Best Marinated 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.
If savory, I enjoy serving in poetry cups.
Categories:
marinated, desire, food, how i
Form:
Rhyme
You ripped me
One word at a time
Shredded my smile
Pulled at my sensitivity
I was never strong enough
To pull back my paper heart
You took the pieces of me
Arranged them in your perfect order
I prayed for the wind to come
Hoping I would be carried away
Flutter to a new more loving home
Instead, I endured your paper cuts
I became your paper mâché
Shaped into the image of you
Glued with your inconsistancies
Coated in your endless smoke
Sarcasm and beer
I marinated in your endless tears
You painted me with a retarded label
Your stupid failure of a son
Forced to endure that brush
It was with your eyes I learned to see
Everyone else was better than me
I was a failure times three
My inside empty
I became light as air
As time went on I ceased to care
It happend slowly you weren't aware
Until one day I floated past your stare
No longer raw and bare
I clawed and ripped
Rewrote my page
My renaissance
coming of age
Not your puppet on a stage
Contorted by your rage
I have lost you to your death
The air much clearer, still I feel your breath
Within my doubts your lies still hide
Yet within me a new strength resides
Your image of me no longer applies
Doubt and fear reduced in size
No longer your "DUMMY"
On faith I rise
For Charlotte's contest, heart and soul confessional.
Written, September 1st 2014.
Categories:
marinated, abuse, addiction, anger, angst,
Form:
Free verse
Sometimes when
nightfalls of summer
feel so cold,
and everything seems dark,
I turn to the heat of
my grandmother’s soup.
Life can exist
within bone China
or simple ceramic textures,
savoring salt and spices,
but when it becomes
bland, we seek
sentimental essences
to ease our yearning.
When watercolor
sunsets break into
warm saffron hues,
I remember her soft
smile that
bestowed hope upon me,
resonating ancient
flavors seasoned
from perfectly peppered
zests of her soul.
Crumbs of
her cuisine seduce
a dull skyline
into gourmet
tamarind twilight,
as the warm touch
of her culinary run
through the hallways
of my childhood home,
like an aromatic
epitome of hand
cooked love,
she sprinkles
ingredients of faith,
marinated in minced
humor,
with lemongrass
and lentil lullabies,
in a heart-shaped
bowl of tom-yum
testimonies.
And now I sit here
reliving a distant
delicacy so close
to the taste buds
of my mind.
I will always crave
for the first course
of my grandmother’s
Friday feast,
served in a tray
of fragrant memoirs,
garnished in laughter,
cultivated with delight,
amidst the wrinkles
that reveal the recipe
to unravel euphoric
tales of her
unforgettable kitchen.
Categories:
marinated, devotion, granddaughter, i miss
Form:
Free verse
Passed down through generations I hold a gift of soup poetry,
it doesn’t matter if it’s hot or cold, as long as it comes in rhyme,
free verse is also tasty when I add a good analogy,
and sometimes I add a little bit of limerick and thyme.
The flavor that I savor is in the magic of the recipe,
boiled in the heat of the night or chilled during the day,
I have tendencies to stir and sip quite constantly,
just like my great grams used to do and say.
She wrote journals of emotions holding dreams of aspirations,
when she died they were handed down to me,
I learned that while making soup poetry I need inspiration,
and keep craving verses that will set me free.
The combination of deep love and gaining old age,
brings me satisfaction when thirsting for release of pain,
sometimes it’s nice to add some haibun and sage,
because adding a little cilantro can leave a senryu stain.
Footles of noodles and chicken marinated in raspberry villanelle,
reminds me of growing up when I was sick with heart ache,
my soup poems were yummy in my tummy with some garlic ghazal,
and when feeling the sorrow of loss, I’d add a fibonacci flake.
The soup poetry that tastes the best are the recipes from the soul,
and when the cooking is done I can sip from a poetry soup bowl!
My Poetry Soup Recipe
January 26, 2017
Categories:
marinated, poetry, silly,
Form:
Rhyme
Burlap marinated in back water ponds,
that's what the spirit of truth often dons
always forever and mahogany strong...
pillar of marble in cyclones of neglect
hold tight to its wings,glide above feiry pits.
Untruth, the drunk weaving down neon road
a pair of vertical eyes, a million pot holes..
always the deciever, never yearns to give back
so much fleeter than what you'd expect,
fools fancy chasing the tail of the Asp.
Truth, the cay of salvation circled by sharks
lone firefly ripping the mask from the dark
gilded loom of the humbled and homespun heart
Untruth, supreme seductress of venomous ID
whirlpool to water colored hearts and smiles
living to brand death back into pure eyes.
