Jostaberry a cross between gooseberry, black gooseberry and black currant
Kiwi a tasty green fruit
Lemon can be very tart
Mango juicy fruit with delicate flavour
Nectarine similar to a peach
Orange sweet and juicy usually full of pips
Papaya also known as pawpaw
Quince very sharp like a lime
Raspberry most useful at banquets
Strawberry and ice-cream a summer delight
Tomato both used as a fruit and vegetable
Ugli fruit a gourd like fruit thats tasty
Valancia orange small sweet fruit that packs a punch
Water melon another gourd like fruit
Ximenia Caffra is like a very sour plum
Yellow passion fruit is similar to passion fruit normally cooked as a curd
Zucchini flowers often cooked in batter
I found a hair in my egg roll
Lipstick was left on my glass
Discounted prices, no wonder
Bean curd is giving me gas
Cracks in the dishes are nothing
Cracks in the seats are too much
My bottom’s nearly deflated
Next thing, the floor it will touch
Speaking of floors, they’re so sticky
My foot stepped out of my shoe
An hour you’ve been in the bathroom
Search party’s looking for you
Get me the check, where’s my cookie
Ugh, there’s no fortune inside
Chow Mein is starting to rumble
Yuk! I think something has died
Goodness me, fiddle dee dee and la de dah
Mary turned into a black sheep, baa baa baa
That naughty little lamb
Has contrived a big scam
She's gone too far astray and has lost her way
Mary's been tinkering on an old fiddle
But she can't play worth a piddle or diddle
She's as crazy as a loon
Mind and fiddle outta tune
Even the cow can unravel this riddle
I heard about the guy, name of Jack Horner
Who hangs around the lamp post on the corner
Mary does his bidding
It's true. I'm not kidding
She didn't listen when I tried to warn her
What'd you plant in your garden, Mary Mary?
I heard smokin' it will make you quite merry
The feds have grown wise
To her innocent disguise
My goodness! She's become very contrary!
Mean ol' Mary dressed up as Little Bo Peep
To bully and mock the flock of grazing sheep
She is shamefully cruel
I'd meet her in a duel
To put an end to that mean-spirited creep
Last weekend she frightened Little Miss Muffet
Who was eating a light lunch on her tuffet
Munching her whey and curd
When Mary dropped a turd
Then ran off, telling Miss Muffet to stuff it!
What a fussy hellcat Mary has become
Her lies have people describing her as 'scum'
She's bonkers in the head
Obviously ill bred
and if you believe a word she says, you're dumb
Evil is a person who chases blind mice
But by now we all know Mary is not nice
She screamed at them, "Now run!"
Then shot 'em with her gun
One day that ghastly creature will pay the price
The Big Bad Wolf's a hero in Mary's thinking
Cuz he's dreadful to others without blinking
He was mean to two pigs
when he blew down their digs
Mary's just as horribly cruel, I'm thinking
Like Humpty Dumpty, who once sat on a wall
Mary's wicked ways will lead to her downfall
A powder keg's been lit
It will hurt quite a bit
But she's a bad egg who always starts a brawl
Farewell, then, AUKN boss,
The next this year makes three.
By the time they find a substitute,
Slovenes will be at sea.
He tried to cover his behind;
AUKN boss of bosses,
As every week, balances grew bleak:
He weighed merits and losses.
With all this he'd no time to eat,
And round and round he flew.
And now he's split in a hissy-fit;
So helmsman, too-de-loo!
Day after day, day after day,
He drifted on the ocean;
Guano-vernment rained on his ship
Their suggestions for promotion.
Cousins, cousins, everywhere,
Corporate boards crosslink;
Cousins, cousins, everywhere,
Let's take you for a drink.
Accountants talking rot: O Christ!
Missions, visions - oh please!
Yea, slimy characters need legs
And slimy policies.
So has he done an hellish thing?
Not hired who? We dunno:
Was it absurd, to have a separate curd
From the whey Slovenia owes?
This wretch won't play, after 60 days;
Pissflaps, he'll have to go!
God help ya, gospod Bencina
From the fiends, that plague us thus! -
It's time to go — shot like cross-bow,
The AUKN boss.
Ah! walk-out day! what evil looks
Had I from Ernst and Young!
Who's at a loss? AUKN's boss
Wouldn't take a bung?
