Best Garnishes Poems
I am the wind
the textured curl of clouds
those specks of glitter
silver and gold are my
illustrative gleams
the foiling wings
that flutter and flap
feathers ripe with color
complementing all rosy hills
a rolling kiss a splash of
blush a dash of spicy dish
the pepper and the salt
of a morning's stirring serving
see me in the meadows
there where wildflowers overflowing
bees and butterflies how they gaily
bob take lick like little children
at the serving tops of apples candied
making funny faces where those more
tart chasing rainbow tails the
fond remnants of showers
I made this day for you
now do me honor
save some acres from your cities
and roads
one or two at the least
as I keep sacred
your plot through the heavens
Lagos, the land where dreams berth at the shores of realities...
The oasis of potentials and priceless opportunities,
the hub of emerging economies and innovative technologies...
Lagos is working and moving forward.
Lagos, the land of fresh ideas and freedom;
Where street urchins and vibrant youth rise to stardom...
her streets never sleep, there is no room for boredom.
Lagos is working and moving forward.
Lagos is the model for efficient and excellent transportation,
The custodian of, quality, qualitative and free education.
The home of free health care delivery and effecient sanitation .
Lagos is working and moving forward.
Lagos is the ocean of big businesses and boundless beauty,
the IBILE of creativity and cultural diversity...
This is a global garden and African's model mega city.
Lagos is working and moving forward.
Eko Akete, the land of artistic and aquatic splendour;
the green garden that garnishes Nigeria with her glamour...
the habitation of hope, harmony and honour.
Lagos is working and moving forward.
Lagos, the home for all...both great and small;
the atlantic city of monuments, mansions and malls,
The microcosm of the Nigeria's terrestial ball...
Lagos is working and moving forwad.
It's been fifty year of excellence in commerce and industry.
It's been fifty years of great delivery of dividends of democracy.
It's been fifty years of quick and quality service delivery.
Lagos is working and moving forward.
It's been fifty years of child rights and youth empowerment
it's been fifty years of tourism and sport development
it's been fifty years of sweet synergy among all tiers of government.
Lagos is working and moving forward.
(*IBILE is the acronym for the division of Lagos. *Eko Akete is a traditional description of Lagos)
Beauty and the Beast
As her beauty glistens on the outside, her beast brutalizes and demeans her insides.
Belligerent engaged and in war with herself, hostile aggressiveness makes her beast comes out.
She desperately cries out, unable to discipline herself.
Her beast disassociates and separates her from forming any relationships with anyone else.
Her beast slowly takes her dignity and devitalizes her pride.
She is weaken and deprived of life.
She no longer sees her worth; her eyes tell her story of hurt.
Pain as a contributor a well-known donor, love has divorce her.
Forsaken entirely abandon since birth, to be truly loved she thirst.
Unable to see her beauty runs deep, genuinely shows her generosity that emphasizes her sincere honesty.
She garnishes her beastliness while smiling.
As her beast is hiding deeply behind her eyes, her glazy stare intensify her happy appearance as a glassy finish.
As her beast is frantic, her beauty becomes fraudulent.
Her smiles more deceitful her heart grows fragile emotions so gullible.
The meaning of love gravels.
Beauty and the beast she will forever be, for the love she crave the beast will forever eat.
Leaving her dying a unloved sleeping beauty.
...to my Mum
She was always in the kitchen,
kneading pastry with good humour,
blending garnishes and gossip
as she plied her magic wand
and it was dinner time.
Struggling with algebra
I'd agonize for hours, 'til frustration
got the best of me, she tucked me into bed.
In the morning she was ready with
a fried egg explanation and a hug.
Music was her gift to me, along with
many others, the sound of her soprano
voice still ringing in the air,
the wrath of God was nothing to
her tantrums at my misbehavior.
