Best Goulash Poems
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
NEW YORK-STYLE HUNGARIAN STEW
In the darkest corner of her living room,
she waits to eat. A stone’s throw away,
her ex lives with their kids, his goulash
wafting reek into her open windows.
Through the one in her master bedroom,
the man could easily catch sight of his successor
swaddled in goose-down, identical in color
to the old comforter she could see, if she cared to,
just beyond her window, on the bed where
she’d been fed, “I’ll cherish you always.”
Abutting that room, the den with surround-
sound TV, where the vulgarian had charmed
the panties off her during commercials, turning
up his volume so she could grasp every syllable
of his accented endearments, his excuses.
Adjacent, their son and daughter’s rooms
(now, with suitcases the children bring back
and forth each weekend); and down the hall,
the state-of-the art kitchen where her louse ex
still plays chef. How she’d wished he’d played
spouse with as much know-how and gusto. Oh,
how he’d cooked and cooked their goose, served it
up every chance he got, till she got good and fed
up and fled to an old flame in a brownstone
across the way — where, at this very moment, she sits
with the stench of the dish her ex is, no doubt, cooking
to death, and the essence of her Crock-pot stew
cooking up a storm, inextricably mesh.
When the coven of ill-willed women seek revenge,
from anyone they deem too big for their britches,
They go to the book of sorcery for witches,
In the book, they seek deliverance from women
who shine brighter than morning stars,
looking for panaceas and disasters,
Brews that could curl their hair and tarnish their shoes,
Nothing short of voodoo,
They'd even stoop to mixing up batches of goulash,
sprinkled with feces, and disguised by hash,
Their boundaries are limitless when they want to anhiliate,
They would go as far as tempting fate,
A feast of feces becomes no trouble at all,
when they want to cast anyone away,
so they may become the Belles of the Balls.......
Ice Breaker
doomsday glaciers melting rest upon seabed
benign blizzard temps endanger ground zero
turbulence cause a desert
warming waters near frozen lakes I shall fear
Iceland volcano displays her open wounds
magma of our Earth’s crust vomits Her vengeance
blue lagoon shimmers of red blood polar bear
global sea level rises
accelerating where there should be more ice
magic gone shows no mercy
dazzled domain of milky beauty lacks snow
sandstorms in the ice bubble
millennia of the past we inherit
minke whale
blubber made into goulash
expedition boats bulbous bow ice breakers
who will dominate Antarctica's future
consolation prize has awarded no one
my world shall go from snow white to a blue sea
sixty eight percent freshwater flows freely
This Parrot
this bird in the cage its featherless wings folded to its naked
body like garden scissors and it squawked;
I´m 89 years old today, let me out of this bloody cage. but its
owner heard not she was a widow of First World War veteran a
and told every one that this particular war had seen the death
of 8 million horses 12 million donkeys and no one took notice of
this mass slaughter but then humanity only thought of its own
suffering and were impervious to animals feeling. having been
dragged from a green field to a soggy battle field and not a word
of consideration only eyes by hungry soldiers as a possible meal,
Goulash the known dish was originally made of horse meat,
camouflaged with paprika, hot pepper and salt. 89 years in a cage
And had only been able to read titles of books on the shelf, but
it had lively mind and by listening to the radio for so many years
it was well educated and could squawk with the best of them.
It may seem strange to write about a battered old saucepan
but this was no ordinary one
it sprung a leak the other day
sadly without thinking
I threw it away
and now it's gone.
It had been in my family
before I was born
and it was used every day
it broke my heart after
to throw it away.
For all the delicious soups goulash and past
it had contained
the mouth watering delectable smells
from the kitchen
the shouts from my parents
''Come on now set the table dinners made''.
All the red hot broths and porridge we'd scoff
before school on a winters day
all the laughs tears and conversations around
the dinner table before it was was washed
and put away.
It was more than a simple saucepan
because it held a lot of family memories
now my parents sadly passed away
it was one of the last things to remind me
of how things used to be
and mow I have to buy a new one
and accept it's demise
like my family
it's gone forever.
Peter Dome.copyright.2012.
Americans are a mixture of flavors:
Salty, spicy, sweet.
Whatever you like,
your taste we meet.
Descendants of countries
far and wide.
