Best Pasta Poems

Opening line from "Highway Five Love Poem" by Ruth L. Schwartz


This is a love poem for all the tomatoes
I squished to make our Date-Night spaghetti.
Our...

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I can’t see my dentist and I’ve got dire halitosis,
with distancing I hope that nobody will notice!

When we're outdoors we must keep 2 meters apart,
this...

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Italian restaurant; pasta and wine - red, like the eyes of a bat,
Screeching from a cave, dark as the eyes of a snowman,
Coal plucked from...

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A is for Avocado, the creamy, green nutritious fat.
B is for Berries, the fruit that keeps your tummy flat.
 
C is for Chia, most nutrient-dense...

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Late to the party we arrived at seven
At least we showed up before eleven
Sweet Ginette, joined us both at the door
A bottle in my hand...

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Breakfast of Good-bye


fine remnants softly linger
along the edges - reminiscence,
soft ruffling of a curtain
tickled by a warm summer breeze,
cold scent of passion’s pillow
pressed into the...

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Let’s begin with
A strong fresh
Brewed Greek coffee
The aroma alone,
Will wake up 
Your senses, 
Allow you to
Let go, to keep 
An open mind to delight
And excite...

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For some reason, Thursdays find me warped both in a space of inertia and hyperactivity. Perhaps the anticipation from hitting work deadlines on a Friday...

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Written: March 28, 2024 For Constance La France Contest

Quote: (The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.)...

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     "Christmas Spirit"
(Christmas Day in Italian Culture)



as a snowy blanket of white caresses in Winter's glow
and frosty icicles kiss windowpanes in...

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One single dish with one single pea

The sign on the door said, 
Come one and come all
We welcome the short
and we welcome the tall

From the...

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Mistress of deception,
as in victual monogamy.
A deceit of one’s perception,
without an irksome homily.

Mushrooms drop into a pot,
with peppers, once pureed.
Zucchini dance as they are tossed
amidst...

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There once was a man with spaghetti for hair
It was long. It was stringy, and it flew everywhere

It was white. It was sticky. It collected...

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The lunchroom fart
of turbo pasta
scatters garlic teargas
laced with meaty mystery
without mercy to
flatten cubicles.

Chain-reactions
of Tupperware battles
erupt to devastate
once discerning pallets
until hobbled by stabs
of shrapnel to the...

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The neighborhood buffet boasted 
fried chicken and biscuits, toasted, 

creamy gravy, and smashed taters. 
You can serve yourself, no waiters. 

Into the long line you...

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