Sights and smells come bursting through
as if it were just yesterday,
gentle guidance and strict admonishments,
blending like her recipes
for cakes and moral codes.
it is one of those dinners
leaning in the doorway, she is working
to her, this is a simple one
spaghetti ala Carbonara
she explains it to me as she processes
pancetta is meat from pork belly
salt-cured in black pepper, other spices
made with egg, hard cheese
prefers to use the spaghetti noodles
altho other kinds of pasta are used
you may also use guanciale for pancetta
she fluctuates between Pecorino, Romano
for her hard cheese
before her, i also varied my cheeses
white and yellow American cheese
which soon disappeared in our marriage
leaning in the doorway
i am enthralled still as i watch her
years have only increased my ardor
and i do listen to her every word
upon the plate, it appears
garnishes with a grating of Parmigiano-Reggiano
topped with parsley
bread smothered in garlic, cheese liberally sprinkled
salad of spinach, kale, arugula, topped with
cherry tomatoes, black olives, her own dressing
sworn to silence about the dressing ingredients
at dinner, she explains the eggs
they feed the chickens marigolds to add yellow
the creamy is obtained by correctly emulsifying
eggs, cheese
using some of the water used for the pasta
i have heard every word
never taking my eyes off of her
now you may ask, hasn't she said this before
i will tell you, i heard every word
this is the woman
to whom i was reading poetry
on a park bench, a ritual in our lives
where love walked us to the aisle
praying Cupid would grant my wishes
unleash a quiver of arrows
suddenly streets were amok
full of beggars upon horses
she reached over and closed the book
then said, shut up and kiss me
my patience is at wit's end
love is mysterious in its ways
it is inside humor we share
over a plate of spaghetti ala Carbonara
outside the world dances in its din
the furnaces of stars churn away
and not once have the marigolds
at this table produced nostalgia
for my yellow American cheese
i have heard her every word
it has kept me on my toes
that life never presents her
at wit's end
3/5/19 Kismet
Bough's plentiful score
Wind garnishes acorn store
Rat residual
The Godly green grass grows gently as it greets the great giant garden...
The green giant garden generously gives gifts of gazing glimpses glistening...
The green goblin guilty gawking garnishes the gamma rays...
The green geometrical leaves gather gangly galore...
The glittering glossy green gem glows glamorously...
The green gabardine greets her gorgeous gentlemen...
Goodbye Green...
March.02.2016 For contest
...to My Mom
She was always in the kitchen,
kneading pastry with good humour,
blending garnishes and gossip
as she wove her magic wand
and it was dinner time.
Struggling with algebra
I'd agonize for hours, 'til frustration
got the best of me, she tucked me into bed.
In the morning she was ready with
two fried eggs, the answer, and a hug.
Music was her gift to me, along with
many others, the sound of her soprano
voice still mellow in the air,
the wrath of God was nothing to
her tantrums at my misbehaviour.
Sights and smells come bursting through
as if it were just yesterday,
gentle guidance, remonstrations,
blending like her recipes
for cakes and codes of conduct.
Yahweh is Your precious name...
The One who remains the same...
You are God from timeless ages...
Your wonders confound super sages...
Yahweh is Your covenant name...
The God who sets the hills aflame...
You spread the skies like a robe...
Your glory garnishes this frail globe...
Yahweh is Your terrible name...
The timeless truth no one can tame...
Whirlwinds send Your whispers of wisdom...
The firmament foretells eternal freedom...
Yahweh is Your most amazing name...
The One who formed our feeble frame...
You blessed our body with Your breath...
And in victory, your swallowed death...
Yahweh is Your wonderful name...
Mortals and angels daily proclaim...
Holy Holy Holy, Lord God Almighty...
Your name is praised for all eternity...