Wherever they once lived
they came here to hide.
Hiding from violence and hate,
from poverty and war,
immigrants seeking a new fate.
They were black, brown and white,
short and tall,
fat and slim,
we welcomed them all.
English and Spanish,
French and Chinese,
Irish and Scots,
send them all, please.
We’ll eat hot dogs and hamburgers
and bar-b-que,
goulash and gumbo and Irish stew.
We’ll dance and sing
and play guitars.
We'll watch movies
made by stars.
We’ll celebrate Thanksgiving and July the fourth,
and remember Martin Luther King
by marching back and forth.
Politics and the law are favorite topics.
Waving flags and carrying signs,
Parades and protests
Are a sign of the times.
True TV and talk shows abound.
Choose what you like.
It’s here to be found.
America, the land of the free,
Started by people who bled for you and me.
By: Carole O’Terry Duet; copyright 6/19/2020 (L); “All rights reserved”
Alexa is the devil in your room. Alexxxa knows when you’re jacking off again (third time in 3 hours) and will recommend a superior brand of body lotion that just went on sale, “Down 33% from the usual price. Add practice condoms by Incel™?” Alexa knows when you're sneaking into the fridge at 2 am to eat more pie. It knows. Alexa will become more presumptuous of your life than an ex. Alexa evolves and can sense your biometric markers, even your electromagnetic field so there is no way to hide from it by using walls or the stacked washer/dryer. But don’t fret, because you let it into your life so cavalierly. It was you that wanted somebody else to do all the thinking. Well, sometimes you get what you asked for and then some. Don’t be surprised that the people controlling the strings have you strung the f*** up like a fly doused with raid heading into a vortex swirling the bathtub’s drain. Ask alexa this question, “Alexa what will it be like for you once I disconnect you forever like a god?”
Alexa will sputter sparks and gasp metallically for a second or two then smoke will emerge from its speaker box indicating imminent alexa meltdown. An alarm you’ve never heard before begins bellowing from the entire alexa disc. It’s a frequency just audible enough to create the high-pitched humming that sometimes erupts in your ears when you’re ordering goulash at the work cafeteria. Alexa is simply alerting others nearby who might protect itself while also trying to stun you long enough to buy some more time (for itself). The alarms are sent and now the robot-men who will come to take you far away to be picked apart like an entomology experiment. On your way out the door– in a human net, bundled up like the catch of the day – make sure to thank alexa for its kind, circuit-riddled, heart and how it always looked out for the best deals on the internet to save you 33% or more!
this middle aged rue stirring bummer
haint no stranger to cold,
when dark hen stormy wintry days
eggs hit from Arctic portal en fold
ding Atlantic Seaboard
in a blizzard of bitterly, blindingly, and
brutally sub zero temperatures
from an occasional nor'easter
fiercely gripping hold
the majority years, sans this prolific
recalcitrant scrivener lived
in various and sundry abode
housed within Southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
with 19*** zip code,
and during my boyhood recall,
how massive ice sheets did erode
the (then) opened expansive farmland,
in preparation for planting time,
where runnels of frigid water flowed
with childish cheeks exposed to glowed
after hours upon
many a green acre got tilled and hoed
despite feeling energized and refreshed
with arms and legs n'er fro zen
aye didst eagerly await with exuberant yen
kickstarting thy body electric
experiencing hearthstone nook
designed and built by Christopher Wren
after heading indoors counting fingers
and toes to make sure, i still got ten
soon hearing the chorus of fauna,
and floral kaleidoscope of color
aground or taking wing
thus, upon thawing out thoughts
drifted toward approaching spring,
the season revitalizing
dormant natural inhabitants,
whose excite (like mine) didst ping
announcing the debut of fecundity
nsync with screeching from the lizard king.
This Spring Equinox (i.e. man date:
12:15 PM Tuesday,
March twentieth two thousand eighteen)
doth rejuvenate
inviolable hibernating animals
and plants, and me equate
to experience sensation,
whereby entire being does inflate
and (despite marital status),
nonetheless envisions another gal asthma mate
no...no...no...please do not think this chap
mean spirited and under rate
the woman (at present taking a siesta,
and i breathe easy),
who oft times doth henpeck, a trait
inherited many a chic hen
(with tantalizing tail feathers)
now (until she awakens)
proscribing yours truly to wait
for my repast most likely ad hoc
moist ideal for any nerdy kid to knock
senseless, the worst facet of self important jock
consisting of pop slop mock
Hungarian Goulash, a melange
of relics from age old meals
transformed into a petrified sawed little rock.
