Best Leg Of Lamb Poems
Sunday roast
A meal I loved
for some time not partaken
When Ma was here
Well ~ oh my dear
Served on the dot at one o’clock
And woe betide if we were late
it would be on the table
upon our plate
and steaming hot
Whether we were there or not
Nowadays it’s just for one
Has somehow lost appeal
To sit alone now on my own
I really don’t enjoy
Those crispy roasted spuds
with golden Yorkshire puds
buttered carrots ~ roasted parsnips
on my plate roast leg of lamb
a generous dollop of minty sauce
with thick meaty gravy piping hot
Three cheers for the cook
Three cheers for the host
I can almost taste it ~ I can almost smell it
Ma always cooked the best Sunday roast
Now my grandson is a vegan
his girlfriend she is too
my granddaughter a veggie
oh what am I to do
I cannot beat them
so I will join them
nut roast now my Sunday roast
but I'm still yearning for the taste
of Ma’s on the dot at one o'clock
her Sunday roasts delectable
each mouthful unforgettable...
Written 4 July 2021
Contest A BRIAN STRAND JULY 4
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
Underneath the tree so grand
Sit many boxes beautifully wrapped;
Packaged with discerning hands;
Gifts by God’s love enveloped.
Giving is the greatest blessing;
Far greater than to receive,
But at Christmas we enjoy both,
Except the very poor and grieved.
So let’s think about the needy,
This very special Christmas Day;
Give generously of food and gifts
To those in need and pray.
Pray for folk who are grieving,
When happiness should be their lot.
We often forget to pray for others;
Let your prayers not be forgot.
When the gifts have all been given
And the tree looks somewhat bare,
It’s time to enjoy the delicacies
That loving hands did prepare.
Whether it be roast turkey,Or a leg of lamb and gravy,
Let’s remember the hands of the Giver,
And the blessed Christmas story!
Let’s thank God for His Christmas gift;
The greatest gift of all time.
The gift of our shepherd and Savior,
Born so miraculously divine.
This is the real reason,
We celebrate at Christmas;
Give thanks for all our blessings
Of hope, peace, joy and happiness.
Maureen LeFanue
It's only a paper-mache
moon, they say, too cool,
too full of interstellar space
to sympathize or stress about
lovers, kings and fools.
Or is it? According to Deutsch
the so-called final ignition
into outer space
is a product of man's meditations
moving, as if via gravitation
the magician to the other end
of the expanding universe. Sure,
in yr computer. Meanwhile, nursed
in a nursing home, mewling and peeing
as accurately predicted by Shakespeare
my old Marine, an ex-sailor, bitter
at life's ending, waited
too long to dispatch with dignity.
All alone, as in Corbiere's poem,
old soldiers are fated
to fight unnecessary wars
as we all are. Except for the fact that
every helium and hydrogen atom
ever born or made (whatever you believe)
has taken positions, passionate
and predetermined as republicans and dobermans
over eons and epochs. Thus
I don't think it behooves us much to care
if we're getting too little clean air or
bacteria are better adapted than us. This
obsession with identity, survival
a name and a leg of lamb is lame
even uninspired. The entire universe
including the professional baseball season
is canceled when yr dead. No blame.
I love your acsent' it makes me want to kiss you!
16 fillet catfish/ or seabass
1/4 cup of McCormick seasoning
2 Tablespoons of garlic powder
2 Tablespoons of onion powder
3 tablespoons of cayenne pepper
mix well and set aside
1/2 cup of olive oil
1/2 melted butter
1/4 cup lime juice
coat both sides of each fillet with oil and butter
sprinkle seasoning atop
bake in a 350 degree oven until fish are flakey and done
8 cups of cooked cous cous( soaked in 1 cup of buttermilk)
3 cups of goats cheese
2 cups of heavy cream
2 cups of béchamel sauce
1/2 melted butter
1/2 cup of fresh chives
5 tablespoons of crushed garlic
2 cup of oven roasted turkey bacon ( cook into bits)
1/3 cup of diced fine green peppers (sautéed)
1/3 cup of crushed sun dried tomatoes
12/3 saute'd onion
1 & 1/2 cup of white cheddar
2 tablespoons of red pepper flakes
combine ingredients and bake for 25 minutes
slice fillets from a leg of lamb
about twenty slices
salt and pepper
grill (medium rare)
in a pan combine
1/3 cup of beef broth
1 cup of pomegranate juice
1/4 cup of honey
1/4 cup of lime juice
5 tablespoons of chopped rosemary
3 tablespoons of cayenne pepper
1/3 cup of sweet red wine
1 cup of unsalted pistachios
reduce sauce about half
add lamb and serve
FOR DESSERT
5 CUPS OF BROWNIE MIXED ( MIXED USING BOX RECIPE)
4 CUPS OF ANGEL FOOD ( USING BOX RECIPE)
24 DOLLOPS OF CREAM CHEESE
IN A GREASED NON-STICK MUFFIN PAN, SPOON IN TWO TABLE SPOONS OF BROWNIE MIX
AND LAYER IT WITH THE ANGEL FOOD MIX, (ABOUT 2 TABLESPOONS)
HALFWAY FULL ADD CREAM CHEESE
COVER WITH BROWNIE AND ANGEL FOOD MIX
BAKE UNTIL DONE, USING A TOOTH PICK TO CHECK
COOL MUFFINS, TOP WITH FAVORITE FROSTING AND SERVE
IN
WE BASSOON'D THE FOOD WAS DONE: SO WE ATE IT!
