Best Diced Poems
Many ingredients bake writing inspiration.
This recipe combines a stirring sensation:
Heaps of desires never realized
as marinated in teary sore eyes;
Quantities of wide open spaces
caramelized by nature’s appeal;
Ageless genuine emotional traces
sifted thru heart rendered graces;
Equal parts family and romantic love
as roasted within, without and above;
Measured creamed ideals of peace
with blanched pain and battle grease;
Diced wishes braised with thrill
bearing aromas of tangy heat or chill;
Slices of awe from a glorious tree
breaded with traits strong and free;
I do not forget sour spices of greed
dusted with mankind’s violent seed;
A mix of fears dredged in anxiety
with stress jelled in complexity;
and, lastly, faith garnished spirit
grown in a soul conscious thicket.
If able, I mix love with ingredients above
before sampling my recipe once warmed up.
I enjoy serving it in a poetry cup.
I'm near cuckoo
This Monday blue
A day not eas'ly recommended
for making sense
I'm way too tense
And hung-over to comprehend it
My mind's on the bend
my imaginary friends
are threatening to abandon en masse
I was perfectly sane
till they pissed in my brain
negotiations are at an impasse
It pains me to mention
the bone of contention
menacing our peaceful existence
my voices of own creation
went above their station
with mutinous and unfair persistence
Old Mother Hubbard
had sneaked to the cupboard
to steal skeleton bones for her yapper
the skeletons in-wait
welcomed their bait
with little resistance managed to trap her
As to why she'd no clue
their demands were few
and until met they'd keep her as hostage
twixt two skeletons squeezed
the hag was well-pleased
only in dreams she was ever in bondage
The skeletons vacated
on their long-awaited
crusade for their rights to be equal
a sudden scurry in my head
when the voices I have bred
became hushed, which was rather unusual
The spokes-skeleton
passed a colorless wind
voiced their single demand: to remain
"We were made to vanish
to a dark cupboard banished
we demand henceforth to share your domain."
A resounding "No!
You'll stay down below
we're totaling 20, including the yapper
there's hardly space
the din to embrace
and an hour-long queue to the crapper."
"Then the beldam Hubbard
will remain in the cupboard
lore would have it, bare to the bone
the cupboard, that is
not the hag, whose Maltese
diced up raw will be fed to the crone.
We implore you most
kindly engage our host
in negotiations and if necessary plead
we want into his brain
and share your domain
or prepare for a skeleton stampede."
PART 2 TO FOLLOW. THIS MIGHT TAKE A WHILE, AS I'M LOCKED IN HOSTILE NEGOTIATIONS
Autumn unreeled
Forests shaken hollow
settling
like shipwrecked beauty
Tree masts of moss
Colourful mobs of decay
unspooling
Last strands of conceit
Rag tag laurels
capsized
casual drift of sacrifice
Diced leaves of October,
change
that drains potency
Resplendent wreckage
An unraveling season
faint
in slim, silvered light
Outcomes unavoidable
with fertility plundered
Gold leaf patches
fallen
treasures washed overboard
a trail of flotsam
in the lost ego of summer
Ragged contortion
in sea-water cold
in a quiet that marks
transition
Poem composed: Spring 2020
(Revised September 29th, 2022)
Bust to the extreme
And collide with your foes
Be ruthless and heartless
When smash on them hoes
Leave no stone unturned
When your searching for a "snatch"
Always be ready
To smash that ass
Cause they sneaky as ****
Waiting patiently for you to slip
Or get down on your luck
Then you looked surprised
When your ass gets stuck
Like how could this happen
How could this be
They said they would have my back
Always
Always and tomorrow
Are two in the same
Cause when you wake up tomorrow
Its today
And always is cool
Till it comes time for change
And that's all I'm gonna say
You seek fortune
And you seek fame
Then your a prime target
For them bogus lames
And trifling dames
That try to get at you in the beginning
So they can snatch your change
When you do make a name
Its all the same
Every mother****ing day
But u *****es ain't slick
Cause you all look fake
Like a ***** with teary eyes
You know she got raped
And took against her will
Just cause some ***** ass punk
Needed a thrill
Well meet your maker
I got a deal
Cause sent down in my presence
And your soul will get drilled
Chilled and chopped up
And diced up into a meal
For the dogs to eat
Now am I keeping it real
Or just real ill
My fates already been sealed
You silly bastard
I'm on the chopping block
And all you hear is my laughter
Before and after
The rapture
*****!
I SHUDDER TO THINK
I shudder to think about the way
Some vegetables are abused every day -
With physical and psychological slights
In gross violation of their vegetable rights.
Handicapped vegetables have no chance to fight back
Like eyeless potatoes - poor blind mites,
And baby carrots , aaw! Or peas-in-a-pod,
Eaten before they’re even born and take a breath.
