Best Scrimp Poems
The Night looms over
The bed , stars twattle moon scrimp
You lay eggs of love
In my crevice and cleavage
Warmth that can open the door
Pink hue flamingo it must be due to all
the carotenoid pigments feasted on
algae and crustaceans
An elongated neck spirals
and filters such sensations
Sharing color is Okinawa salmon sushi,
bolster lobster and shrimp scrimp
Graceful qualifiers primp poised tropical dwellers
balancing effortlessly on one outstretched leg,
A ballerina’s pirouette in fuchsia tutus’
Statuesque stillness in shallow water
Rosette feathers flair flamboyance
Passionate plumage, blushing boas
Webbed feet tap and stamp below,
an aquatic burlesque show
The flamenco dance named after you
Rose-tinted creature tranquil, wader
Hook-billed blackened lamellae
sieved nobly, an intense look in a print
Cluster buster of pink with lengthy legs that sprint
Christmas day now over,
The turkeys now all dead.
While the bloated celebrators
Sleep their gorging off in bed.
No matter what it cost them.
(Though it cost the turkeys more),
They’d enjoyed the Christmas spirit
They’d invited through their door.
With plastic in their wallets
To finance their spending spree,
They ensured that all they’d purchased
Was on show for all to see.
They let family, friends and colleagues
Know what Christmas really means,
That by spending, spending, spending
You can purchase all your dreams.
Alas for all tomorrows
They may have to scrimp and save,
While the lucky Christmas turkeys
All lie peaceful in their graves!
Ivor G Davies
In the world of pasta, there’s one that can’t be beat.
And it’s made with zesty sauce, cheeses, and with meat.
Put some water on the stove; get it nice and hot.
Add wide noodles, fluted-edged, to the boiling pot.
Meanwhile, simmer your meat sauce. Nothing’s better than
what you’re going to prepare, layered in a pan.
On the bottom goes the sauce, noodles over that.
Then the cheeses (I use three). Never scrimp on fat!
Mozzarella, even Cheddar - what a cheesy mix.
No Ricotta? Cottage cheese can be an easy fix!
Layer noodles, sauce and cheese; Parmesan on top.
Then dig in; but once you do, it’s real hard to stop!
For Linda's "Pasta Paradise" Contest
Well, Railroad Bob’s done lost his job, he’s got no place for working,
his wife, she cries with desperate eyes, their baby’s head’s a’ jerking.
The union man don’t give a damn, Big Brother lies a’ lurking,
and boss’ in cabs are picking scabs, they count their money, smirking.
Bob walks the streets and begs for eats or little jobs for trying
“the answer’s no, you ought to know, no use for you applying,
and don’t be sad, it aint that bad, it’s soon your time for dying.”
The air is thick, his baby’s sick, the cries are multiplying.
Bob’s wife’s in town, she’s broken down, she’s ranting with a fury,
their baby coughs, the doctor scoffs, the snow flies all a’ flurry.
Hard work’s the sin that’s done them in, they skirmish, scrimp and scurry,
and midnight dreams are filled with screams; Bob knows he needs to hurry.
It’s getting late, Bob’s tempting fate, his choices cruel and blurry,
He chooses gas, they breathe their last, there’s no more cause to worry.
The wife and I just recently, joined the clan of scrimp and save,
But we’re hoping that this attitude won’t send us to our grave,
So we added to this latest fad, and put upon our plate,
That we’ll never buy another thing without a use by date.
Shopping in the supermarket, we would amble down the aisle,
And one by one we’d check the goods, and give a nod or smile,
For we’d check for fat, then sugar, and seek its healthy trait,
But before we made a final choice, we’d check the use by date.
And if by chance that day is gone, and the goods are still on sale,
I’d protest to the manager, ‘take ‘em down or go to gaol!’
Often I am offered little bribes, but I just tell them straight,
‘My wife and I will never buy, an over use by date!’
It’s turned our shopping into art for the wife and cagey me,
Perusing every label on the shelf; and every use by date we see,
And as we shop we plan our week, so nothing’s wasted on a plate,
Making sure we use, what we do buy, before its use by date.
Of course there’s bargains on a Sunday, found at a local fete,
Where some will compromise a price, when out of use by date.
You don’t know what you’re buying. You could be tempting fate!
So money doesn’t come into it. We live by the use by date.
But today is one occasion when, me nerves are put on edge,
And it very nearly changed me mind, about me ‘use by’ pledge,
So I’ll take you through the reason why, I’m forced to strive and strain,
And I told me wife who caused it, ‘don’t put me through that again!’
