Summer's sun is scorching hot as it sends its fiery burn.
Carnival laughter shakes the air when July takes its turn.
July means more litter, as plastic bottles fill the street.
The sand that was enjoyable, now burns the soles of feet.
July brags that our sun made it the hottest month to name.
That is, until sweet August brings its fire into the game.
Then, August like a broiler spews an unrelenting heat.
The green has withered from the lawns, now just the browns compete.
At month's end, school starts, and family trip has been taken.
But it's hot, and wishes for cooler nights is forsaken.
Next comes modest September, whose flourish hides a sly smirk.
Indian Summer in this month can be the sun's best work.
There's hope for rain, sometimes it comes, but sometimes it comes not.
Though through September's flimsy veil, the weather remains hot.
And then along comes October, a time of leaves and rakes.
Suddenly, the heat ends, when October applies the brakes.
2.5 cups of chickpeas
2 egg yolks
3 t of lime juice
4 tablespoons of garlic
1/2 onion
1/2 flaked fish
1/2 t of dried thyme
4 T shredded coconut
1 teaspoon of smoked paprika
4 T toasted sesame seeds
2 Tablespoons of flour
2 T cornstarch
deep fat fry in
a mixture of
olive oil and avocado oil.
2 T cayenne
4 tablespoons of powdered cream cheese
drain pea
ground in f. processer
add spices vegies and fish
pulse. add yolk lime juice
make sheres, refrigerate,
deep fry in olive oil and avocado oil.
mayo
relish
T sour cream
chives
1 T. cognac
dilute spirt with lemon juice.
and honey.
we boiled the country ribs
seasoned them when they were done
and BBQ'd them under a broiler with
a tangy BBQ sauce
steamed asparagus with
garlic lemon butter
Hazelnut and pound cake
cupcakes with marzipone topping and vanilla icecream dessert.
Camouflage me quickly the fowl yelled as he landed.
Did not know who he was, but we ran out with paints - blue and red.
Can we colorize your feathers asked our leader, Mrs. Banded.
Do what you must to keep me away from the broiler, he said.
What are you talking about? Asked our naïve chicks of yellow.
With one warning look, he shushed his mouth, a wiser fellow.
What did he mean, dad? My chicks asked me that night.
I have no idea, I told them. I tucked them in, their eyes big and bright.
I want them to stay young and innocent as long as I can.
There will be plenty of time to ruin their dreams, agreed Mr sandman.
Egg thief
hatcher
snatcher
Hormones added
perky
turkey
Low T
rooster
booster
No eggs
layer
prayer
Pagan
Wiccan
chicken
OSHA injury
plucker
struck her
Power outage
broiler
spoiler
Sweet tooth
cobbler
gobbler
Terrorist
tickin'
chicken
Unfaithful
poultry
'dultery
H/T to Chicken Footles by Andrea Dietrich
ORACLE OF NATURE
Lie is been feed like food
Truth finds its way beneath the mattress
Knowledge of thought has taught me some thoughts
Where the gate of trust has gone beyond extinction
Where is the dog?
Sent by a clone of truthful liars
Answering the name like Lie Mohammad
Preaching earthly food for heavenly thoughts
Teni told me he had bountiful of flowers
But some flowers are not filamentous and ornamental
Some are full of thorns
While others have already withered its glory
Clones of crowns are in Joseph’s abode
Accepting their name like Gov. Ambode
Trying to code the old layer before the broiler
But I have already boiled the broiler
Who is truthful?
Tortoise is the most truthful animal on earth
Who left its house to lie on thorns like flier who try to fly?
Feel free to wrap your woman like woman wrapper with a trustful wrapper
Oracle of death has been murdered
And buried in a shallow ground like a buried serpent head
For the truth of lies is beyond the expectation
Of the coronation
The life of a broiler chicken is short lived.
He has no future except to be devoured.
He lives in darkness, not seeing the true
glorious outside world.
He is sheltered and cannot leave.
There will one day be no more life in his eyes.
This chicken is like a human.
They both have certain deaths and will never
know their true purpose until it’s too late.