WE DRUMMED AND OBO'D THRU THE NIGHT
ASSUMING WE WOODWIND: WE DID!
WE DID !
Leg of lamb with rosemary
Herb sauce and berries
Mouth-watering aroma
Blend of paprika
Get a plate in haste
Such a great
Taste!
Nice!
Easter crust
Slice of delicious
Tasty gingerbread
Baked with touch a Easter wine
Going to my head
Ready to royally dine!
© Joseph, March 19, 2008
© All Rights Reserved
This poem about a delicious dish starts with the regular format of seven
syllables in the first line, and it progresses down to one syllable in the seventh
and last line. However, the second section starts with an inverse of the first
section, whereby the poem starts with the seventh and last line of one syllable
and ends with the first line of seven syllables. The form is 7/5/7/5/5/3/1/ and
inverse 1/3/5/5/7/5/7. This form was created by Joseph S. Spence, Sr.
A weekly meal at home
Pork chops boiled in sour kraut
But there’s another good luck meal
I’d like to tell you about
My big brother served our country
During the Vietnam War
He said the Navy fed him well
But there was a dish he longed for
Each letter he sent had lines blacked out
Censors concealed his whereabouts
The only sentences left intact
Were about the lamb he couldn’t live without
One Sunday Mom made leg of lamb
Thinking Artie was still in the Pacific
When unannounced, he walked through the door
Our “best luck” meal was terrific
*Entry for Russell's "Good Luck Meal" Contest
Tall terrace housebow-fronted windows
Opulescent green lined walls silk paper
18th century French marquetry pattern
Glowing dressing table walnut veneer
Smoked salmon kisses heart on sleeve
That color does become her kitchen
A glimpse of yellowing autumn trees
Stately home ancient lake full of fish
Pot of coffee polished mahogany table.
Beautifully raised gaze. .Private moment .
enormously enjoyed each others comp
Ushered out....gates slid quietly together
delicate cabriole legs. oyster satin fabric
Loin of pork , leg of lamb , frozen cake.
Give thanks to the God of Abraham
With a juicy leg of lamb
He always keeps His word
With a bass voice have you heard?
I am in a quandary
I am in a fix
My life in a predicament
I wonder what will happen next
Nothing doth run smoothly
So often things go wrong
It would be so refreshing
For a new day to begin
with laughter and with joy
and a large double gin
And as the sun begins to rise
And blackbirds start to sing
I’m looking all around
for a dilemma to begin
Breakfast comes and goes
Not a burn upon the toast
For today this day be Sunday
I look forward to my Sunday roast
A gentle stroll along the prom
Before it starts to go all wrong
But people smile and for a while
I even burst into a song
Back at home the leg of lamb
Permeates my nostrils
Pink and succulent with roasties
tender carrots and parsnips
lots of lovely fresh mint sauce
complements the lamb of course
I sit and tuck into my meal
lamb melting in my mouth
This is my favourite Sunday roast
But then disaster doth approach
My left front crown I'd swallowed down
My day had begun
far too good to be true
I am starting to choke
I am turning bright blue
Alone am I ~ am I going to die
No one here to pat my back
I am in a pickle
I am in a jam
In such a tight corner
In a quandary is where I am…
Written 2nd October 2021
Contest "Q" contest
Sponsor Constance La France
2nd PLACE
Contest A STRAND 1054
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
They say you can tell what a person is thinking by the expressions on there face,
But what if all they are doing is smiling? What are they thinking then?