So I have to mention that today, sort of makes me face go red,
For me wife’s been taken off the pill, because of what the Doctor said,
He mentioned there’s been side effects; therefore the pill must be rejected.
He then suggested we use condoms, to avoid the unexpected.
This stopped me in me tracks it did, for now I have to buy,
The product made for ‘safety first’… but I’m too flamin’ shy!
So we compromised for what is best, the wife walked out the door,
And came home shortly with the goods… a box of twenty-four.
She threw the pack across to me, and said ‘now read the box’.
‘Hey I don’t need instructions!’ Is my reply that duly mocks,
But scanning just for scanning’s sake, I felt this jolt of horrer’…
‘These condoms have a use by date, and it runs out ‘tomorrer!’
THE STRANGER MAN (3)
But let life live its life and I mine.
I ease myself of all worries
And drift where I may such as liberal
As a wind and unheeding to the obstruction
Where of the fate of the wind lies.
With same velocity on toward the hurdle
And whether it shall scale through or not
It is of no concern to the wind.
In this wise, once I burdened the future.
Of what will be is the mundane-minded query
Always to guard against the future
Is as to the cloud preventing away from sight.
Thus I scrimp and stake all that I earn
As savings for futurity yet behind the cloud
Haba…again and again lost it all in a duel
With forces of circumstance ascribe not to!
Love is an elusive finch that flutters
And made me become both foolish and wise.
The elixirs of love are the very banes,
Anxiety, longing, heartbreak…name me!
So lovesick for love I lost compos mentis.
It is all a delusion I bargain with my heart
I pursue her no more, let her seek for me
If she loves and I shall test her genuineness
With life-span patience while I wander still
Till I return we shall unite yonder the horizon.
The mind alone the power of love can feel
And her essence can tell in absence of her.
Let it be so, I shall not be enamored
While she crave for my presence
My wistful heart is not for her I see
I do without her and keep the beat on
I sold her my heart even in absence
And now she is gone to have a soma.
Farewell dear to blow air to the wind.
Why tug scudding cloud and cling a shadow?
I will let go of all I love and heave the burden
Not on my shoulder but the ease of my heart.
From the piles of corporeal stocks abscond,
I tire of them because they content me not
From years searching for gold and myadestes afield…
But from within the recess of my heart I find
An amber gilded gem concealed in the depth.
I never was good mixer having to know first myself
For men someday shall walk the solitary path
While also to sing the soloist song;
Friends are strangers for they shall depart
And strangers are friends for they shall arrive.
Once again it's that time of year.
The time that we've all come to fear.
They take every dime,
It's tax season time
And poverty's getting so near.
All year I try to scrimp and save
And with spending habits to behave.
They snatch my savings
Despite my ravings.
Depression makes my spirits cave.
No matter how much you have paid
Your hope for a refund will fade
When forms are revised.
You'd best be advised
They really want ALL that you've made.
for Carolyn's "taxing time" contest
Francine Roberts 29/01/2011
When people are in dire need,
And cannot afford food to feed
Their children wear ragged clothes
And holes appear in their socks and hose.
How do you explain to kids,
You've lost your job; you are on the skids.
How do you explain that they can't have toys,
Like many other girls and boys.
Cakes and cookies lollies too,
It isn't fair; what did we do?
It is tough indeed
When you're in need.
As other people around you thrive,
And you scrimp and scrape to stay alive.
You've been waiting for that pot of gold,
That's over the rainbow, as it's told.
Sadly you realise there is no pot,
And you will never have a lot
Because some beings are selfish and greedy.
And do not associate with the needy.
What is bad stock?
Plasticine people smiling within Formica walls
Where hippy drains a fathers fool
As Ma Baker dominates the town
By day before taking her draws
Down...
Shes a ho.. He's a whimp
Out dancing with Lucy
Sky high
So return with a bump to earth kids
And scrimp
And scrape
The crap from the local rag
A coal fire infused
With amusing fags
Thirteen coppers and a few irate
Snobs
Armed guns
Be loyal littuns and
Shut your gobs
We... Were bad stock from the filthy side of koi
Five little girls
Not one boy
(As twas)
As if a child should understand an adult’s muddle,
putrid oil slick puddle,
the dreadful pain we foist on wide-eyed offspring.
Robotic elders crush with rigid slabs of Portland censure whatever spark remains in those tiny rosebud cheeks before their prime.
Those innocents should never have to wrap their nascent minds around the wanton desecration of intertidal lakeland wetness gradients,
the callous douse of velvet purple algerita berries,
blighted by the stark timbre cloud forms
that recklessly pour bile on every genus.
