Best Helpings Poems
To the diner Mac went for a meal
Where he ordered two helpings of veal.
All he had was one dime
Could not pay! What a crime!
Washing-up was the fairest MacDeal.
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Limerick Contest
Sponsor: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
Placed 4th
© 2nd June 2017
Categories:
helpings, food,
Form:
Limerick
It’s the time of the year to make a steaming hot soup
To remember some of the best in our poetry group*
When I make soup I throw in everything I have in stock
My hot poetry soup will consist of many from our flock.
I will begin with a large piece of prepared Cunningham
Into the pot, to which I’ll add broth of Balasubramanian
Next, I’ll add spices of Ellison, Allison, and Krutsinger
Cooking for awhile at a medium to hot temperature.
I toss in helpings of sweet McIntosh, Rodriguez, Canerdy,
Buehler, Weiss, Proxenos, and lots of bold Choudhury.
I let the soup come to a boil, adding Logan and Dietrich
Turning it down to simmer soon after adding Kendrick
I cover it over with Gentile, mixing in Flood and Pinet
I let it bubble gently, perhaps, for the entire day
By now, my soup has grown and I am feeling rashly
Because I failed to add in some La France and Ashley!
Uncovering, I’ll add them both to the wonderful fixings,
Quickly tossing Wolf, Jacob, and MRR into the mixings.
The “sweet smell of success” makes me break into song
For its perfectly clear with Poetry Soup, I can’t go Wong.
#39 on Top 100 Poems of the Month
Poetry Soup, November 3, 2021
written November 1, 2021
[*My sincerest apologies to the many
marvelous poets I could not fit into my soup!
Please forgive me!]
Categories:
helpings, love, poets, thank you,
Form:
Rhyme
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.
Categories:
helpings, memory, mum,
Form:
Verse
It started with an apple in paradise or was it a date they consumed
Had they kept their clothes off laundry day would have been easier
The smell of seduction and no fake news
Honestly who cares whether it was pure sex or sweet requited love
Darwin had his way and they followed a journey to un-heavenly bliss
Candied peel from a fruit of nibbling temptation
It was a Saturday and procreation their Christian duty to comply
With the rule of nature to mix seeds in fertile pastures of joy
Russian roulette from a gene pool of ancestral relief
I hear you say its the parents’ fault that happiness mutated
Into a warm gun with too many bullets to the beat of a drum
Golden delicious pipped kernels for conquest
Peaceniks taken to task for one simple innocent transgression
A nudist colony abandoned in the name of belligerent arrows
Collateral damage and indiscriminate targets
The story stemmed from every one begetting each other’s brethren
Breathless cohabitation under the watch of place time and poppies
Fig leaves of duty and denuded trees
Kalashnikovs draped on the snake’s slithering sleaze and corruption
Corporates bonking for virginity and testimony of final selection
Dripping deceit like custard on rotten flesh
Under a mushroom cloud hell fire dispenses irrefutable evidence
That the emperor’s garments are ragged down to a lice infested core
Adam and Eve seek asylum in a mental ward
Bedlam bound in shackles to the jester’s snide mocking applause
Psychotropic injections to remedy catatonic results of one violation
Rape pillage and plunder and Satan as a voyeur
Field brothels and comfort women un-sheath prickly pears in disguise
Persimmon dishes out passion steeled in sharp blades of the paring knife
And so we choke on what should have been celestial food
Pious and devoted to whipped cream and second helpings of anger
We feed on desolate fields and irrigate fear suffocation and slaughter
Eves of destruction and her toy boy sheds venom and pain
25th January 2020
Categories:
helpings, conflict, corruption, food,
Form:
Free verse
Blessings, saturated in God’s favor, fruitful, divine. You have yours. Here is a mind full of mine:
Agápe, a selfless love, contains all of God’s goodness and grace.
Baptism, an open air declaration; bath of Bathsheba, forgiven.
Clear conscience, nothing to hide - my dirty rag washed clean.
Depths of the wonders of God goes on and on and on, forever.
Everlasting life as fellow heirs of Christ; a precious kingdom key.
Forgiveness for we are all guilty - He lets us touch His hem.
Grace spoken; I am not in the sights of God’s wrath - thankful.
Helpings from friends folded hands; they share in answered prayers.
I AM — he knocked down opponents who stood up, nailed Him to a cross.
Just as I am, I was called, though knee deep in misery, He saved me.
Klepto - why steal from God? He lets me keep ninety percent — blessed.
Larger than life one may say, but He is life...
Multiplies what we need, what we ask for - God takes joy in this.
Name change — not what we see, but what He sees — our best.
Offering of praise brings heaven to us, changes things.
Psaltery of emotions, lets us know we are not alone in this flesh.
Questions of Jesus, pondered and extrapolated, deep answers.
Rapture, knowing we will also return with Him and angel armies.
Serendipities- God’s surprises better than gold.
Tree of life - I can’t wait to try its choice fruit - finders keepers.*
Under His wings, I have refuge.
Vision in the circle - as we envision God, He appears.
Weary, I do not faint, mounting on the wings of an eagle — soar...
Xray of strong bones, dry bones reborn.