Blue Cheese and Old Pickles Poetry Contest
Craig Cornish
A dish of disappointment
mocks the kitchen chef
two anomalies sitting on his cutting board
all in their glory, dumbfounded
... and unappetizing
plated for aliens and not humans
or for a horse that doesn’t know better
this recipe’s giving him the blues and he’s seeing red
where …
his yellow brick road has two strangers today
two lost food groups
arriving earlier in hearses
a funeral procession
mythically carrying the deceased to his kitchen foyer
… some blue cheese and an old dill
that are down for an undressing
of his bitter words
like, fudge, where’s the beef
… or better yet Mars is up there
as a cloud of despair hovers over the kitchen
not a spaceship as one might think
darkness begetting light
salt, pepper and garnishes spooked
… a ready barf bag crashes this meal
Jack O' Lantern jeers through
molten screen
With fiery eyes and a fifth sense
so keen
Masked goblins saunter in shadows
unseen
Wily Jack swills jade folds with
florescent stream
Billowing ghosts in phosphorescent,
satin mantles teem
Stolid Jack bathes in Hoary Frost's
velvety Vanilla Bean
Gaunt Scarecrow from barren field
garnishes Per Diem
While gilded Jack siphons his rich,
mellow meringue
Black-caped witch casts spells
hinterland residual to glean
Domesticated Jack scans hearth
skimming every melancholy dream
Rabid bats swarm o'er stinging
insects with stealthy sheen
Endearing Jack charms fluttering
moths with radiant gleam
Bleary-eyed werewolves' curdling
howls seep through each woody
seam
Spry Jack o'er quilted courtyard
flutters his palling requiem
Creeping ghouls seek spilt warmth
to redeem
Jilting Jack singes their hems with a
boiling steam
pristine sharp cornered brown box garnishes excitement
we rip him open with anticipation
new merchandise has been delivered!
this box is repurposed for sorting, carrying, hauling, storing
left out in the rain, the box looks sad and sorrowful
we could fold him flat and put him into our dumpster
Or we could burn him up
He has lost his usefulness
difficult to remember now what he brought in the first place
...to My Mum
She was always in the kitchen,
kneading pastry with good humour,
blending garnishes and gossip
as she plied her magic wand
and it was dinner time.
Struggling with algebra
I'd agonize for hours, 'til frustration
got the best of me, she tucked me into bed.
In the morning she was ready with
a fried egg explanation and a hug.
Music was her gift to me, along with
many others, the sound of her soprano
voice still ringing in the air,
the wrath of God was nothing to
her tantrums at my misbehaviour.
Sights and smells come bursting through
as if it were just yesterday,
gentle guidance, remonstrations
blending like her recipes
for cakes and moral codes.
At dawn, dewdrops dance on petals of the morning bloom
only for the sun to storm the stage with radiant rays...
and yet nature does not question.
A roseate glow garnishes the garden when twilight terror looms,
it was carted away by a crepescular cloak and silent stars ,
and yet it does not question...
Winter weakens the woods as she spreads her white wings;
Spring sparks a fresh fragrance in forgotten frosty fields,
and yet nature does not question...
Summer spreads her sweet smiles over soil, skies and seas
only for autumn to awash our golden glow with a bleak bloom.
and still nature does not question...
I am human, my heart ploughs and ponders...
Lustuous lips have drawn tough teardrops from my eyes,
my rainbow-robed skies have been flooded by flaked faces.
my fondest fears were fueled by pretentious promises.
The contour and curves I once craved were cages
where sages slumbered and slipped into the den of deciet.
Pardon me when I question the warmth of your embrace
and the sweet smiles you flaunt at me.
I often feel fooled by the fragrant fire of your tender touch,
and feel deceived by the drum beat of my dusky desires.
Until we plunge into the ocean of eternal passion
and sail through stormy nights and serene days...
Until the light of your loyalty erodes my haunting shadow
and my soul berth at the shore of your unwavering love,
I will quietly question this quest of ours.
Inspired by Rehema Pete's "Don't Ask How Much"
Written 03/04/2017
riot of colors
early spring perennials~
edible petals
I looked up some articles that said, if not chemically treated, tulip
petals may be used in salads or garnishes.
used howmanysyllables.com
April 2, 2022
entered in the Nature in Spring Themed Haiku Poetry Contest placed 9th
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
April 14, 2022
entered in the Bite Size no. 42 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier