Best Ribs Poems
In summer, we grill them in our backyard.
Preparation of spare ribs is not hard.
Just light the charcoal, and let it get hot.
Is there a special brand of barbecue sauce you've got?
Spread the sauce on the ribs and let them cook away.
Barbecued ribs make a special treat on a summer day.
Make sure you get your share before they all go away.
inspired by another member's poem
They have command on me
my posture has been so
since birth and even now
a grown up, no change
The back has followed
the legs are going there
why can’t a guinea fowl
produce penguins, swans?
Why is choice in nature
so elusive, so limited?
Why can’t I become really
what I admire in nature?
I want to be free to be happy
but I’m condemned to be
a bent bow without arrows!
I met ANGIE in a bar where grief drank quiet,
where HONKY TONK WOMEN spilled perfume and regret.
She moved like WILD HORSES with nowhere left to run—
said, “I’m safer UNDER MY THUMB than out in the open.”
She kissed like a dare and left like smoke.
On RUBY TUESDAY, she vanished into rain,
murmuring, “YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT,”
and I didn’t even try to stop her.
She used to laugh when we lost at TUMBLIN DICE,
but the last time she smiled, she was already gone.
I tried to PAINT IT BLACK, but some songs keep bleeding.
The Rolling Stones still hum behind my ribs.
Every track she touched skips now—
her chorus etched in static.
She didn’t take her coat,
just the part of me that knew how to stay warm.
Political leaders globally surmise our economic stability.
Their mind desires maximization of their capabilities.
They seek power that is not to be.
Do they enmesh via history?
Does it matter what occurrences have already manifested?
These are the questions that are answered via their dogmatic presence.
Radically, they decide in an environment of arrest.
These dedicated bodies should care.
Religious figures throughout the universe suggest that humanity must get involve.
That they need to know life for what it is.
That God design this planet as a living will.
Through their mind-sets, they supposition humankind as only life formed.
Does it matter when new life is born?
Do they know the mixing bowl of faith is how mankind develops hate?
This implicates what is embroiled.
The love of thou fellow man, woman, and child will devout all.
For there is no man or woman above what is right.
For God gave us life to live precise.
That is to wrong that precarious time.
That is when right supersedes within the mind.
If it does not, all humanity is lost.
Then there is no more cold war.
R ise above
I niquity to
B e
S ave!
______________________________________|
Scribe August 12, 2015!
a bowl of baked beans
a stack of baby back ribs
with corn on the cob!
Honey smoked ribs on the grill
Come and eat your fill
Roasted corn, drips with butter
Taste buds aflutter
Peach pie on the sill
Ice cold beers
Cheers!
June 3, 2022
What's Cooking on the Grill This Summer Contest
Sponsored by M. L. Kiser
I want you to touch me until
My ribs become piano keys and my
Lungs are filled with sheet music I
Want you to love the way that
Art fills my soul and blooms in
My head, I want you to hate
The way that I can't let go
I want you to touch me the way
That the crisp winter air suffocates
The corrupted inside air.
My shower last Saturday
Brought throbbing pain to my day
The soap made me slip
Got bruised on my hip
My ribs might be cracked they say
It hurts when I breathe or sneeze
Or if you give me a squeeze
The good times are gone
And so is the fun
My life’s no longer a breeze
The pain is constantly there
Even when I comb my hair
Hygiene’s getting tough
So is “other” stuff
I’ve become a hairy bear
I wince with the jabbing pain
It’s sure to drive me insane
I can’t sit or stand
Need a helping hand
My bathroom trips are a drain!
My ribs reminds me of you
For no matter what I do
Your smile pokes me here
Your touch jabs me there
But your pain’s sweet.... through and through
and now we bask in the bloodlust
waiting for another reason
to whimper,
“why do they hate us?”
theyer feats
to eat
we have a cooke out
no doudtt
he taste is greatt
this is not fade
it fullfills
i love
SPARE RIBS
A Quiver Sliding Down the Ribs
On a sunny summer Sunday evening,
With the breeze hushed to dead silence,
The rays of the dying sun glittering
On the tallest barks in the distant horizon,
Wearied of age-long books I treaded carefree
In search of freshness and quietude
Along a lonely path fringed with lovely trees.
Soon banks of clouds shrouded the sky,
A chilly breeze rustled among the trees,
Whistling amidst the leaves up high
And blowing with impunity apace;
It started to rain heavily and heavily
While darkness invaded the entire space;
Shivering, I tried to seek a shelter free,
But none of the tall trees offered a refuge;
I trudged along when I came across a verdant tree
With branches spreading like an umbrella;
I hastened thereto to seek relief
As under a decrepit veranda.
Not a human sound could meet the ear
Not a human sight could greet the eye,
Yet anon a strange breath pricked my hair with fear
And when I turned around, I felt like…
I felt like a quiver sliding down the ribs
At the ghastly sight of a skeleton white,
Standing erect by the side of the tree.
Written by Krishnanand Guptar
9 February 2023
A rack of ribs bathed in smoke,
Rubbed with lots of spice
Tender meat falls off the bones
Juice runs down your arm
There’s no need for sauce
Hickory
Wood!
I should clear up the confusion. This is for a friend of mine, Nancy, who has asked me to smoke ribs for her birthday this weekend. It's a 7 to 8 hour process.
Slap Ya Mamma all over
And soak 'em in beer
Next morning smell the mesquite
Sizzle-juce and fat
Impregnate the air
Love smok'n
Mmmmmmmm!
Noah commissioned a wee dove as his ocean scout.
It ventured out three times seeking sprigs of life.
On the third try, it brought back hope to all mankind.
I would have chosen an albatross for the task.
It's more suited for gliding over open ocean.
With its keen, salty eyes and great wingspan.
It could have done the deed in half the time.
Perhaps the dove was more efficient and intelligent.
Maybe the albatross lacked focus and discipline.
Been tempted by the sirens of fog and froth.
Did it feel disrespected for not being commissioned?
Chronically depressed, deep in the ribs of Noah's Genesis ship.
She's tough.
Ana's tougher.
Barely seventeen, five stone
Gaunt and battered, she stands alone
Dependent on the lone knife that slays her.
I wish I could, she tells her food.
But Ana says I can't.
One day, she'll win.
She's tough.