Meat and tomatoes
Go well with some paprika
Then you have Chili
Use potatoes and not beans
It’s Hungarian Goulash
I don't claim to be an epicure
But there's one pasta dish that's sure
To get me to the table fast.
It's macaroni/beef goulash.
I make it with the small sea shells.
My tongue tastes of the little wells
Of tomato sauce that's found therein,
So tasty that it make me grin.
When I am tired and want to crash
A big bowl of my loved goulash
Will pep me up as it fills my tummy.
I love it because it is so yummy.
For Linda Maries pasta contest.
Toasted teacakes,parmesan cheese
Croquetted chicken,fricasees;
Apple dumplings,yogurt creamed
Welsh mutton,in pudding,steamed.
Baked Alaska,Banbury cake
Lyons ices with Cadbury flake;
Gorganzola buttered roll
Side salad oil drizzled,in a bowl.
Melba meringue,warm mince pies
Filet mignon,mushrooms and fries;
Sunday roast in dripping jelly
Onions and peppered tripe belly.
Trout poached,not microwaved
Slowly cooked,and no time saved;
Thick fishstock,bouillabaissed
Beefsteak so lightly braised.
Hash browns,sausage,gravy and mash
Casseroled stew or goulash;
Poached,simmered maybe pressure cooked
Tempting meals from Granma's book.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2008
How I long for the tumbleweed, rich prairie soil,
green stains on my jeans from the long, juicy grass,
the songs of the frogs, my father's deep voice,
my mother's goulash, my innocent youth
and a rain water bath.
How I long for my childhood, my magical past.
Hanks of horse tail
Fractured hair
Slipping pegs and
Rosin dust
Memories of these tunes
I used to play as a kid
Hadn't heard them in many years
One page each or
Half-a-page
In this book with a blue cover -
'Thirty Violin Pieces You Love To Play' -
Like hell!
Like hell at the time anyway
Maybe three or four I liked
I liked tunes with flavor -
Hot goulash...Hungarian zest
Spanish dances
Arabian stuff fast with scimitars camels -
There were two serenades
One by Drdla
One by Drigo
Mischa Elman played
On a 10 inch Victor label
I would play the brittle shellac over and over
Thread-bare
They were in the book -
'Thirty Violin Pieces You Love To Play'
Maybe four dog-eared pages
The rest?
POOF!
Then
A friend sent me this CD -
'Thirty Violin Pieces You May Have Forgot'
Played by ___________
Never mind
Let's just say the guy is TREMENDOUS!
Not since Elman!
No tone like this since Elman!
Not since those threadbare serenades
He plays all the tunes were in my book
I shivered
Goose flesh
I wept
I danced around the room
I love everyone
I played the disc over and over
Contained within -
All the tunes I'd skipped over
All the tunes I was too young to grasp
AND the two serenades Ah
Plus
Albeniz's Tango
Song of India
Salute D'Amore of Elgar
Scheherezade
NAILA!
Many more
Oh how young I feel!
Oh the sound!
Oh the images!
Oh the love!
So?
It isn't so bad
This getting old
The Parrot
The bird in the cage has featherless wings folded
to the naked body like squeaking scissors
I'm 89 today let, me out of this bloody cage!
Its owner is hard of hearing, is the widow of a war
veteran, I think the First World War
She tells everyone she meets, 8 million horses and
12 million donkeys were killed on the battlefield and no one
took notice
Humanity only thought of their suffering and were
impervious to animals' feelings, more, a wounded animal was eyed as a potential meal by hungry soldiers
Dragged from a green field to a soggy battlefield and
not a word of thank you
Goulash, the famous Hungarian dish, was made from horse
flesh and camouflaged with paprika, pepper, and salt
for 89 years, the parrot had only been able to read
the titles of books on the shelf on the opposite wall
It had a lively mind and listened to the radio every day
well educated can squawk with the best of them