Years spent studying His word pays dividends of wisdom and peace.
Zephyr breath of Holy Spirit, a gift that speaks.
7/16/2020
SHARE YOUR BLESSINGS POETICALLY Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Beata Agustin
*American saying - what you find you can keep. We find salvation, it is ours forever!
Categories:
helpings, christian,
Form:
Abecedarian
What Jesus Means To Me
This poem is based on sermon by Father Dave Davis,
Rector of St. James Episcopal Church, Shallotte, NC
on March 22, 2015. Gospel for Day was John 12:20-23.
Maybe they might put my poem on their website.
What Jesus Means To Me
Who is this Jesus supposed to be?
What should He really mean to me?
Of course, He is our Lord and Savior
And want to find myself in His favor.
There are things that I do not deny
Want Jesus to be a nice, great guy
Being available and also convenient
And like Him best when He is lenient.
What is it that we want Jesus to do?
Be nice and make dreams come true;
Answer prayers each and every one;
When He's around have a lot of fun.
Have Jesus help me grow and grow
And where it is I might have to go
Be with me up until my dying day
To heaven be sure to take me away.
Do I have to be much more direct?
What is it I am supposed to expect?
From Jesus but know that I am glad
His big job to do I never, ever had.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and
Member of Board of Vestry
and 2d Helpings Program
Categories:
helpings, religious,
Form:
Couplet
I remember the day as if it were yesterday,
The snowfall was heavy, we sat and watched it
We hadn’t spoken for god knows how long
Days would go by, me reading and she would knit
But that day we were both in silence, watching, waiting,
This was the only time we weren’t arguing, debating
Then I solemnly rose and went out in the snow
To rescue wood for the fire
And there...in the snow...she lay
What we could not have, longed for and desired
I picked her up, she was shivering and moaning
I placed her in my jacket and carried her
While I listened to her heavenly groaning
My wife who seemed spiritless came alive
When she laid eyes on her
And fussed “place her near the fire,”
I watched my wife gently clean her, delighted from the faint murmur.
It was half an hour when her little eyes open
She was terrified to see us
“Where is mum and dad?”
She calmed as my wife continued her motherly fuss
It was as if she belonged
As if she was ours
We gave her the gifts we bought for the one we could not have
And watched her open then up, we could have watched her for hours.
My wife brought out the huge turkey
We had the best Christmas feast
And finished with double helpings
Of six different ice cream, a special treat.
Then... the knock on the door
I answered it, the police with an old woman and man
“We looking for a little girl, her parents were killed in an accident
And she was in the car when it was hit by a van
Our angel came to the door,
Then ran out and hugged her grand parents
We kissed her good bye
And gave her all the presents
It was a year since we saw her,
We both sat in silence watching the snowfall
Then a knock at the door which broke our trance
And there she was with her grandparents, a lady now no longer small...
**
Categories:
helpings, happiness, sad, wife, day,
Form:
Rhyme
She likes to cook.
Often, it seems,
and perhaps more than is deserved.
Like all good cooks,
her generosity will sometimes be abused,
her culinary delights devoured carelessly
to sate the greed
of some as well sustained by Maccas.
But chefs so splendid,
so gifted and so generous as she,
enjoy the pleasure given.
Given patiently and carefully
and willingly and happily,
and in helpings undeserved
far more than what's returned.
She has fed me too her cakes
and banquets of sweets and such delights
as leave me desperate to repay,
with dishes that she might
enjoy as much.
Categories:
helpings, me, relationship,
Form:
Free verse
In late November fam’lies gather ‘round
to always celebrate Thanksgiving Day;
with feast on table, turkey golden browned,
they fold their hands pretending that they pray.
They gorge themselves with second helpings as
the food before them more than they can eat;
the shamelessness of feast affluence has,
and even fam’ly dog will get a treat.
Yet, as this fam’ly feasts, on corner stands
a shabby homeless man with homemade sign
and tin cup held so tightly in his hands,
“Will work for money so that I can dine.”
Perhaps it’s time to view our soul’s good health
and with mankind forever share our wealth.
October 18, 2018
Categories:
helpings, november, perspective, poverty, thanksgiving,
Form:
Sonnet
Greed Has a Dinner Party
Evil seething greed sits down to dinner with his guests.
He serves them humungous helpings of hubris for an appetizer to set the mood of the evening.
For the main course, he mesmerizes them with tales of his ambition and success and piles them on his own plate, yet he serves the guests-somewhat less.
He explains they must be more like him to get even more. He assures them that they have the makings to be just like him.
Dessert is of course licentiously sweet self-serving compliments for all and the promise that if they took everything they wanted in life, without concern for anyone but themselves, they would be most efficacious.
After dinner, he says goodbye. Then he grins as they pass by the urn containing Icarus’s ashes on their way out the door.
