in a leather jacket
birthday cake sandwiches help
clear my sinuses
Googly Hancock; and backseat baristas
Bob Dylan is back in the studio
did he pop out to the shops? Where's he been?
Big Daddy Kane outside Dapper Dan's -
You tossed a coin in the fountain
Wishing to be as happy as a blue cat
storckappopotamus
there will be no custard creams at my wake
nor chocolate bourbons;
take a long walk off a short pier
homewreckers and g'day mate cubes
What‘s better than a biscuit?
Hard to debunk
Treasure trunk funk
Should you let
It get wetter
Would you dare risk it?
The trick a quick dunk
Or could flunk..flick..kerplunk..
Mushy chunk sunk..messy junk
Slushy slunk..in the tea you drunk
So at your leisure
Pleasure one’s self
Don’t regret your stealth
Forget your health
Wealth beset on the shelf
So feeling restive?
Yearn for a digestive?
Appealing…suggestive
No shock..dark choc
What else will cut the mustard
With a brew…for a few bob
Recurring theme..does seem
Will always dream
About a custard cream
Almost sob…as I Lob
A hob-nob in me gob
Ta pour more cha
In fine fettle
Be a slob
Turn on the kettle
Bickies in the jar
On the sofa settle
Sins within tins
Spurn concern
Ignore the racket
As
Hats do doff
Knew from the off
On a roll
The sole goal
Quaff another cuppa
Down your cake hole
Scoff the whole packet!
White foam crashes with memories of conversations here, an awful date there;
welcoming steam floats around work deadlines, lecture notes and scrawls.
Cupped hands warm around porcelain gossips with friends,
secrets crumbling like biscuits dipped, as thoughts are awash
with scents from a city café then and a train station dash back when.
That brown bitter liquor lazing - regal, rustic,
the foreign familiar that can cleanse chaotic hours had.
“I’m sorry I complained. I just like it made a certain way.”
- breath by breath and sip by sip, clink by clink and stir by stir -
but what I really meant was, well...
“I come here for the company of strangers.
The whirring of machines and the babble and the bustle
of a place, less empty than home.”
Three times this week I have had biscuits and gravy.
They are fifteen hundred and two calories per plate.
I know because I do not make them.
I eat them in restaurants and they list these calories.
All three times this meal was super scrumptious.
I was not expecting them to be as good today.
For the menu listed them as 1402 calories.
At this rate, I should weigh six hundred pounds by Sunday.
His eyes of gold;
peer into my soul
with a milk mustache
he licks his fancy,
torn between two worlds
reality is magical,
says him so
needing to be free,
yet longing for a hand;
to scratch his silky locks
strike while you can
his finicky soul;
dances in the wind
dreaming of playing again
his sorcery is made of stone,
annoyed by your attention
yet never wanting to truly be alone
his meow is a roaring fire;
piercing through the thickest of skulls
biscuits he serves by the claw,
treasuring every chance he gets to fall;
Quit to land on all fours,
he sprints so fast;
you could say he's climbing up doors.
I am on a mission,
I am on a quest
To discover who’s Biscuits and Gravy
Taste the very best
I’ve dined on them in fine restaurants
Ate em sitt’n round a fire
OH! To taste the very best
Is my prime desire!
I’ve traveled to the east
Journeyed o’er the west
I have yet to discover who’s Biscuits and Gravy
Taste the very best
On a humble mission
A mission I carry with zest
But I must conclude my poem
And continue on my quest
The Blue-Collar Kitchen
David J Walker
I remember the aromas of childhood
Emanating from the kitchen stove
Dad’s biscuits every morning
Mom’s fried chicken
On Sunday or the
Hash made of leftover roast
On Monday
I remember frosted cupcakes
After school
And oatmeal raisin cookies
Just out of the oven and
Waiting to cool
Before we could eat them
Don’t ruin your dinner
Mother said
We weren’t rich but
We were well fed
On a blue-collar budget
In the mid-20th century
Crisp oven bacon
baked next to homemade biscuit
drenched in syrup
morning breakfast dish
potato
covered in gravy
Lune Poetry poem
3/5/7 Word Count
5/3/5 Syllable Count
1/26/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
A wispy dream; a velveteen morning;
calming and serene; snow slowly drifting.
Storms now brewing over the Northern sky
blustery winter's breath I now descry!
Heavy coat and hat; battling icy winds;
animals in the barn; firewood to the bin.
Warmest blanket on the bed; old cat purrs;
knitted throw by the stove; toasty for sure.
Chores are finally done; time to relax;
snowflakes falling now covering my tracks.
Teapot is ready, steam rises up high;
biscuits from the oven; butter nearby.
Look out the window; hazy from the frost;
snow covers the pond; can't see where I crossed.
Inhaling brisk air; a late snowy blow;
peek out the door brings a silent rush of cold.
1/27/2021
All Yours Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Cat head biscuits
Well butter my buns
but dont call me a biscuit
jam up jelly tight
Ginsu-Knife Eastport ,Maine USA
Just because the cat had kittens in the
oven, it doesnt make them biscuits.
Ode to Sling Blade
Mustard and biscuits
sleeping alone in the shed
what is family
GINSU - KNIFE EASTPORT , MAINE USA
What sweet lady created the first country biscuits
Whoever she was, wish I could've given her a kiss
On her you-know-what
Or her tasty pastry butt
At times my charms are hit and miss
I love biscuits
Biscuits with my tea
I especially like them
When they are just for me
I love biscuits,
Some other things I hate
When my beloved biscuits
Are put upon a plate
I look at all these biscuits
My look is more a stare
Because I know these biscuits
Are put there for all to share
Mix the ingredients? I have no idea.
The jumble of powders defying my action
Smiling with ease my sister Sophia
She gently disturbs the matter distinctly
Some born with the instinct to hunt
Others knowing how to make a bake delightful
Thus, we carry on together blending our strengths
Gravy and biscuits, a blessing 'til all are full
A place of peace defines a home
All again to wander circle bent returning
To experience the glow of the living
Our taste of life, the best from heaven sent
While sitting at the kitchen table my spirit;
Embarks listening my nose for the baked biscuit;
I am invested so heavily in simplistic tradition;
Hot baked buttered fresh out the oven wicket;
Grandma told me and grandpa get out the skillet;
Cause that chicken and gravy for Christmas;
12/30/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
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