The rug rats at our feet may never know the joys of sap-addicted sugar gliding nocturnal possums, whose acrobatic tree to tree mirror ball exploits mock Isaac Newton,
or the kinkajou of tail grip fame who flaunt their tan glow wooly fur coat in broad daylight,
or the dawn to dusk fennec fox, that doughty eagle owl and jackal dodger whose kissing cousin dens pockmark terracotta forests. But not alone in wider worlds are children being deprived.
A heartless milieu also asks our clutch and clan to dwell in
alloy girder mousetraps, those pale decor rat infested tumble downs gouged out by scrimp and scrape rust bucket caterpillars.
Beyond belief we tolerate the nick and hoist elevator,
that pressure cooker transit flight abduction of the harried wage slave parent,
those cotton garment dress code senseless
dragonfly stand-ins that hover in mid air.
There’s every chance we’ll leave our nursling’s ire to future bands of mutant stem cell rockers who are duty bound to sculpture rimshots meshed in suckling chimes,
when validating rawhide rattle chainsaw fret board anthems
at crowd mosher mud fests,
where rivers of apocalyptic visions burst the bank.
If only grown ups listened to that inner vocal quiver that we
may not yet have cast into plastic resin folly for the generations weaned in toxic smoke rooms,
we’d pollinate a luscious fairground acorn dotted garden with childhood zest its one and only buzzword.
A sweet treat gift with natural flavour pending,
eternal life for baby planet daisy chains of tender petal linkage,
who‘d finally experience pure clutter free environments,
an eco world that values new born thirst for natural realms
Riverboat on the Mississippi
Folks dining on scrimp, grits, and cornbread
Drinking booze and gambling like crazy
Going to Bourbon Street just ahead
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
The big paddle wheel keeps on rolling
Down to the Cajun Queen of the Gulf
Where the real money is unfolding
And a thousand green bucks is small stuff
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
The big paddle wheel keeps on churning
Black coal keeps that steam boiler humming
Noxious fumes from the smokestack blowing
Nightlife on Bourbon Street is jumping
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
Cathedral spires standing very tall
Off Canal, near downtown Bourbon Street
Near a hotel by a shopping mall
Where folk are getting some daytime sleep
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
They wait for night, ‘til just after dark,
To find the places of blues, jazz, and rap
A swamp of raunchy acts, joints, and bars
Folk can get caught like mice in a trap
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
Spinning top doesnt stop
Nor does the pendulum on the clock
Sticks and stones on brittle bones
In the end its pointless what you own
Scrimp and save, still a slave
Nothing follows to the grave
Sweet surrender, heavens tender
One life passes, another rendered
Form:
The day has cooled,
into a recliner
muddied.
Rinse it off...replenish...repeat
mud sloughs off into somebody else's drain.
That's ok because I'm clean again.
Recycling this mud of the mind
into porcelain, attic spiders
entwined.
Scrap and scrimp.
Grow fat again
swing the battle axe of id
growing thin.
Toss red flowers on mother's grave...
what color was her eyes?
I've forgotten the color of the sky
The same color as a messy demise?
it doesn't matter-anyway.
Move along stagnant doesn't fit my cup.
Movement is life-stillness is death.
but there are exceptions...I've seen zombies...stumbling along.
I've seen still (ponds) explode into stars
(confused)
bloodied...rinse...repeat...
living in their drain.
Too many yesterdays
Used up and thrown away
Like Christmas trees on New Years Day
It's getting hard to know
Which way the wind will blow
Must be more than dying slow
Here in a dead end town
I don't let it get me down
Something good will turn it all around
Baby, how 'bout you and me
Head down to the Dollar Tree
Maybe we can find us something sweet
Everyday you get a little bit older
Heaven's just a little bit closer
Cherish the things that matter most
These are the days of gold
There's a hurt in some folks' eyes
Some, they don't advertise
Smiles are free, don't cost a dime
Mister Jimmy he waves hi
Passing on his bike
Good Lord's willing we'll all get by
Everyday you get a little bit older
Heaven's just a little bit closer
Cherish the things that matter most
These are the days of gold
So I do what I do
Working down at the Foo
You got me, Baby I got you
We'll scrimp and save, find a little place
A pretty garden, some sunny space
Where the dogs can play, live out our days
Everyday you get a little bit older
Heaven's just a little bit closer
Cherish the things that matter most
These are the days of gold
On some planets it's raining diamonds
Here too if you can find them
Eyes wide open, keep on trying
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