Imagine those frantic runnerbeans
Desperately trying to escape.
No surprise that peas are strained.
My over-tired mum used to say, “Oh, I’m shredded.”
So I understand how tired shredded-cabbage must feel.
What about the potatoes who diced with death and lost?
Jerusalem Artichokes - “chokes” is horrible!
Why not “Jerusalem Passes Aways” ?
And ”Squash” ! - Please speak more politely:
What a way to go - we should say “Press Lightly”.
No wonder some clean-living veg are angry :
Parsnip - an angry snip from parson or clergy;
Swede resembling a tall blond person, Stockholm based;
With horrid ethnic humour ( bad taste)
Like sauerkraut (also bad taste)
(So-called humour about a surly German).
Look at insults basd on vegetables for a human -
“The IQ of a cabbage.” What ethnicity insults !
I’m sorry for tomatoes - all this veg talk results
In them being called a vegetable dish
It’s like calling Scots people English.
Sheer vegetable racism is the worst. Mixed potato and carrot salad?
Not in apartheid South Africa – their salad had to be pallid.
Oh yes some veg are spoiled like children :
Coddled cauliflower warmed in milk ; then
Brazed egg-plants (please call snobby ones aubergines)
Suntanned slowly at their leisure;
And butter (not margarine) beans cooked with pleasure.
It’s too horrible entirely, the abuse is complete
I’ll stop being vegetarian, and start eating meat.
Oh, pungent onion, large, sweet and fried
in golden rings, diced, sauteed for
casseroles or grilled with meats;
tossed raw into my greens!
I love you so, that
when I slice your
skin, I’m the
one that
weeps!
Anchored by its feet hangs the carcass
Butcher removes brisket and strings it
Chuck steak diced for stews and pies
Dark well matured silverside rests
Entrails give the dogs a royal feast
Flank minced for spaghetti bolognese
Gullet chopped into stock pot simmers
Hanging meat swings as the butcher works
Icy still from the blast chiller
Juicy steaks thickly cut are parcelled up
Kebabs skewered, placed on display
Loin of beef neatly lined up
Minced steak patties for burgers
Neck used in both stock pot and stew
Offal set aside for pate and pies
Perfectly roasted beef ready to carve
Quick flash fry of rib eye seals in juices
Rump not too trimmed dribbles on grill
Sirloin anointed by a king sizzling
Tongue gently braised in gravy or stock
Utensils casting shadows on the wall
Venison from red deer's makes tasty things
Wing rib rubbed with hot spices waits
Xhosa cattle graze in pastures green
Yellowed meats set aside for soup
Zibeline hides scrapped and cured, nailed up
8/27/2015
contest Any Poem written in August
Within the subtle soundless silence
There exist echoes of a lingering loud
My pendulous heart decrees in defiance
Such emotions plundered and ploughed
Like a geocentric giant guillotine
My lamenting love sacrificially sliced
My soul slaved in the Enigma machine
Where dreams are deceptively diced
The loving light battles the darkest day
And sorrows surrender at portals gate
For love barely escapes the submissive sway
Marauding memories reminisce and recreate
Stained surreal abiding accumulative art
A priceless painting of my Pendulous Heart.
May.20.2017
Pendulum of Time and Place - Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
My love for all on Poetry Soup
like a tasty broth group.
Cook and stir
* 2 pounds lean Lebanon ground
in Dutch oven over medium-high heat,
breaking the Lebanon meat up as it cooks,
until all is no longer pink and has
started to brown, about 10 minutes.
Stir in the
* 2 Canada onions, chopped
* 3 United Kingdom garlic cloves, chopped
and cook for another 1o minutes
Stir in
* 3 cups Africa water
* 2 (15 ounce) United States cans tomato sauce
* 2 (14.5 ounce) cans India diced tomatoes
* 3 tablespoons Isle Of Man soy sauce
* 2 tablespoons dried Italian herb seasoning
* 3 Philippines bay leaves
* 1 tablespoon seasoned Bangladesh salt, or to taste
and bring to a boil over medium heat.
Stir
* 2 cups uncooked elbow Australia macaroni,
cover, and simmer over low heat until the pasta is tender,
about 25 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Poets with golden ink and pens
that make us move forward as friends
with inspiration, kindness, and honesty,
encouragement and compliments.
A small act of caring, which has the potential
to turn a life around.
I thank each and everyone of you far and near.
3/14/2022
PASTA: A FORK OF HEAVEN
In a pot of bubbling boiling water,
I drop hard nine inches long bundle of farfelles..
Minutes passed,between my fingertips,
I pressed one strand, al- dente!
In a platter glittering white,
I form a fist of fresh-cooked pasta noodles,
pouring a hot scoop of white
creamy silky sauce made from:
parmesan and pecorino
melted, blended in a saucepan,
flavored more with a savory stock,
tossed of shallots, saffron and lean meat.