I like to sit in a garden of pure beauty, surrounded by flowers of every colour,
The sweet smell of roses, Red, pink, yellow, black and white,
With the thorns pricking out, not to hurt but a warning not to get to close.
Tree’s of soft pink cherry blossoms that smooth the touch,
An ocean glass and white gravel floor reflecting the light of sun
And in turn giving the flowers a more sparkling essence,
These are the things that make me smile.
I like the smell of a piping hot Sunday roast, not just on a Sunday,
The way the peas, carrots, Brussels, string beans and the rest of the vegetables look,
Boiling away, each in there own respective pans,
The thought of my leg of lamb cooking away idly sitting in the oven,
The smell driving me wild, playing on my taste buds , making my mouth water with desire,
Watching the Yorkshire puddings and stuffing balls rise to shape,
Looking ever more crunchy, then as I steer at perfection it only gets better,
As I pour on a helping of minted gravy,
These are the things that make me smile.
When I look into the eyes of my partner and see the sorrow she feels,
Knowing that I can make it all go away with a simple song and a slow dance,
And when I think of how hard she tries to make me happy,
Not knowing that just being there by her side is all I will ever need,
Just to know the fullest feelings of joy and love by just a small kiss to the forehead
While she sleeps and all the wonders of being a dad to the sweetest yet sometimes
Ungrateful children who’s constant smiles bring meaning to my life,
These are the things that make me smile.
So the next time you see someone smile and start to smile yourself,
Spear a moments thought to try and figure out why there smiling,
It may not always be pleasant or even good , but then again,
What can a simple smile hurt?
My pork chop ran off with a leg of lamb
Had a car accident and I mean - BAM!
The first one on the scene was my sweet old gram.
Luckily she had her video cam.
Filmed the lovers running on the lam.
We laugh at that tape whenever we can!
Private rustic dwelling ancient orchard
Leg of lamb with apricots and raisins
Saffron rice salad walnut oil dressing
Ambergris fragrance stroked his cheek
Long dress white linen steam pressed
Pristine white card Dark suit bodyguard
Highly polished rosewood dining table
Red stripes of traffic lights in the night
Spoon twirling fettuccini around his fork
Windows looking out onto the city lights
Walls covered with cabinets of books
Cosy cuddles piles of crushed clothing
Midsummer bonfire white-hot energy
Skin glistening sweat traced a circle.
Truly Horrible Poetry
The pagan grass in the meadow crackled with a crunch
Stepped on by insects who called themselves bugs
The grass had long yellow teeth and braces from the sun
Flowers opened up their big fat mouths
And yelled at morning, “Gimme some pistils!”
“I want to shoot someone!”
Mary had a little leg of lamb and a gun
She got obese on lamb and shot her pistol
No more flowers for any one
They lay dead in the field for talking filthy
Birdies in the trees knitted their nests
They showered Mary with obscenities
She sneezed at them and then went home to rest
Brush strokes
The sky this afternoon had odd clouds
looked like icebergs floating on pink air
The seagulls took refuge on my terrace.
A grey wolf with a leg of lamb scratched
on the door, I let it in.
when preparing the meat, the wolf left
down the hall that was dimly lit
I asked no question
I remembered a Russian painter of black forests
and dark red sky I think he was foresighted
therefore, sent to a Gulag.
The sea in the bay is dark with white spots
the Russian has gone mad, was his name Kozlovski?
Back in the hall where the wolf had disappeared
left a pile of dung as proof, in case, I thought
it was a dream.
Mid Autumn, Saturday 6.30am
and daybreak is slowly climbing
over the back fence.
Frank O'Hara's poetry is still
echoing in my head from reading
it last night as I cook breakfast
of bacon and eggs.
Later I walk up the street
to the chemist to get
my blood pressure pills
and as I walk, compile arguments
against Postmodernism
and recognise that the notion of
the transcendental
sits at the centre of my beliefs.
I cannot abandon meaning.
Later, I prepare a leg of lamb
for baking along with potatoes,
pumpkin and carrots. Childhood
breaks through as I open
the oven door and a blast
of heat hits my face.
I am persuaded now
by the arguments
of the Universalist or else
there is nothing at all.
After dinner I sit quietly
with my wife. The evening
is coming on and the sound
of crickets filter in through
the front screen door.
I have much to be thankful for
but I feel sad. I am not sure
if it's just the early dark or having
to let go of the last line
of this poem and slip back
into the heavy silence
of myself.