Best Plateful Poems
nascent
dawn appears
kaleidoscope
of
color
midnight
sighs
leftovers
of
last night
plateful of
unsaid
words,
a
tablecloth
of rapier-sharp
folds
&
fireplace
dying
to be
kept
alive
sensitive
hearts
feel
powerful
in
mundane
rain
pelting
petals
think
of
others
when eating
remember
pigeon
food
when fighting
remember
seeking
peace
paying water-bill
remember
cloud-nursed
when homecoming
remember
homeless
campers
when sleeping
counting stars
remember
sleepless,
roofless
foodless
healthless
hopeless
be a candle
in
dark
snow
mixed
drizzle ...
dust-covered
man
holds
hand
of daughter
dying
slowly
under
slabs
of
concrete
life
illusion
dream
swoon
ecstasy
oblivion
1st Place Contest Winner
Written: February 14, 2023
YOUR SELECTION AGAIN Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE::THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Categories:
plateful, allegory, bereavement, emotions,
Form:
Other
Adventurous Asparagus
Edgy
Veggie
All over the Stove
Splatter
Matter
Don’t let Pa Find This
Risky
Whisky
Brother Got the Macaroni He Wanted
Dinner
Winner
The Hostess Treat that Hid in the Pantry Corner
Stinky
Twinky
Oops! Leftovers Two Weeks old
Fateful
Plateful
For Brian Strand's the 'ALL YOURS (Feb 23)' Poetry Contest
Categories:
plateful, food, humorous,
Form:
Footle
HEAVY TUMBLING STORY
Before forbidden words
dawn to confess
Come... Come.. C O M E...
Uncoil your taste-buds to me
Entrust you health fully to thee
Yours truly,
FOOD
___________________________________
Enamored beyond possible reproach
I opened my mouth for crumbs of tasty
Crumbs later become spoonfuls
Spoonfuls turned to one, two, three plateful
Appetite feast in crescendo of daily treats
Boosting my body: front and rear - pound per pound
My clothes then groan: a cri de couer
Yet, desirous mouth craved for more and more
Eating up to the crust and core of everything
Months passed, Bigger! BIGGER, I come to be.
'Til even walking and standing, I can't do
My room - my only day and night intimate boo
My children, I robbed tardily of their joys
As their focus and attention divided by two
Fats stored everywhere on my bod
Gradually they are killing me - stealing my breaths
An oxygen via prongs must be on beside to help me breathe
My back an archipelago of aching ulcer...
Comestibles become my sweetest agony
Breaking me and my dignity so gently
Obesity then my heavy tumbling story...
__________________________________________________
Food Can't Live with it can't live without it - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
~~~1st Place~~~
©Olive Eloisa Guillermo
10:51pm, Oct. 17, 2014
Categories:
plateful, abuse, addiction, body, food,
Form:
Narrative
The poor man on the street
With threadbare dress and blistered feet
'Tis his slogan, he howls,
"I feel hungry, my stomach growls."
The rich man sits to eat
With silken dress and stockinged feet
Tells after his plateful,
"I'm not hungry, my stomach's full."
The poor man sits and begs
For some leftover food and dregs
In his poor broken bowls,
"I feel hungry, my stomach growls."
The rich man's enjoying,
He's had his three course meal full swing,
Says, "I've had plentiful,
I'm not hungry, my stomach's full."
He'll never understand
(He's not hungry, his stomach's crammed)
Why that poor weak man yowls,
"I feel hungry, my stomach growls."
---------------
19.11.16
Categories:
plateful, meaningful, poverty,
Form:
Quatrain
She mastered a bastard custard
His husband was a bit flustered
He invited friends
And forgot his lens
He saw a plateful of mustard
Categories:
plateful, fun,
Form:
Limerick
Aunty Betty ate spaghetti
Every chance she got
For every plateful
Very grateful, she
Would scoff the bloomin’ lot
Aunty Betty ate spaghetti
Several times a day
With every course
A different sauce, and
That’s just how it would stay
Aunty Betty ate spaghetti
Far too much it seems
The urge so strong
It didn’t take long, ‘til
She busted apart at the seams
Poor Aunty Betty, there’s no more spaghetti
And the look on her face just confirms
That there in her belly
It’s not vermicelli
But thousands of wriggly worms
Categories:
plateful, family, food, funny,
Form:
Light Verse
I don't ask for a bed of clouds
My Lord! I don't want respect
I want my home in your poly-form earth
I'm interested to work for those
who work for themselves
I may not be a poet,
Can't write love and fun,
Strong lines with heavy words
I'm happy to be a labor of them
I always write for my greed
Satisfaction
To impress readers
Slighted others in the crowds
Hope for more and more expected feedback
More "Glory" in the contest
I always think of me only
There are millions who can't write
Express their feelings, protest and need
They are too needy to buy a pen
I'm wasting ink on "Her"
"Styx" is waiting for me
I will go swimming
Not to cross; Because I want to be here
To write the 'EPIC' of my family
My Lord! I have misused your words
Mistaken daily for the same
Divert your flow of time
Don't obey your rules
I can't forgive them who loves me
I know You are the Ocean of Forgiveness
But don't burn my home...