Categories:
marinated, life, truth,
Form:
Free verse
Written by Gail DeBole
on March 13, 2020
Fictional poem
The First Real Case of the Coronavirus
(or The Coronavirus Stew Recipe)
Nobody knows that this is really the way
The Coronavirus came here to stay.
A witch who was looking for a new supper brew
Concocted a recipe of a tasty bat stew.
The recipe was easy, a few this and thats
One frog’s ear and a big black rat.
The ingredient that would make the stew fine
Was a bat’s wing marinated in wine.
All served on top of a Yew Tree Leaf
Who needed steak when she had bat beef?
The meat was cooked rare with a slight tinge of pink
And smelled like a mixture of evil and stink.
The next day her witch friends found her alone
In a position that could only be prone.
Categories:
marinated, fantasy, humor, humorous, sick,
Form:
Couplet
Are you in the mood
for a poem about food
Something marinated, dude
or grilled, barbequed
Tangentially:
Have you ever viewed
a painting in the nude
Meaning (if you're shrewd)
that you are no prude...
And would you ever collude
or possibly intrude --
wade into a family feud
a cesspool of moral turpitude
Back-on-Track:
Is your gastromo-palate imbued
with delights that include
a smorgasboard of seafood
dainty caviar, finger-lickin'-good
Categories:
marinated, fish, food, word play,
Form:
Monorhyme
You’ll wanna forget, but I’ll sell your kisses for a bag and a rig.
My glory rides on a brick and a gram
You’ll never get more then half my mind.
I’ll eat ya to put you to sleep
Cause my dick won’t step up half the time.
Your eyes shut to tapping my vein
Dancing through shards of moonlight, emptying your purse.
I can score while your searching your plastic case for your pretty face.
Sweet poems and construction paper cards were pregame.
Now I finger through your parents drawers, quarter rolls are good enough.
Do you still crave me babe?
How’s third place, my two best buds a needle away?
Even when my eyes aren’t dotted up it isn’t fair.
Just a routine, credit card debt and jail don’t scare.
With me we’re always in the midst of thunder
Recoveries pink clouds in front but out of grasp.
Absence of luck permits you to hang on to my spirit embezzling tears.
I’ll be smiling at the freedom, Ignoring your texted stabs.
Long sleeves and 50 hour work weeks fooled your parents, but
The mirrors sunken and pale my features lost to warmth artificial from my heart.
Everything is gonna be cool as long as no one sees my arms.
Penniless, I’ll dissolve all my cravings under my tongue… for a week.
Steaks marinated in Pabst followed by talks of your creation.
We can lay in bed alll day watching Hulu and melting time.
For once I’ll be all your’s no more rocks disrupting my brain.
As soon as pay day hits I’ll sprint out the front door.
Categories:
marinated, depressionday, me,
Form:
Free verse
First, I tried to rhyme
with your spirits...
For I really thought I saw in it
our own beginning, without end
and my heart accented to love
I gave my very best
and you surely know that
‘twas 100% rhyme
Yet after years of enjoying my soul
marinated in your wants and wishes
I noticed your words, drifting like heavy rain
that my big palms barely hold them
Have you ever considered my being?
That this morning, after a shower
rinsed the great pain I kept
in my breath, I opted to walk the sun-lit
corridor of free verse, where I can be me
just as what I always wanted to be...
Without engaging my dignity
in too much psychedelic wars
Categories:
marinated, life, lost love, recovery
Form:
Lyric
Inside my nose lies my kind of treasure
Each dig brings no gold, but a lot of pleasure
Most times it's the right nostril that's clogged
With the left side, when I blow out, I can whistle for the dog
My girl and I used to be very close
Until she caught me picking my nose with a pair of her panty hose
When I pull out chunks of green and a lot of slime
I feel like I committed the perfect crime
Everyone is cautious with the ice, I grab it with my bare hands
They all gag, not one of them undersatnds
It's compulsion, something I have to do
So don't get grossed out when I do it in front of you
There are time at home that I use a vaccuum cleaner hose
No matter where I am, private or public I still pick my nose
On Thursday, we are having a pot luck
I shall fry my own chicken, a family recipe I call Southern Cluck
I feel so priveledged, one bag of ice saved just for me
I am astounded, at the pot luck, no one tries my family recipe
I am a very sanitary person with a very noticeable habit
Maybe next time I will bring marinated Rabbit
I just wanna know why you find what I do so gross
I can mix a drink for you while you explain and all the while be picking my nose
Either way you look at it, of my nose, I am still in charge
I wonder often if someone has fingers that are too large
For them I feel bad they can't clear their airway
I clear it probably six or seven times a day
If I can't flick it, I wipe it on my clothes
Watch for sharp, dry objects left behind,this is one of the hazards when you pick your nose
This is dedicated to all of you nose pickers out there
Men will sometimes pull out nostril hairs
Women normally pull clean
Unless your name is Butchy McQueen
It is stuffed so you blow and blow
A finger irrigation can bring it under control
Don't dig so hard that you cause a nose bleed
No matter how often you harvest the field, the nose plants new seeds
I myself, never use self control
Even at lunch, when everyone is featstin' I still pick my nose
Categories:
marinated, family, family, time,
Form:
ABC
Lemon and garlic marinated chicken breasts(3) winter medley vegetables(steamed) in garlic
and butter with white rice.....