"You'll be" quoth one, "abolished - no
Stigma to double-cross."
He chose to go - why? We don't know:
Harmless AUKN boss.
Re-reading the original gave me a great idea for dinner until I realised all the storks have all flapped off to Africa for the winter. Pity, as I have some ancient marinade from Tuš. Like the subject of the poem, I didn't have the stamina for a Coleridge-length effort.
Story: http://www.sloveniatimes.com/total-mess-in-state-owned-capital-asset-management
The National Poet Of Slovenia In A Language People Understand interprets important Slovenian affairs for the non-Slovene speaking world. www.maria.si
In the treehouse, we used to play,
hands dipped in paints and statues of clay.
Playing with the dollhouse, eating rice and curd,
I remember how treehouse became our world.
She planned things and I worked them to reality.
we had the small gang. Just me and her smiling perfectly.
But then one day, she went somewhere,
without telling, as if she didn't care.
She left with the countless memories.
And left me in infinite miseries.
She left me so saddened,
and I pity, when I see my treehouse so abandoned.
....
My muse did her fealty recuse
My honor she did stealthily reconnoiter
My discourse was grounds for divorce
Finding my writing no longer enlightening
My blithe parlance no longer my mistress did entrance
With my prose she did forthrightly dispose
Each short she did subsequently abort
Each regaling verse did prudently disburse
Each perforated line truncated with lackluster shine
Each conjured sentence only increased my penance
Each glamorous byline she did smugly decline
Each dilated phrase with a bridling border did encase
Each gilded stanza a burnished extravaganza yielding no artful bonanza
Each tethered word coagulated into a stolid curd
Each bloated quote sunk my creative float deeper in the moat
Each lofty rhyme labeled too smarmy and sublime
My metric time no longer struck a concordant chime
Each literary device neatly spliced would not even a novice entice
Each repetitive, stagnant metaphor made my verse a bore
Each strained, tortured simile engendered no empathy
Each supplanted metonymy a shock wave lobotomy
I got my nickname in first grade
My memory of this will never fade
I'm 6 years old a whole world to see
mom says there's kids to play with me
I wonder if my friends will be there
Maybe they will save me a chair
I'm there now sitting in a school room
My friends aren't there I think I'm doomed
I'm sitting by a girl in the front row
She smiled at me, why? I don't know
Then I felt it start, to my surprise
that funny feeling you get deep inside
You feel like a balloon about to burst
not now, please, let me put it in reverse
The harder I tried, the worse it gets
Think they will mind if I release it
If I let it go slow so they won't hear
Maybe, they won't smell it or shed a tear
It's to late, must let it go, it's just not fair
A loud long blast is coming from my chair
I closed my eye hoping nobody heard
then came that smell, it's like rotten curd
I open my eyes willing to face my fears
I see their holding their noses and in tears
Teacher asked me, Steve do you need to leave
The kids snicker, as they shout Stinky Steve
pooping contest :-) ((Don't Ask to go to the bathroom!))
entry 5-16-2012
Be classy and fabulous
Be silly and fun
Go ahead and get dirty
Dance in the sun
Be confident and proud
Be hungry for knowledge
Follow your dreams
And please
Go to college
Have tons of friends
Don't be one dimensional
Wherever you end up
Be sure it's intentional
Be a woman of strength
And a child of God
Be goofy and different
Be a bit odd
Always be yourself
Despite what others say
Stay little as long as you can
Never forget how to play
Learn to change a tire
And the oil in your car
Never depend on a man
Know who you are
Travel the world
Widen your horizons
Always speak truth
Don’t live in hiding
Be a true friend
Stay true to your word
Don't succumb to gossip
It’s just bully curd
Don't burn bridges
Admit when you're wrong
Forgive and forget
Play your favorite song
Sing as loud as you can
Laugh until it hurts
Fake it till you make it
Find whatever works
Wherever you go
Don’t forget your way home
Think of me and dad
Pick up the phone
January twelfth two thousand and ten
witnessed near annihilation and destruction
of the Haitian nation
whereby countless/ nameless individuals
e’en the strongest Herculean type men
crushed by humungous slabs of building facades
practically demolishing every creation
since this island settled, which indigenous tribes
sought safety in any geologic den
seeking solace and salvation from wrath of nature
by paying obeisance via oblation
perhaps giving credence to clear water
in tandem with rooster and hen
that laid a golden egg,
especially as encroaching savages affected violation
particularly when Europeans foisted
forfeiture of land with primitive implement like pen
no matter that travesty, trickery, mockery,
et cetera wrought humiliation
pleading invaders to forsake such actions
that rent asunder culture beseeched god when
these brutish, nasty and (shortish) simians to cease desecration
yet the peoples of this dominion rose
from the ashes like the phoenix like bird
no mattered genetic pool
underwent white washing from scouring influx
from western thumping proselytizers,
which alien beliefs hard to swallow like curd
and basically bribery (with lustrous trinkets)
and those coveted legal tender bucks
foisted/ forced the unpleasant alternative
(wanton slaughter) to be clearly heard
yet within the very fiber of tropical man grove persons
patiently lined up their ducks
and declared as the first African American peoples
INDEPENDENCE to be the word
whence adulation, elation, inspiration akin to the sound winged fowl clucks
until the advent of the major earthquake
composed by this aging hippy type nerd
whereat remote control san voodoo affect every bloody word!
