Breaded Poems

Creativity

Creativity,



When our Lord Jesus created the heavens and the earth,
The light day and the darkness the night.
He gave us all a creative mind.
 Creativity dwells within 
When singing, reading, dancing, and praising.
Creativity is in  breaded in everything that we do ,
cooking, cleaning, 
To the accounting, electrician and the plumber creativity is in you .
That artist beholds and even you who choose to volunteer .
And that construction worker  building that structure.
That's Creativity,
Also the agriculturist, the healthcare workers, the many businesses and their phone workers.  
See creativity,
the educators, law enforcement, environmentalists. The public and the national broadcasting stations and all the advertising.
Creativity,
 is there although it's more obvious with celebrities , professional sport athletes and fashion designers.
Creativity !
Is even right there in parenting beside nurturing.
Creativity,
In marriages, bond in love, understanding with forgiveness.
Creativity,
In friendships that doesn't judges.
 I see creativity when I'm writing.
How about you?

People Like Me

Written By:  D. Collins 6/19/25


People like me come far and in between.
Able to document scars that happened to me.
I am not the first nor will I ever be the last.
A black man who brings to life things of the past.



The squablelicious code is in-breaded in me.
Not bowing without a fight is how it will be.
People like me sit from a different view.
Easier said than done if it didn't happen to you.



People like me don't even hold a grudge.
Because where we are is where it always was.
We do cyclical cycles that's been done before.
People like me would prefer something more.

Post-Morden Juke Box Experiences

There are time capsules in the rural Mid-West,
not retro constructs, but temporal dislocations
that remain as was,
for lack of a reason to be other.

Small town restaurants are steeped
in a comfortable inertia;
diners serve
all broasted, broiled and breaded everything.
Amish noodles nestle in thick white bowls.

There are still drive-in movies
where movies once missed
can be missed again.

We have bars where the jukebox is not a junk box
but a wood and chrome depository
for long archived selections.
Beer here is brewed as brawny
as rolled-up forearms.

We’re futuristic in a plaid and dilatory way.
We are post-modern Jetson reruns,
we dwell just West of the middle of tomorrow.

Broccoli 2

By Michael Liguori and Robert Liguori

Dagwood Bumstead 
Probably has been in the company of broccoli 
We know that he and Blondie like to Eat
Tarzan most likely has been in the company of broccoli 
Especially in the Jungle, everything grows there
Batman and Robin eat on the down low, they have probably seen a little cold broccoli when fighting Mr.  Freeze
the cast of Archie Bunker often eats on the show
Do they love broccoli? 
I do not know 
Ask Meathead when you see him

I want to know who reading this adores broccoli 
You can eat broccoli, so many different ways,
Broccoli likes to float in cheddar cheese soup it seems 

Has anyone ever put barbecue sauce on broccoli? 

How about deep fried breaded broccoli 
Then dipping it in a bowl of barbecue sauce 
Wouldn’t that be fantastic? 
And so healthy!

I have on occasion eaten barbecue ribs 
Made for me by the local Asian market place 
Delicious 

Is a barbecue rib the same thing as breaded deep fried broccoli covered in barbecue sauce? 

No, I don’t think so 

Because I just invented breaded, deep-fried, barbecue broccoli

Wow, doesn’t that read as deliciousness !?!

?

The Farming Year

The furrows glistened silvery
With the crows astride their brow
Looking for the wiggling worms
Turned up by six share plough

Seagulls also joined the feast
Calling out loudly as they flew
Following quickly behind the plough
As it turned over pastures new

The farmer sat oblivious 
To the cacophony of sound
Created by the flocks of birds
As they settled on the ground

His mind was on the job in hand
Keeping his furrows straight
And struggling to stay awake
From his evenings working late

His wife would come at six with tea
And scone bread spread with jam
And sometimes if he was lucky
It could be some breaded ham

Then off again into the cab
With a wave to say goodbye
The field it must be finished soon
As they were going to plant some Rye

How quickly change the seasons
From the Spring unto the Fall
Suddenly the winters here
And gone is the Cuckoo call

Christmas round the corner
Time for a well earned rest
Having all the family over
Will put his patience to the test

Then Spring is soon upon us
Time to sow  the seeds once more
And hope for a better harvest
Thank God the winters o’er

Post-Modern Juke Box Experiences

There are time capsules in the rural Mid-West,
not retro constructs, but temporal dislocations 
that remain as was, 
for lack of a reason to be other.

Restaurants steeped, not in nostalgia,
but in a comfortable inertia;
diners that serve 
broast, broiled and breaded,
drive-ins where the movies you missed
can now (if you have a mind to),
miss again.

We have bars where the jukebox is not a junk box
but a wood and chrome depository
for archived time-warping selections.
Beer here has a fabled and dusty history, 
and is brewed as meaty as a rolled-up forearm.
Astronauts are grown here,
the moon is their backyard,
their silvery spaceships
launch each year from every State Fair.