10/9/2020
Words:
Future
No
Leave
More
Stroller and Broiler and a Molar
Had been boiling eggs in a broiler,
And took son for ride in a stroller;
Wheels went round,
On the ground,
While he had grown another molar.
Jim Horn
Her comb is no longer red.
It’s meaningless to preen.
She stands hunched as a deadpan mushroom.
Only flesh matters in her man-made coop.
.
She cannot forage in freedom.
She’s not a living thing.
There isn’t any wax to seal the pain-pores.
Bedding absorbs her vibrancy.
A dust bath, she longs for.
No cluck.
Nothing hatches.
Her thoughts transform into coral tree thorns.
Reek of feces and death dominates.
Yet her blind mates peck voraciously.
There’s neither postmortem nor FIR.
This is a recurrent licensed murder.
Creative Writing Ink Monthly Contest Winner
Our evenings have withdrawn
into a closed living room,
where we don’t chat
but let a large TV cheat us.
We watch life on a screen
with a vicarious thrill.
There were children everywhere
in our ancestral home –
you could see one
even within a bamboo basket
lying upside down.
‘One’ is the ideal number now.
No one likes
noises annoying the living room.
We’ve banished our only daughter
into an adjacent study –
where she’s seen
as a broiler chicken.
A savory smell,
wafting up from the kitchen,
used to tickle my nostrils,
while sitting on the veranda.
Now our cooker rarely whistles –
fast-food parcels really silence our kitchen.
Our pa and ma had defeated the hard soil –
it was their sweat drops
that soothed our stomachs.
We’ve discarded the defunct parents
in a dark stinking room,
even where they pray for us.
We peep into others’ life
with a voyeur’s eyes.
Love and fun hatch not
out of our muted words.
We aren’t living here,
only imagining of living.
Seven A.M., feet on the floor, pajamas in-car
for a favorite drive-through fast-food treat? No,
it's the coffeepot, and turn on the broiler, less of
a spoiler, but kudos in Heaven. Breakfast's in the works,
she'll reserve the perks, (pardon the pun,) for when Mass
is over. For now, the egg fries, but the 'frigo' door spies
no cheese for the muffin, What? no fatted calf?
and even worse, no Half and Half. It brings back
the chorus in "How to Succeed in Business," the lament
of the scent of No Coffee, NO COFFEE! But memory
reminds of a Champs Elysees' Ave., where an American
institution gave restitution to exiles like her in an
elevator ride under upscale retail, its costly fashions
to Golden Arches beneath Paris town, destination
a Mickey D's you can't imagine: rows of televisions
ornamenting each wall, an Egg McMuffin perk
in easy reach, and a coffee bar, its center station
a Gallic invention for the hurried intentions
of blase' Parisians on their way to work.
.
Today I splurged on a steak.
Thick with the fat trimmed close
Seasoned - broiler - aroma
Taste buds squirt delight
Juice runs down my chin
Ambrosia
Burp!
Make a jelly sandwich.
Dip it in egg, vanilla,
and sugar that you've beaten.
Cover it with Swiss
cheese sauce
and put it under a broiler
until bubbly.
Eat with a fork and knife.
Serve with coffee,
and sliced tomatoes.
Cooking is what I like to do,
especially, sandwiches.
I love to pile them high
with lots of stuff, and try to
make them a beautiful
presentation.
We don't just eat with our mouths.
Our other senses eat the food too!
2 slices of bread
placed next to
each other
on a metal plate.
A perfect union.
Each slice,
covered in turkey,
and
a slice of swiss cheese.
Open faced.
I can't wait for lunch!
Then I make
a Parmesan cheese sauce
and cover each slice.
I add extra Parmesan to the tops.
It goes into a broiler,
until it is speckled brown,
and bubbly.
Then I garnish with diced
pimientos,
and cross two
crispy bacon slices on each slice
of bread.
A Hot Brown sandwich.
Created in 1926.
By Chef Fred K. Schmidt
at the Brown Hotel.
I like cooking
and learning about food.