Unquotable quotes - III
When in Rome, do as the Roman Nero.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the vain and the
insane.
A grenade a day keeps the refugee away.
Cut your coat according to your girth.
The kettle calling the pot back.
Like father, like son; like mother, like neither.
Singing in the rain can get you pain in Spain.
Singing in the rain in Paris can get you chicks who do
the twist with fairies.
A sound heart in a sick body is like a tart groggy with
toddy.
The sun also rises best in the West.
Who said beggars are not choosers: they can choose the
place and moment they beg.
A white tiger abhors orange.
A policeman’s girl always wears handcuffs behind her
back.
A lawyer who licks the back of hands always gets paid
first.
A judge who yells at you tends to reduce the sentence to
a phrase.
Building castles in the air with sand is cheaper by far.
A marathon runner remembers the thighs but not the
laps.
At the end of the day is when you make your greatest
mistake – you go to sleep.
Churn milk to make curd: churn speech to make turd.
Pounding rice as a marriage rite brings no surprise on
the wedding night.
One swallow doesn’t make a drunkard out of a
teetotaller, but it sure signals a dry summer.
Cricketing jargon
The late-cut is the shave you missed out.
The off-cut is the cover drive turned phut.
The leg-pull is the batsman’s bras de fer to the leg
spinner.
The long-stop is the twelth man on the field.
The straight drive pierces the umpire’s reverie.
The full-toss is the fast bowler’s slipped disc.
The ton-up comes after the spin bowlers give up.
The innings defeat is the army beating the retreat.
Test matches end up in ditches for pitches.
A bumper is an un-coded message from the bowler to the
batsman.
A bumper is an overt warning to the inveterate blocker.
Tail-enders get to face the best batsmen all-rounders.
Umpires inspect pitches at the start of a match for coins
dropped by lawn-mowers.
An over-throw is a fielded ball flung by an outfielder at
the umpires and which misses the wickets by miles.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
.
How about a One Pot Kitchen
Minimalist to the Max
First sort out Food
Millet - 5 grains
And a Clay pot
Rotate millets
Every 2 days
Soak and boil
Soak for 8 hrs.
In 5 times water
Leave it overnight
Thereafter COOK it !
first thing in the morning
Slow cook an hour on flame
Toss some greens and veggies
The porridge gets ready as base
With warm soup as the first course
add some crackling spice in Niger oil
Now we need just 1 more vessel ..that ..is ...all
I use a cast Iron ‘ kadahi’ from here on
Flame it hot ..cast iron pot...pour Ghee
Add some chopped onions spices et al.
The cooked millet porridge is tossed in
And voila you can make any no.of dish
And yes. NO compulsory need for Salt.
Now the real fun is ‘time management’
In a 24 hour cycle- Clay Pot is utilized
8 hrs soak 16 hrs to store the cooked
Lunch at 11 dinner by7 that’s 8+16 hr
(A 16 hr gap is suggested in between
2 big meals with light eat in evening)
Yes. Entire day the food stays fresh
+ Slight fermenting is encouraged
some add curd or coconut water
Sprouts ginger garlic turmeric
Boiled eggs potatoes sage
Vinegar Garnish
.
Millets in Clay pot
Experience Zen in kitchen