We’re futuristic in a plaid and dilatory way,
we are as post-modern as Jetson reruns.
We dwell just West of the middle of tomorrow.

Ihaveno Useofthepauses

Ihaveno useofthepauses
Punctuation, starts at the end.
I live for words that aren’t quiet right
Alliteration grows a tail
Words that don’t seem to
come to an
As if awaiting for a friend
I can see the reflection
of the breaded buildings
charmed facades
in the tinselled windows
of the ever growing
death empires
or glance to earth
and see
the rain bowed
covered
mud puddle
or
watch splinters of light take human form
just to understand a hug
Watch blackest seas eat its way along the shoreline
but as you pass the guy staring
at the sky
maybe cast an eye
naive never left here

Cinnamon Rolls Yum

Sweet powdered sugar frosting
Melted into  pan
Aroma permeates house
Yeast risen delights
Warm breaded magic
Cinnamon 
Rolls!

Country Supper

Corn breaded fried up catfish
Smoked corn on the cob
Tomato, mustard coleslaw
Fresh brewed, mint, sweet tea
Sweet potato pie
A country
Treat!

I Love Shrimp

I love shrimp
Oh how I love shrimp
Whether it be breaded
And deep fried
Or steamed
With melted butter
On the side
I love shrimp

Prairie Oysters

breaded, deep-fried
freshly severed nuts
Is anyone hungry?

Stable Boy

He stumbled up the rock slope
To find the breaded man.
A six gun waiting at the ready,
The bastard’s flesh to brand.
A rock came loose
His foe came round
A stray bullet 
Struck in the group
He could not believe his good luck,
His vengeance was at hand.

The race was on around the ridge
He chased that rustler scum
Until atop a stony knoll
He aimed his heavy gun
The shot rang out
The foe went down
The echo washed
Over the town
He stood over the silent corpse
Tired, raw, and stunned

He trudged his way back to the town
Finding faces froze in shock
The though that he might win the day
Their minds had wholly blocked
He gave a shrug
And walked on by
To Red’ Saloon
And Lorelei
He cared not what her job might be
He’d ask her, ready or not

She saw him coming down the hall
And wept their at his feet
Then led him back into her room
For things I can’t repeat
The stable boy
His pa avenged
When none would
Step up to defend
And claimed a wife all on the day
Fellows, that’s no mean feat

Inspired

Sky earthworms are often prevalent at this particular time of year for grassland gremlins grab graphically and a left handed leprechaun in a spiralling dive is neither a duck having some lunch nor a clock sunbathing on a tower in the moonlight. Bing bong then. Eat a nice slice of toast then dance into and around the piles of sawdust. Wow. How a tick tock tick tock is a rock music show in a very fast cat car. Interesting to note how bean plants talk to their stems and a stem can laugh at the same time as delivering nice scented pods. Blooming in bakeries. Bringing breaded butter beans. Beautifully beaming. But no bream. Hahaha digging in a cupboard with a rake. Hahaha number of fish in a queue standing. Xxxxxx inspirationally Z Z Z Z

Sandwich Sea

I went out sailing on Sandwich Sea
With my motley crew of make beliefs 
In a boat of pumpernickel with masts of cheese
Mustarding our courage  in a spreadable breeze

We watched peanut butter jelly fish swimming by
Along with a school of tuna fish on rye
But it was the salmon egg salad that caught my eye
When a storm of salt and pepper rained from the sky

Waves  of mayonnaise tossed us to and fro
Thinking we might sink in our breaded boat
Saved by a 12 inch sub that surfaced on that note
Helping the boys and me to stay afloat  

As they lettuce out of danger and set us free
No one spreading joy was happier than me
With my motley crew of misfit make beliefs
Sailing the high cheese out on Sandwich Sea

Poem Ingredients

Many ingredients bake writing inspiration.
This recipe combines a stirring sensation:  

Heaps of desires never realized
as marinated in teary sore eyes;
Quantities of wide open spaces
caramelized by nature’s appeal;
Ageless genuine emotional traces
sifted thru heart rendered graces; 
Equal parts family and romantic love
as roasted within, without and above;
Measured creamed ideals of peace
with blanched pain and battle grease;
Diced wishes braised with thrill
bearing aromas of tangy heat or chill;
Slices of awe from a glorious tree
breaded with traits strong and free;
I do not forget sour spices of greed
dusted with mankind’s violent seed;
A mix of fears dredged in anxiety
with stress jelled in complexity; 
and, lastly, faith garnished spirit
grown in a soul conscious thicket.
If able, I mix love with ingredients above
before sampling my recipe once warmed up.
If savory, I enjoy serving in poetry cups.

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