Best Steamed Poems
Figs stuffed with proscuitto and mascarpone cheese,
a plate of bacon wrapped scallops and pineapple.
French onion soup is bound to please
or garlic steamed mussels with which to grapple.
Artichoke hearts smothered in sherried cream;
pears with sugar and cinnamon in butter sauteed;
pork tenderloin medallions make a demi-glaced dream
while crisped lyonnaised potatoes are made.
Now with a sip of Pouilly-Fuisse'
tastes flush the palate like a gourmet concert.
A toast to good friends on this wonderful day
as ice wine chills to serve with dessert.
A plate of old fashioned Bananas Foster-
perhaps in the morning, eggs benedict with lobster!
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 of all the seeds.
D is for Dandelion - it's more than just a pesky weed!
E is for Eggs, the perfect snack to keep you lean.
F is for Flax - to sprinkle lightly on your greens.
G is for Ginger, the spice that fights off germs and soothes.
H is for Honey, nature's cure for the sweetest tooth.
I is for Iodine - from salt, it keeps your thyroid sound.
J is for Jalapeno, the red-hot kick to melt those pounds.
K is for Kale - to be lightly steamed without the stem.
L is for Lettuce, its popular and crunchy friend.
M is for Milk, for sparkling teeth and sturdy bones.
N is for Nuts - a handful and your tum won't groan.
O is for Oats, fiber-filled and gluten-free.
P is for Pistachios, sly cholesterol's enemy.
Q is for Quinoa, the complete protein that fills you up.
R is for Raisins - a ton of iron in a quarter cup.
S is for Salmon, the oily fish with omega-3.
T is for Tomatoes, nature's very own sunscreen!
U is for Udon, the pasta you can eat guilt-free
V is for Vinegar - it makes dressings low in calories.
W is for Water, which hydrates to de-bloat your gut.
X is for Xylocarp, a fancy term for coconut.
Y is for Yogurt, the probiotic masterpiece.
Z is for Zucchini, which lowers risk of heart disease.
Your body is a temple, I'm sure you've all been told,
So fill it up with healthy foods, and you'll grow young - not old!
(P.S. In case anyone doesn't know, "Quinoa" is pronounced "keen-wah")
For Cyndi's "Z is for Zaria" contest
Slow hand
Drizzle coats the billboard
sitting on that desolate stretch of highway
waiting for someone to read
or at least hide behind, parked car, back seat
steamed windows, sighs just above a holler,
a collar unbuttoned,
casual abundance with the radio on
seeking a Clapton tune
as nimble fingers
show the difference between a slow hand
and a destined position,
where rain doesn’t matter
because it is just as wet inside
though hotter than an August day,
perspiring in the friction
when love hits the four way flashers
blinkers accelerate, left, right, faster,
names are called, tears are cried
and the road home now beckons
just as advertised . . .
The scent of the sea steamed off your skin, I felt vulnerable.
You peeked through a wisp of hair and beckoned - stars shot and scrambled.
Memories of years gone now float with your ashes in the air...
Racing Proud Mammoth
once steamed across wild prairie
stopped dead in his tracks
Resounding echoes awaken the child
demons in the attic beckon unto him
stark fear grips his Vick's laden chest
shivers vibrate rusty springs of down
footsteps creak closer upon loose floorboards
while steamed filled pipes play taps
a somber teddybear snarls
causing the world to be still
foolish nuns, God doesn't want to "get me"
the sting of a ruler splinters a left hand
blood spurts upon faces of laughter
evil little boy too wicked for a mother
affliction runs in the family
Florence became flop because she always fell
polio never whipped her ass
just abused her now and then
she healed with a smile
Even humility has its price
Jimmy Dean wore sunglasses
maybe his eyes were bloodshot
or maybe he was a child of an alcoholic
and they became part of his attire
degenerate eye disease, masturbation
spattering or battering
does it really matter when you can't see
or understand the difference between ADD and ADHD
Psych 101: Crack can be Prozac
Iron gates surround a new residence
protecting the innocent who peer from outside
rehabilitation means refining bad habits
like those on the outside who have mastered them
twelve years of bars and games people play
provide an education unto itself
seclusion can be the deciding factor
between murder or suicide
self righteous judges choose life
recidivism is a revolving door
of vicious cycles with no engines
only propellers called co-dependants
or co-defendants, take your pick
life repeats itself over and over
only the circumstances change
yet the merry-go-round stops
when the flowers are arranged
Why are most tombstones gray
scared, afraid to die
are you saved?
from what, ourselves
you can't hurt me
Bob Shank-Nov. 30th, 2006
Her faint voice quietly sings
a cheerful love song
mixed in with the tapping sounds
of the falling water
from inside the clear glass shower
The morning light illuminates the room
and I can see her reflection
in the half-steamed bathroom mirror
A gorgeous sight
happiness radiating off her cheeks
and a smile you could die for
Quietly I sneak downstairs and start breakfast
nice plump honey browned sausage links
a couple of poached eggs
finely cut hash brown potatoes
garnished with some fresh succulent strawberries
and a hot cup of lemon tea
Merrily she enters the room
with an I love you grin
wraps her arms around me
and kisses me good morning.