The sauce must be rich enough
coating all the threads of farfelles...
Garnishing it with grated cheese,
teaspoonful crunchy diced bacon,
a pinch of chopped flat leaf parsley...
Voila! Who could refuse this tasty fork of heaven?
__________________________________________________
***farfelle - a type of pasta: thick and wide noodles
al -dente - a pasta noodle cooked all the way through except in the center being slightly undone
CONTEST name: DIDACTIC FOOD
~~3rd place~~
1:54pm, September 09, 2015
Slice ham so thin, your in-laws will never come back
This pearl of wisdom came my way
So many years ago
A TV ad that to this day,
The funniest I know
It sliced and diced, did everything
A kitchen chef could seek
In fact, it claimed that it could make
ONE tomato last a week!
But best for me as I recall,
Laughed so hard, I could die-
Onions it could dice so fast,
You don’t have time to cry!
From “The Miracle Slicer”
To weigh him hold him by tail
Six pounds fresh not stale
Skin if not and toss in pot
Diced red potato
Large ripe tomato
Cook him slow
Oh!
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Twelfth Place Winner ~ "Low Country Boil” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sara Kendrick
Aug. 15, 2011
He chooses his medium and tools carefully:
It's oil and sable promise today.
He lays it on thick-haphazardly.
He folds then unfolds the unframed canvas many times
into the shape of a woman.
Squeezing out her dignity,
then reads what's left behind...
(his flavor of voodoo).
He fondles her entrails-shakes her bones.
That spill into the shape of.. "a little less than yesterday".
Picked over prey, he frames her.
Hangs her in his fun house tilted mind;
Then he buzzard hops away, taking to the sky.
Circling above, searching for another pair of wide soft eyes.
He chooses his medium carefully...to fit the deed.
Today it's his black clay heart that changes shape.
From a soft nest- to a cold, cackling cage...
The bunny takes the musky bait,
he spits gasoline on the bars.
Runs metal talons against a dying star...
igniting her.
He waits till her ashes cool.
He inhales deeply, puts the rest in a mason jar.
...proclaiming victory
he slithers away...
He chooses his medium carefully.
Today it's his stained-glass smile....
"His heavenly mirage".
A magnet for the she doves
which fly into it, heart first.
They're diced with shards from a toxic rainbow.
But there is no gold at the end.
Only hollow caves and poisoned winds...
He dons his cape and crown of dying doves.
Which have since turned from white to red.
He lounges around, buffing his trophies with a split tongue.
He chooses his medium carefully...
********************************************
Mawmaw's icebox fruitcake sliced
Expose those colorful candied fruits
coarsely diced and smell so very nice
Sweetened condensed milk doesn't dilute
Chopped pecans and raisins~tasters recruit
How about you?
Recipe:
I box Graham Crackers crushed
Add three cups chopped dried candied fruits(different colors)
Add 3/4 cup raisins
Add 1 1/2 cups of chopped nuts your choice
One cup of miniture Marshallows
1 can of sweetened condensed milk poured over all
Stir until all is moist..If not quite enough add either
Marachino Cherry liquid or sweet milk
It needs to be a little sticky
Keep the Graham Cracker box and cut the top wide part on three sides
to make a flap, line the box with wax paper
Press the mixture into the box and seal up with cling wrap
Keep refrigerated until ready to serve..
This is a very good fruit cake, moist and very rich
A very small slice is all needed with some milk or coffee
When
I sit at my computer musing and trying to compose meaningful verse.
Try as I might with Shakespearian panache my lines to intersperse,
With profound nuggets of enlightenment to attain universal fame,
My concentration is lost in a fog, like an ever-changing movie frame!
I suppose I could blame this dilemma on my dear, long-suffering spouse.
She's cooking beef stew for supper - the aroma is wafting about the house!
Now, how am I to concentrate on versifying when my palate is just itchin',
To delve into that delectable ambrosia she's slaving over in the kitchen!
Ah! I can hardly wait to taste that mouth-watering olio awaiting me!
She makes the best in town, tossing all kinds of stuff in that potpourri!
Of course there is the best of beef that she has tenderized and diced,
And the scrumptious gravy with exotic herbs she has liberally spiced!
She adds sweet peas, a tolerable amount of corn and russet pertaters,
And just enough onions for my taste, green peppers and fresh termaters!
Green beans, carrots and a tad of celery top off this fantastic brew!
Le Cordon Bleu Chef at the Ritz dare not concoct a more elegant stew!
Alas, I've wasted all afternoon trying to hatch up some credible rhyme,
But my thoughts have been consumed with that ragout laced with thyme!
Ah! My wife announces supper is ready so I'm gonna load my plate!
That poetic masterpiece I had in mind today will just have to wait!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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