Categories:
helpings, introspection, myth, self, vanity,
Form:
Free verse
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XXIX
IF you pull a long pained face
The kind poets affect and gladly display
Throughout the ages with their lonely-heart feelings in lyrical grace
You might end up Precious Pearl in harem of some Arabo-Turkish Bey
If you then pull that longingly pained long face
In verses thin and sweetened long to Your Lord and Master Bey
All night long pulling at the tassels of your silken robes pyjama lace
Your turn might never come to whisper rosy verses under moonlit ear
Yet if you keep pulling that long lone-heart face
Know that Eunuchs too might not averse be to your corvée
And might listen close to every lilting line behind burka lace
Unless in Looney Bin the Bey thinks fit to let you long stay
Now if you pulled that long left-alone pale face
During long-stricken nights while silken moon-shafts through casements stray
Your face wan the tang of your pulled flesh less and less sinuous in bed-wise ways
With luck you might at his table serve as a taster of macoronic verse play
So if you must go on pulling that long Parson's face
Pull it while chopping up pork ribs for crispy crunchy helpings à la Canard Lacqué
None will miss appreciating the tango twists and twirls in your hurt-feelings vice-verse
Everything's grist to the salmagundi soup the pot-pourri pulsed poem à la Chop Suey
© T. Wignesan - Paris, February 5, 2019
Categories:
helpings, appreciation, art, poetry, poets,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
If you want to keep
your expanding
civil liberty weight down,
we suggest you try the alphabet dictator soup
It’s demagogue-approved to keep the
public scrutiny town hall gavel pounds off of you
The letters F ... R ... E ... E are not in the can,
and radical talk chowder is totalitarian banned
You best clam up, if you know what’s healthy for you
But the split-lip pea soup tastes great liquefied,
if your jaws need to be wired shut
Fat ideas of human rights
will get you shipped to Siberia
on a dissident Weight Watchers bus
Sugary sweet intoxicating wine of independent thought
will get you government-issued gulag cloth
So don’t get drunk on too much First Amendment talk
Here’s something else you might want to try on the menu,
our peppery, Black Boot fascist veggie stew
It’s guaranteed to give you a mean kick
Only 100-percent propaganda tofu
is offered in this meatless, bicameral dish
No harmful voter allergens to alarm you,
and it’s debate-free healthy too
This totalitarian menu will slim your political weight
down so fast, it will shock you
Just watch what a few rubles a day can do
I know you still have cravings
for some red meat democracy
Need I remind you: this is a
media roast-free, autocratic dinner party
You will be amazed at what
a few influence-peddling dollars will buy
But please be advised:
Stay away from any amended second helpings
of the rich, decadent General Custard pie
Aw, shot ... it’s double-barreled delicious,
but it got major health concerns,
no Krispy Kremlin lie
Too many Constitutional calories
in each serving of this American dish
We urge you ... implore you ...
demand you not to give it a try
Those who taste too much sweet liberty,
tend to kick their totalitarian diet to the curbside
Categories:
helpings, metaphor, political, satire, truth,
Form:
Verse
I entered the hotel dining room and sat at my table for an early breakfast, watching the rain pelting against the windows, overlooking the River Clyde. Conversation was limited; more audible the clinking of crockery and cutlery. The tour leader walked in and his booming voice cut through the gloomy atmosphere as he assured us that the trip was still on; the weather forecast was encouraging.
a senior lady
takes second helpings...
her bag bulges
When some time later we went out to board the coach, the rain had just about stopped. Outside the air was cold. Being people of little faith, we had donned jumpers or cardigans over our light clothes and carried raincoats over our arms. It was unwise to be caught unprepared. The tour leader was no exception!
crossing a bridge...
two honeymooners
sit on separate seats
The trip from Glasgow to Oban was calculated to take about two and a half hours, but with planned stops along the way it was going to take longer. We took our first break at Loch Lomond. The rain had stopped completely, but the clouds still hovered ominously overhead. More stops at Crianlarich and Kilchurn Castle followed. In the meantime the sun was making feeble attempts at making its presence felt, and sure enough the cold air became warmer.
the sky, reflected
in large puddles...
harebells and toadflax
When we finally arrived in Oban the clouds had dispersed, the heat increased, and thick clothing was discarded completely. A meal and a boat trip to Seal Island saw us all in high spirits.
On the return journey our luck ran out again. Clouds and rain accompanied us to the hotel, but it did not really matter. A nice warm shower and a decent meal was something to look forward to.
unpredictable
four seasons in one day
I juggle saijiki
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A Haibun Contest sponsored
by Debbie Guzzi
Placed 4th
© 17th August 2017
Categories:
helpings, travel, weather,
Form:
Haibun
The art of cooking never changes,
it's lure to us debates
taste vs. smell,
then it all rises up in memory like a colorful dream,
one of art that has been raided by veterans of the old country.....
My grandmothers never ceased to feed us,
"eat!" they would scream,
and their work worn hands would bring forth Polish and Ukrainian feasts of
pierogi, borsch, babka, and love,
blended into a holiday festivity that never disappointed, fresh from a sea of hand picked ingredients.
New York City was our place of initiation to that congregation of food and loud, loud people who thrived on second helpings.
I reincarnated this time just to be one of them.
Categories:
helpings, culture, love,
Form:
Free verse
President Putin's having Turkey for Christmas dinner this year!
I think with stuffing inside it
Will he be having second helpings?
Categories:
helpings, anger, character, conflict, death,
Form:
Questionku