There once was a fight on my plate
In front of my face while I ate
The Broccoli on the left picked up its Spear
And stabbed the Corn on the right, right in the Ear
The Avocado Artichoked the Zucchini
Before the Pepper rang the Bell on that meanie
The Onion went to Bed on the Lettuce and cried
Afraid that the Beets on the side were all Red cause they died
The Okra came in and slimed the whole affair
While the Yams slammed and Squashed the Cauliflower
The Peas ended up with Black Eyes
Next to the Potatoes that were mashed up and fried
The Cabbage brought it all to a head
Which Steamed the Asparagus with all that was said
There once was a fight on my plate
In front of my face while I ate
Chef 's Winter dishes are simply delicious, not too much oil or cream.
Rich or plain, taste tested to perfection, tiny portions sometimes steamed
He starts the day with freshly squeezed orange juice,coffee and toast.
And embarks on a fitness journey along the seaside in Adelaide.
Today he is going to create a seafood bisque inspired by his walk.
This morning whilst walking along the beach he noticed the outgoing
Tide and outlet left a long groove with definite honeycombe indentations
snaking parallel to the shore for a distance near a giant swirly starfish.
From an aerial perspective it looked like a Christo dragon , hardened ripples
representing the scales and the sometimes swirling patterns here and there
where the giant Sea-dragon moved, slithered or shifted about in the sand .
The Sea-Dragon must have laid there for some time before he disappeared
as his scales were deeply impressed and clearly embossed in the firm sand.
A clear body of water flowed in the center of this outlet echoing the scales
shimmering and gleaming with sunlight smoothly on the groove's surface.
Upon seeing this ,Chef etched it in his memory and began to mentally gather
ingredients for his creation.How could he give his bisque the dragon flavour?
Grilling the whiting, prawns and scallops with butter laced with honey , chilli,
cardamon + crushed nuts , garlic, a dash of brandy.......
then adding chicken stock , lime , thyme ,cracked pepper , rock sea salt and
finally pureeing the lot with a splash of coconut milk.
Rare Cooking This Fine Morn
To have deep-thoughts, dreams a poet slowly eats
Or spiced casseroles of ink-piggy feats?
Meals written on yellow paper to enjoy.
Chinese fried rice with steamed adjective soy!
Experience new dishes, of rare flavor
Spread like butterfly wings upon glazed ham.
Pour tasty hot liquid words to thus savor
Bluebird wings sprinkled in blackberry jam!
What ? No essays, delightful adverb desserts?
No pans of Poe-like raven-baked pies
Yes! And add in boiled rhymes and magpie tales
Booming baked echoes of Mobydick whales!
What next? Fiction, tasty mysterious spurts?
With deep fried fish and red-button from shirts.
What taste? Tonight toasted Spanish serenade
With sweetest Sangria spice red Kool-Aid!
To have deep-thoughts, dreams a poet slowly eats
Or spiced casserole of ink-piggy feats?
Meals written on yellow paper to enjoy.
Chinese fried rice with steamed adjective soy!
Robert J. Lindley
Rhyme, Lin 10/11
Syllable count
11 10 11 10 0 11 10 11 10 0 11 10 11 10 0 11 10 11 10 0 11 10 11 10
Total # Syllables: 223
Total # Words: 146
Note, a Lindley family tradition, I cook the last day of the old year..
I've already completed breakfast and got the idea to cook up something on paper..
Lunch is running a bit late...
I cook but no hurry, is my motto.
Ursus Maritimus ...
I entered your world in quietude, slipping through the granular, soft.