Herdez salsa over the top to give it spice... I also have two types of cheddar
cheese....xxxtra sharp(white) and sharp(orange)
with sun tea lightly sweetened with Peaches, Pineapples, and Pears.....
:JP]
Categories:
marinated, food
Form:
We couldn't see the turmoil past their swirling smoke
Something strange although ? Seeking for a gesture her children
Granted this clarity should not be given; at least, in his physical realm
Ninty-nine blue balloons these answers wavering amid another's storms saddling
Up their unicorns ride captain ride, upon your mystery ship ? Bovine bottles and goat milk
Spilling from their lips hedge hog philosophy drawn from, portentouslies mystical pit: labyrinthos
Doggerel dogma Dodo's delirium tremens delivered aside Dae's podium being definitive's deism hiscere...
Maitre d'hotel feigned her facade espouse, gyrations; marinated peace signs his pork's stillborn ? Love's keyhole.
Categories:
marinated, baby, love,
Form:
She lies breathless on the kitchen table,
as I prepare to perform my passion.
first, I marinated her breasts
in a fusion of lime juice and coconut oil,
then massage them gently with tamarind cream.
Her soft flesh felt like silly putty in my hands.
She was on heat in a minute or so.
One half hour works,
now she is stir up and moist
Her thighs were beautifully browned.
I varnished them with a feather dipped in honey.
I taste her,
She melts inside my mouth.
I dampened the flame.
The wine is on ice,
the table is spread.
I can’t wait for her to come!
Twas the first time
I’ve cooked for my love.
Categories:
marinated, love
Form:
Free verse
Didn’t know a goat had to die
To make grandma’s dish so delicious.
Fileted meat
Marinated in herb and spice:
Onion, garlic, black pepper, clove and thyme
Pan griddled, embracing black char
Simmer in oil
Sizzling, a snake’s hiss
Aroma drew nose near, from afar
A dinner’s delight
A black fur billy goat
Eyes starring widely
Chewed green, so unaware
Doomed for demise
To adorn dinner plates
Prey to the hunter’s ritual
Age old, as time
Sharp blade placed to throat
Its red soaked the earth
Free -verse 03/07/15
by Marckincia Jean
Categories:
marinated, change, child, death, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
Happy. Genial. Merry. Jolly
Blottoed, blasted, etched and blitzed
Mellow, foggy, hazy, squiffy
Tipsy. Tiddly. Brahms and Liszt
Dazed, zombied, tanked-up, trollied
Ganted, gubbed, guttered
Bladdered, blathered, leathered, plastered,
Sozzled, sloshed, scuttered
Hammered, battered, caned, mangled
Spannered, mullered. Half-cut, lashed
Twisted, warped, slammed, wasted
Wrecked, ruined. Munted, trashed
Liquified, marinated, juiced, sauced,
Steamed, pickled, fried
Cabbaged, mashed, cooked, baked
Boiled, stewed. Pie-eyed
Stinking. Howling. Pole-axed, floored
Under the influence. Off one's woo
Steampigged, badgered, ratted, goosed,
Clobbered. Lairy. Boogaloo
3 sheets to the wind. Away with the fairies
Under the table. Tight as a tick.
Ankled, wellied, trousered, legless,
Bevvied, swizzled, pot-sick.
One over the eight. Out nibbling the grape.
Rosy. Rummy. Poggled.
Jober as a sudge. Laughing at the carpet.
Seeing double. Boggled.
Lubricated, oiled, pixilated, ploughed
Intoxicated, inebriated. On the grog
Wobbly, jungled, off to the races
Lit up, shot down. Cocked as a log
As a lord, as a piper, as a fiddler, as a poet,
As a newt, as a monkey, as a skunk
As a sailor, as a mouse, as a pig, as a fart
Muddled. Fuddled. Or just plain drunk
Words and experiences, many of us share
And I'm sure there's a few that I've missed
But while some get "tired and emotional"
I just prefer to get…
Categories:
marinated, drink,
Form:
List