Best Roast Poems
People like spokes of a wheel
Streaming in the church on a Sunday morning hill;
The preacher talks of the prodigal son,
While the gathering ends in a reverend song.
And Mama cooked a roast on Sunday.
The smell of the enticing pot
Of chuck and potatoes and onions, carrots,
Conjure memories of Sunday dinners,
Where a table was set for returning sinners.
And Mama cooked a roast on Sunday.
Filled and sleepy I had to wash dishes,
And left alone with my own wishes
That I, too, could nap while the folks read papers,
Instead of stuck with cloth and scraper.
While Mama left the roast on Sunday.
My mind would drift to people foreign thin, hungry and hot.
In other worlds across the seas,
And my young girl’s heart would dejectedly drop
Like my recent church bowed knees.
Where Mamas don’t cook roasts on Sunday
And now that I am old looking back on my life,
I hope my little coins helped feed a needy child,
Shooing away some flies from its mother’s eyes,
I pray that I’ll remember why,
Mama cooked a roast on Sunday.
Pub in Yorkshire with stout and ale aplenty.
Red faces sweating with alcohol's influence.
Singing fine songs in reverie and ecstasy.
Salivating at arrival of that succulent essence.
Tender juicy slices of beef covered with gravy.
A splendour when touched by crispy bubbling pudding.
Roast potatoes smiling that wicked grin for tongue's activity.
Forks and knives clatter in haste for that delight of tasty supping.
Drowning that deliciousness with ale.
Rhyming lyrics midst throng of patrons' happiness.
Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding you made me hale.
I will visit you often and celebrate tummy's warmth in merriness.
The smell is good
Just look at the pud
Gammon, Turkey and Beef
Life’s turned over a new leaf
A few balls of stuffing
They aint made of nuffing
Many calories they carry
It’s the sausages I want to marry
Grease torpedoes and crispy potatoes
We know where all that goes
Straight to the hips
For some taste bud kicks
Oh well
Diet go to hell.
I am trying to relate to the strategy of rhyme,
Using words to titillate from the droll to the sublime.
Do I write "a rime that scintillates" to describe a ghost
Of frost? I consult the information highway hosts
Who assimilate rhyme-chimes on internet dot coms,
Those prime verse doctors granting aid so poems do not bomb.
I'll create a word-dance show to equate a tango's flow,
So solitude and fortitude and quietude must glow!
These multitudes of disciplines provost my attitude;
Will you, for faulty demeanor, please grant me latitude?
My aptitude to mutilate (a crime I must not boast.)
Is like a marmalade of brine upon my morning toast.
I ventilate and, then, deflate my inmost certitude;
This grime will grow in plenitude, a naughty turpitude.
I'd rather ev'ry word I post would jubilate the coasts,
Mime the scent of thyme about each lyrical outpost.
This roast of rhyme will blow ego and have me eating crow
If I don't quickly disappear, you know, vamoose and go.
© Faye Lanham Gibson, June 10, 2014
Ocean waves, ships like us, and your spandex swimwear was an atraction for any girl, not in the right state of mind.
It was Tahiti, 1998, no, it was "1999" and thats why "Prince" wrote the song.....
Over that hot, hot summer- my 1960's vintage swimsuit, black and white; floral with clashing purple and pink swimskirt.
People saw me coming a mile away and looked so fasinatingly, at top portion, black and white vintage suit, water, sand, Oh, what a beautiful day.
Yes, The waves when two passing ships meet, that sizzling night on the 23rd of July 1999.
The beach was crowded, buns and sun and hot man flesh everywhere, But I thought of you most, after seeing you near the shore. After all, there was more to you than most in that spandex spedo you wore so willingly and I not to willingly at first.
Perhaps it was the sun that day as I could not stop my following stare of your deirerre,
as your eyes peeled off my black and white vintage swimsuit- flowers on the sand, nearly completing the reasoning for all things in life. Or at least I thought so that new morn after.
I've thought of you so, in many fantasies and some times I dream of being something famous, where you would consider my love for all time true. I dream of the surf, that rigid, pounding of the sea.. You and I, vessels. Yes, ships- we have met, and shall again My Love.