Long slats to feet parting the frozen. Cold of a previously unknown
Extreme, nipping, sharp, the epidermis with ardor. A Mid-May akin to
February, homeward, first warning of extrinsic ire, ignored. Hours of
Similar (sobering) revelations ensued, supplanted by days, weeks,
Moons ... reality - icebound and born of abiding trial. The basic
Elements staggering, swallowed by the providence around me. A
Vastness beyond vast, afar ... crushing cold of limitless value, each
Sunrise a new contingency for measure of my insignificance. How I
Adored you for your beauty - such reward for the naked eye, there
Amidst a denuded struggle. Shaped by eons of selection into a
Creation of perfect form and ease, as at home with desolation as
I at a warm hearth and aliment. Moving sprite through your environs,
All senses attuned to the mind's axis ... at once knowing and known,
Master of a savage domain. Every dynamism a fluid dance, every
Steamed puff of exhalation a waif of delicacy, bespoken. Do not the
Gods aspire to such? If there were deities afforded such barren and
Bleak scapes, it would be none other than you - as exquisitely
Magnificent and divine as the forbidding but breathtaking element
Around you, my brother. Yet, I fear I have doomed you, for others
Will now follow ... others who find no such elegance in anything
But graft and greed. By the simple act of watching I may have
Sealed your fate, firm and grim. So, I will not turn to admire you
As I leave ... but rather keep you forever as a phantom in my mind
And heart and longings - to let you devour my spirit and join with
You, ever after straining to hear the echo of your lonely, distant
Growl, the one that so often haunts my thoughts and meanderings,
Dark and cold in the arctic night, dark and cold in the willows ...
Deep and frozen and dreaming, of your gleaming and breathless
Beauty. If but mine to touch ... to know. Forgive me and farewell ...
Brother Bear.
(Why I'm Still Breathing)
When the cow was dry, she was compliant.
When she calved, she turned vicious
and no fence could hold her,
but she gave milk in abundance,
and Dad refused to sell her.
She chased Mother 'round and 'round the barn
until Mom panicked, climbed the corner logs,
and perched under the roof,
clinging like a cicada shell on a weed-pod.
Beasty pawed and bellowed until Dad came home.
"I could gain on her on the corners,"
Mother said, "because I could turn faster,
but she gained on me on the straightaway."
Plug-ugly tore through the fence,
into the garden, where Mom and I worked.
"Run, Cona Faye, run," my mother shouted.
How did she know? The cow passed Mother
and thundered straight for me. I ran.
At the fence, snorts filled my ears. Hot breath
steamed my back. I saw myself stomped,
pulverized into the dirt. I turned, screaming
at full volume, and flailed my arms
like a windmill in a strong wind.
That old red cow locked her front legs
and skidded like a freight train on full brake.
I seized the moment, and scaled that rail fence.
Singular snowflakes spread-out
blanket a dreary barren berm
that overlooks the dormant meadow
bringing a brightness to fields of grey.
Smiles overcome me as I watch
the proud red-breasted robin
pick at pieces of weathered brush
choosing just the right one
to comfort her nesting baby.
Whistles echo out of the rustic kitchen
where a steamed up copper kettle sings
waiting patiently to pour into perfect tea.
The first sip commands my attention and
wraps tightly around me, leaving a feeling
like your precious smile on a cloudy day
Quietly I sit absorbing the peaceful morning
like the baby robin in anticipation your return
ME TOO
So what’s all the to-do with “me too”
So we join the many instead of the few
It all seems another act of distract
Play popularity’s game of trivial fact
One of those “me toos”
living under a pinned shoe
One of those “me toos”
Still can’t see “the forest through the trees”
The same game continues to be played
Of “hide and seek”
You just choose the game and roll the dice
Anyway you cut it up, you take a slice
One of the “me toos”
Looking to distract
Instead reach out with love
Open your eyes and ears
Have courage to lose
Your life, job, career
Because until that happens…
I don’t care to join in the sea
That sleeps with nightmares
Only when someone’s exposed
Then it’s safe to depose
And let everyone know
How “brave you are”
The courageous are often slammed
Patted on the head
“Oh, he’s just like that dear.
Be a good girl.
You’ll become a star”
How many sell their soul
Let the devil do it over and over
Again
Steamed and pressed
You’re ready for the press
“Smile, like a good girl
You’re a star”
Not far to jump
To take your clothes
Off for the next starring role
And see the next young thing
Crying behind closed doors
As you say
“Smile. Be a good girl…
Yes, me too”
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
Either side of the bed is mine
at my whim
and
Fancy
Coffee cups left in the sink
until there are
no
more
Clean
vacuum in the middle of the
floor
for a Week
remote - Mine
precisely.where.I.left.it.
Stink
of steamed broccoli and cauliflower
Welcome.
planting gardenias by the moon
music LOUD and interminable
unstructured.
Untethered.
Because.
I finally.
Can.