I tried to be like you
Kind, a true friend
A good father and a flexible husband
I understand, only you are the owner of that virtue
I'm crore miles away from that
The world is hungry for love
Only a few are wasting it
My pocket is full of love
The mentality has not been born to give and share
My brothers are begging and
His father is homeless
All his family members are dying to live
Crying for a seed
I'm unhappy with plateful rice
Forget that they worked for my carrier
I'm one of them...Can't escape from the cruel reality
I want to be happy with their happy ending.
Categories:
plateful, feelings,
Form:
Epic
Don’t worry about being thinner
Get yourself off down the pub
Then go home to a good British dinner,
Of British traditional grub
Delicious roast beef of old England
Served up with a thick Yorkshire pud
With roast spuds and cabbage and carrots
Plus gravy in which the spoon stood
What’s wrong with a good stew and dumplings?
Made with some prime neck of lamb
Or a thick slice of home boiled bacon
Instead of that wafer thin ham
Fried eggs and bacon for breakfast
A steak that’s surrounded with chips
Some mushrooms and beans or tomatoes
Can I hear you smacking your lips?
Give me pork chops with a kidney
A helping of wild rabbit pie
With carrots and peas and thick pastry
For which old Auntie Bessie would die
Kippers, smoked haddock or winkles
Mussels or soft herring roe
Jellied eels, tripe or pigs liver
I think I might give it a go
A thick slice of cheddar is pleasant
Coated with pickle of course
Or maybe a plump well hung Pheasant
Plastered with cranberry sauce
Blackberry and apple crumble
A dollop of cream on the plate
This is making my tummy rumble
Give me some quick I can't wait
A big lump of home made bread pudding
Or maybe a nice spotted dick
Served up with syrup or custard
Providing the custard is thick
A stuffed Sheep’s heart makes a good dinner
Or a nice deep-fried black pudding ring
On a slice of fried bread, did you hear what I said?
This is food that is fit for a king
When you’ve feasted on cabbage or brussels
Don’t ever consider you’ve sinned
Just be certain your close friends and family
Are seated some distance up wind
A plateful of boiled new potatoes
Dashed with salt taste exceedingly nice
If you give them a try will you no longer buy
Bean shoots or Chinese fried rice
Avoid all these kebabs and curries
They look like they’ve been eaten before
You’ll be finding them most Sunday mornings
On the pavement outside your front door
Don’t listen to these dieticians
Between themselves they can’t agree
Nobody mentioned cholesterol
Until nineteen seventy three
Make sure all your dinners are British
Now you know the foods that I mean
We never defeated old Hitler
Eating Pasta or Nuevo Cuisine
Categories:
plateful, foodold, nice, home, home,
Form:
Newspaper is for kids to play with and have fun or experiment something new,
Paper folding is something one learns using these scraps only---right?
Newspaper is to clean the glass, the cheapest means ever,
Just sprinkle a few drops and wipe off, no chemical works that good---right?
Newspaper is to place on a shelf, under the clothes, the books and
Under all those important or unimportant things that one wants to discard but keeps--- right?
Newspaper is also seen with roadside vendors to serve
A plateful of hot ‘pakoras’ ,spicy ‘bhelpuri’ or tasty ‘kultchas’---right?
Then newspaper addiction for those who read, for it tell about the World,
And it’s not all, it also tell what’s right and what’s wrong---right?
Those who are reading are smiling I know, for Newspaper helps them in other ways too,
And now there is no fight for I know I am right.
2nd place win
Contest sponsored by Sheri Fresonke Harper
Categories:
plateful, addiction,
Form:
Free verse
Chinese Dave is not Chinese, he just likes Chinese food,
He’ll eat it till his tummy bursts whene’er he’s in the mood.
He scoffs Chow Mein and Egg Foo Yung and Fried Rice by the plateful,
And then his botty burps. Oh dear! Stand back! You will be grateful.
Categories:
plateful, 2nd grade, 3rd grade,
Form:
Rhyme
Love, Italian style
is a heaping plateful of spaghetti,
hot and steamy.