I dream of you deep in the night, I wake up in night sweats, and have to clear my head, (My only ecognition as I open my eyes was the sizzling summer In Tahiti was it 1999, or perhaps it was 2001 for the nights are long yearning to see you once more. You in your spandex bikinis, me in my black and white vintage wet wear, and Dear Kevin, perhaps that is why I am a writer today. To be somebody to you- special!
Will you ever think of me again? Do you truly care for me and me only? Kevin... Kevin Lauer~*! ............................................................................now I'm changing my bed.
Startled geese hiding,
Huddling in the dense brush
Roasted goose dinner...
Roast A Ghost
Trump always likes to brag and boast;
At dinner event he did become a ghost
Has no bright bean;
Creates such a scene,
And his very own affair he had to host.
James Horn Political Poem Series
(Sundays)
Each street sounded of
Lawn mowers, laughter, bicycles and bells
The odd car being revved up
And oh my! The heavenly smells
Each towns aroma was roast beef
Gravy and yorkie puds
When hungry tummies with baited breaths
Sneaked to the shops for sweets and other forbidden goods
Latch dogs roamed free in packs or joined in with us kids
Depositing delights, creating awful smelly skids
Ken Dod and his Diddy men, duster in his hand
'isn't it a nice day!' as he skipped through Diddy land
'eat up all your Brussels now!'
What a ruddy shame
That dog hates them as much as me
Traitor! Should be his name
Sneak off down the brick fields for some fun a fight or swim
Come home filthy and lie
About 'where on earth you've been?'
Four in a bath to stew and wash each others backs
Waters at a shortage now, unlike the dreaded smacks
Off to bed cross Lino floor to reach the bottom bunk
Can't wait to grow up now
And be a rebellious punk
The clumps are placed atop the grate
And fire is lit below.
Soon steam will form in empty space.
The process seems too slow.
While tender morsels slowly roast
The beer and coke flows free.
Camaraderie is displaced,
when open shells you see.
common ballad
alternating between Iambic Tetrameter and Iambic Trimeter
only line 2 and 4 have to Rhyme in each 4 lines.
© Oct 10 Charles Henderson
For Brian's "up to 10 lines" contest
Place your rump roast in deep pan,
add cream of mushrooms, beef broth,
potatoes, carrots;
cook on medium
for four hours
done!
My grandma in her garden
picking peas, beans and carrots
and digging up potatoes -
roast chicken for lunch.
For Sara’s Pleasant Childhood Memory contest
Hot crackling a golden brown
Slow cooked suckling pig
Back bacon on apple wrapped
Dripping gravy dip
Succulent scratchings
Pork belly
Hog!
ROAST TO THE TOASTER
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
toaster, warmth you bring,
golden crusts greet morning light,
sunrise in my hand.
slots are welcoming
embrace bread with gentleness,
toasting it with ease.
each slice meets your heat,
a transformation occurs,
soft to crisp delight..
you're more than a tool,
symbol of comfort, routine,
part of daily life.
here's to you, toaster.
may your coils always glow bright,
filled with a slice white.
roast beef (rare) had looks beyond compare
his face was rosy and blush
without a trace of stubble or gristle
he was suave and clean
a beef lovers dream
hard and lean a macho machine
gleaming
dreaming
scheming of a way to seduce Phyllis Filet
roast beef (rare) met Phyllis filet on a gray day
the were standing in line at the slaughterhouse gate
small talking
awaiting their fate
as the inched their way closer to endeavor the cleaver
they felt so much lust they were encrusted in fever
burning to escape the date of their fate
they devised a plan
a slaughterhouse scam
they executed the plan with lightning force
Phyllis wiggled over and started flirting with a horse
she glowed
her words flowed as she took him for a ride
roast beef (rare) felt a swelling of pride
he knew when Phyllis caressed the horses tail
that there'd be no way that their plan could ever fail
that they'd soon be romping in greener pastures
both of them getting just what they were after
they flung on a fling
high
low
every which way but loose
Phyllis the poor dear conceived a papoose
a bouncing baby beef to be or not to be
that was her dilemma
after she found out that roast beef (rare) was infested with salmonella
I want to eat
cheesy down home goodness
I want to be mozzarella vegan great
to eat the best flavors right off
a non-dairy plate
but, honest finance
has told me so
I will never know
vegan in this price range
I could stretch out my dough
I could save up multitudes of pennies
but let's face it
I will just have to
let the dream go
seventy-seven dollars
for vegan cheese
I guess sadly
vegan isn't for me