Best Pans Poems
She writes of the stuff in the loo,
amused by the odour of poo -
she has me in fits
describing her sh.ts
(though others believe it's taboo...)
written 19th March about Jan Allison for Margarita's Paean on Poets contest
I often gaze through Nana's broken window but today feels distinctly different as I watch the blackbirds pecking at the pears in the avocado trees. Nana harvested the finest ripe avocados and pears, their colors a lovely blend of dark burgundy and green, all from that old, timeworn tree.
Each year, we meticulously inspect every pear before packing them into a brown barrel. They were moist and delicious on the inside, so easy to peel—those exquisite, ripe pears.
Today, I am about to open the last marked box of Nana's belongings. Gently, I unwrap the final item, carefully enclosed in an old newspaper. It is her bread pan, the one with two handles, and I notice an old, burnt crumb lodged in one corner. A smile forms on my face, and I weep softly as I say,
"Hello to you too, Nana."
Playing tic tac toe with a triangular time bomb can be said to be a great idea for a triathlon of terrifically trained turnips whose expertise in the feats show a huge display of dedication, dietary dresses, and downright deserved dutiful distinguished drag. But a stage is not a stallion nor a stagnant shaped ship. But wait now and look over there and carefully study what is around. It is the fast fishes. Fast fishes fleeing flying fermented frogs. And the arrival of a little deck of cards is quite astounding really. For cards clap ecstatically exciting excellent extrasensory extraterrestrials eating evening electric eels. Oh great. Here is the glass beads chatting again. Clutter jingle. In a clatter. Of course in a clatter for clatter chatter is a seasoned dish of cubic carved corn smiling in weapon proof sunhats. Dare to dance the dance of delight with a dishcloth then. Good. Fantastic. Hahah the sea wheels are treading over an otter hut. Hahaha mangos balancing on top of a fifty acre sky scraper. Xxxxx psychologically z z z z 1 2 3 4 pea leap. Z
The joys of married life far outweigh any minor discrepancies
Such as throwing pots and pans or other minor irregularities
Must turn a blind eye
As dangerous stuff flies by
It all part of the charm, ignore the unavoidable peculiarities
“The lives of stone How rich they must be”
-Delphine, wife of Auguste Escoffier
Betrayed by ghosts
Alive in drifting candle smoke
Stain memories relinquished in time
Gathered in joyous gildings, now lost
Truth is not welcome
Only the essence of imagination
The essence
Of imagination
*Dedicated to the King of Chefs- Auguste Escoffier
12/29/11
i desire to last forever
maybe in some way i can
but in defeat i am defeated
all of a sudden i miss everyone
if you cook
than get hook
it read the book
its part of the plan
they don get hot
POTS AND PANS
Standing beside the pots and pans,
the pretty girl was full of life
and had the look of 'far to go',
but green tee-shirt was much too tight.
Standing beside the pots and pans,
maybe she'll never escape those,
but if she's a stickler for shirt too tight,
heaven only knows.
9/28/2015
The Olde Druidic Elven Way
'for ever words were writ
the rhyme and rhythm
helped us see
the shape and taste
and need indeed
of apples yet unbit
To help a man be what he is
alone in all his glory
to know what's right
and use his right
of individual freedom
is the well point of the story
painted words of admiration
to hold the beauty of our life
in constant view to help him see
The shape and taste
the need in deed
of apples yet unbitten
More pans to wash …
More pans to wash!!!
They come umpteen times a day.
My hands are chapped,
My back is crook’d
I wish they’d go away.
But when they’re dry and shiny, sitting neatly on their shelves
My thoughts can turn to what comes next -
Some tasty treat, no longer vexed
I now ‘create; and undertake
Pie, bun, roast a glorious cake?
Foods to soothe the ravening beasts
My pans cook up some wondrous feasts.
lost in a deep sea
the frog is loose
escaping from hell
tracking down
hopping mad
a culprit
named pork chops
who ate the pig
is on the loose again
vile threats
made on duck
calling out to everyone
his lips
on the lily trumpet
bringing back
the magic
with those green
smelly old tights
in hearing
whistling on the wind
under a silver moon
peter pan imposter
sweet talking candles
softly falling petals
on the hair
magically green
shades is back
the legend appears
in the ocean
a white ship sails
carrying pan's tights
like mosses
the sea will part
swallowing the ship
washing the remains ashore
along with tights
shipwrecked
on paradise
sweet smelling primroses
the rush is on
for pans tights
journey begins
bring back the bacon
enchanting love
in peter's tights
African minds, African souls
Yet only one controls
Her fiery hair is one of a kind
Yet no one sees inside her mask of destruction
Her name is Rae Hood, a killer of all beasts
She isn't a hero not a villain
You don't want to get on her bad side
For the moon power is all hers
African tribes hide
for she won't spare anyone on her path for vengeance
"Why is she angry?" they ask
But she never reveals her past
She's a man-eater,
their power unbelievably strong
Yet can they beat the moon control?
Africa is in danger
The pots and pans destroyed
All thanks to the "Moon witch"
Who has probably lost control
Her thirst for vengeance made her crazy
so her hold on the moon is lost forever
Lives have been spared,
people believed that she has changed
But no one knows that the infamous Rae Hood controls the moon no more
Joys of married life outweigh minor discrepancies
Such as throwing pots and pans or other irregularities
Must turn a blind eye
As harmful stuff flies by
It all part of the charm, ignore the unavoidable peculiarities
Taking a derelict path,
With a semblance of security,
Though only a whisker of it
I leave for the past
Which seems not far
But still out of reach
I am thoroughly afraid
For I am to face my decisions again
But
My itchy toes take me back
To the day when I considered myself
A free young man
And
I remember not feeling
Like an empty pot or pan
turned upside down
utterly useless.
I am now
In limbo
Turning back and searching for the time
When I was considered a worthy being
While being extremely carefree and happy
I was as worthy as the old men of the house
And was not thought of as
just a bootless admirer of their art
I was deemed a perfect member
of the highly regarded family I belonged to
for simply riding a horse
And treating the peasants in a cavalier fashion
A king’s man I was accounted
But soon
I had a stubble
I was ready to take on any role
Even if I was offered
The role of a pot or that of a pan
I remained duteous at home
Always at their disposal
But my worth was deemed lesser than a penny
For I remained unemployed
And slow-witted
And soon I let my austere employers
take over my body
And
If I don’t transition into
my past, laid back self soon
They will take over my mind
And I shall be to them
Merely
A vessel that can be used
or turned upside down
And
even shattered
at their convenience.
Blended Pans
All things to all men.
Take me to two thousand words.
And send me in orbit so fast.
Tannhauser Gate bound.
Blade Runner esque times ahead.
Paradise on fire.