Categories:
plateful, food, love,
Form:
Prose Poetry
specified such so as to issue a rhyme,
but proceed as this scribe
doth git linkedin with the cutting crew
yet not the least whirlwind will offset
my b52 Hair style,
or hirsute shellacked beehive type do
no matter from what literary website,
an unsuspecting reader will accidentally
stumble upon a ewe
fo' mystic impression
wilt ache shape about myself
some accurate ledge gin dairy horsesense
about me will ensue,
especially if I sheepishly admitted,
this beastie boy iz a genuine foo
fighter toward this former
stone temple pilot, wildly whizzing,
gurgling in age inappropriate burbling,
dribbling, flickr ring for a goo goo
doll to dare buffer end me, hub bee of piggish,
ham handed, bay kin a poetic slop hoo
might at this juncture succinctly cease reading
prior to putting finishing touches on ma igloo
when the remaining portion of this dippily goofy,
slippery when whet, trippy treacle G.I. Jew
who would, more aptly
coon sitter himself hub
horn hug ken atheist, boot knew
not a whit about Judaism,
nor any other belief paradigm,
yet does get fixated (usually in the loo)
about philosophical ideas,
which yet to be revealed
abstract notion came to me
while enjoying a plateful of moo
goo gai pan, plus other Chinese food
(a favorite cuisine),
now aye will try to new
dill back to the initial pretext
found me drawing blanks
(no not shooting) – ooh
aah, this theme within guttersnipe noggin
more difficult to codify than one whiz
constipated and try'n might damn hard tip poo
anyway, the general premise alighted, and fired
mine gray matter cause a major cerebrum jam up
with sudden crackling star bursts forced
Categories:
plateful, anxiety, games, hair, happiness,
Form:
Elegiac Lyric
Tryst with Darkness
Poignant I move out daily
With a hope for a superior tomorrow
Coz all this is just a ‘yes sir’ affair
And that I think I am not ready for it yet
Between the two days comes a plateful night
Which understands the snarl in my silence and
The gloom in my smile
The only moment when I am me
Is the darkness which follows the sham day- light
Its loyalty seems better than the wine
And promises to meet again are always right
Its patience to listen to my recurrent plight
Is better than the love of my life
The hush in the dark is soothing
And its splendor so relaxing
It is a rescue in my most blue moments
And comes as a partner for my angst
It has the most of a perfect chum and
That of a silent sentinel
But I always have the day hunting me
And I glaringly welcome the imminent dawn
With adjusting tenor for a confident ‘yes sir’
I begin the day with a compromising stance
With a hope I face the day
To convene the dark again coz
It believes me and my dreams
That I do not belong here and
The undefined mark I look for is so
True and chaste
The only moment when I am me is
The time of tryst with darkness
Ranjay Chowdhury
Categories:
plateful, absence, age, angst, appreciation,
Form:
Light Verse
A sound of orient
-
He looks like a fragranced oasis in this city;
a lean, yet muscular man in a dhoti,
sweaty; playing flute, a plateful of bland food
in front of him, his humble surrounding, the hut.
A village man, who has once come in chasing dream,
is now a part of this city, a part of speed,
all except his flute and customary dhoti.
The dizzy sound travels up, to the fifth floor terrace,
to the sad man and sadder woman, to the sadists,
to the dying and to the dead. It climbs up like veins.
His is a life, with its own brands of pain and love,
not demanding, the way sometimes this city extracts.
The days and nights extract a man.
He hauls out others or vise versa.
A sound disappears in sleep,
becomes a village in the vale,
where dreams move like sheep.
~© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar.
Categories:
plateful, art, fantasy, hope, imagination,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Cracker Barrel — always a favorite.
Not my first choice today, but
we go where the grandkids go.
Warming my hands with coffee cup
...waiting...tap, tap...for the follow up.
I wonder if the waitress was in charge today…
Like an arcade ball, literally bouncing off
coworkers, aimless, goofy talk…
Our table, likewise, discordant —
not quite catching the right tune.
An unfamiliar waitress, all over
my granddaughter with hugs —
back off, lady...phew
The orchestrated mess came in due time,
like a thanksgiving dinner, where we wait for hours.
So glad my family didn’t throw a fuss. We were all
hungry, but not...starving.
Our lackadaisical fare showed up with lackluster.
dishwater hash browns, soupy grits. But the
plateful of biscuits, were honestly delicious,
as was the one french fry I borrowed from
my granddaughter’s plate.
So breakfast lacked perfection and some emotional
digestion at the table, but still any day...any day
with my grands is a perfect kind of day,
because I love them so…
11/26/2017
Categories:
plateful, family, food,
Form:
Free verse