Morning delicious are your fruits
Ripeness and sweetness
Delicious are your fruits
Noon, the lunches of noon
Savory sandwiches, savory
condiments to.
Dinner might you find us
at a well dressed table
extravaganza of evening
One might favor
Dessert, my what wonders
do you bring, a sip of coffee
a compliment to everything.
Your slippers and paper honey!
Wanting to develop a
line of sandwiches
he labored with freinds
to get the right taste
and combinations
that with flavor
would intensify folks
need to be satisfied.
quality ingredeints
with concern to the
freshness and a detail
to perfection. He baked his own
rolls
made his own sauces
gground his own meats
and found the perfect deli to
buy cheeses and deli meats
the condiments were from suppliers
who loved to make great items.
The first food carts he took out
daily. With coffees and teas and water.
He sold Cuban porc sandwiches.
All American Burgers
Great sage and fennel sausages sandwiches
with relishes that were
savory-sweet and tangy.
When I'd go out with him
I'd say "Aye- Mista, toast my bread
and put the garlic spread
on it with swiss and chedda"
he'd tell me "you know me better
then that we gotta make it specail"
And he did, once I got a hot roast beef with
swiss and chedder with carmelized onions and garlic
on a toasted bun, it was so great" The fries
and the soda.
Perfecto, aint that right Catchey?
Catchey say's it's right.
I am from the Midwest
We eat our cattle while they are running
Condiments?
Ha!
I scoff at that
Rabbit stew made of their feet
We allow them to hop around on their other paws
We are not unkind, just because we are carnivores
I am a sweet eater
My husband used to leave my sweets alone
Times have changed
Is it our age?
Unsure, but now we fight over the chocolate donuts and twinkies
We are salt-lovers too
Do not care if it is good for us, it makes us happy
Gives us the thirst we need to devour our bubbly sweet soda pop
Both of us turn up our noses at vegetables unless it is a potato
Or a sweet corn slathered in a vat of butter with salt and pepper
We are food connoisseurs; we only eat what tastes delicious
Not calorie counters
Choosy eaters? I laugh
The 20-pound butterball turkey rests
On a table laden with condiments;
We bow our heads, reach out our hands and bless
And say grace which presupposes our content.
But as we eat, the elephant harrumphs
To lead our banter and wordplay astray,
We assert on Gaza or butterball Trump
Or some other donnybrook of the day.
Alas, the turkey is now quite slighted
And acrimony stuffs the upper hand;
Our argued points are skewed with gestured knife,
Though not a one convinced to alter stand.
Afterward, leftovers are jammed into
Vacuum bags should we choose to someday use.
democracy is
like mobocracy or like
gangocracy ~ folks
conservatives are
like preservatives ~ packaged
seasoned condiments
green party nature's
most guarded percentages ~
dimes quarters and halves
national org. of
women ~ beauty contest is
the bow wow n-o-w club
peace corp manned front lines
hyped to show peace sign with hands
~ fingers ... two not one
I love toast….the smell, the taste
The condiments that give toast wings
Most importantly though
I love the comfort toast brings
Even better when toast is accompanied
By oldest friend and best buddy
Nothing more comforting or heartwarming
Than toast and tea!!
mountains tumble
across the horizon
twisting the last splinters
of warmth
through heavy hanging
gray soup
listless lifeless
endless sigh
dogs roll over
mown grass
clinking ice
gentle laughter
fluttering chimes
cool breeze
sweet pungent earth
enlivens lungs
ocean cracks
spills sheets
steams stainless barbeque
sizzles fire pit
douses tiki torches
lettuce, tomatoes, chips
condiments
march back inside
under the eaves
gulping rare air
until it freezes
behind the window
white pellets pelt
big red umbrella
guarding the feast
burgers melting cheese
buns toasting
in formation
lining the grate
storm sweeps over
collective gasp
tables towel off
wet dogs play
music marries
dinner mirth
dancing flames
lick black velvet
Friday swells
into sleep-in Saturday
while weaver weaves
another day
This sandwich is destitute
And the dijon has expired
A miraculous vision appeared to me, a gentle lady
One who gloriously gazed on my face
What is the life of but Art and Science?
The Shepherd's Dream?
When there are no living to remember the dead.
God knew of the culpability
The rearrangement of kitchen condiments
The kitchen being a cathedral of failure
Church of pie
I am the balcony in the balcony scene
And I'm exploring mental health through poetry
Hoggish, empty, splod.
Church Supper
She puts salt and pepper on tables
covered in white paper from rolls.
She always enjoys church suppers -
special recipes from different kitchens.
She can’t help as much as she used to,
but she can put out condiments and butter.
She watches the bustle in the kitchen -
men and women in aprons making coffee,
stirring something in a pot on the stove,
crowding platters, bowls, and plates of food
on the serving table in the parish hall,
all the time laughing and joshing each other.
Not like her childhood, she remembers,
when men carried in baskets and bowls,
set them on counters and stood talking
while women did the kitchen work.
She loves the camaraderie
now that she eats most of her meals
with just the company of television.
Friends here with whom to converse,
old friends who recollect with her
events of years back, funny incidents.
Food, laughter, lights and music,
lovely desserts – she doesn’t bake now.
Later, at home, she’ll store the warm
memories of tonight’s dinner
in her mind’s album of happy times,
to draw upon in days to come.
I have Smelly Armpits and
Bursting to Go
but; I'm heading to the supermarket
the condiments aisle
I meet my neighbour
like conversing with a
pigeon
give me the full recipe
he says
he has arm wrestling
intelligence -
but how to get out of it
unsex me now
come, thick night
he talks about his hedges
I shoplift
the sugar puffs
Sitting on a pew
Grilling and skew
Cravings that streak
Gravy of the mountain peak.
Sauces and condiments laid
Sprinkled, dashed and said
Vegetables, meat and bread
Cooked, baked and knead.
Reserving, consuming energy from tree
Drinking, nibbling like spree.
Waiting for the next bonfire and gaze
Rollicking with charcoal, dust and blaze.
A shooting star from the night so dark
Oozing with smoke and might that spark
Writing your name in the dark board of chart
Weaving canvass in your heart of art.
Much like compliments, so do condiments
~ bring forth sweet temperaments
Yes you are lacking in basic culinary skills
your cooking is wanting for a flavor thrill
And heaven knows you'll never make a savory dish
so close your eyes and use the chefs last wish
Food too plain and bland what do you do
get that jar of mustard and ketchup too
Don't be shy tastebuds counting on you
open that jar of mustard and ketchup too
Slather it, smear it, pour it on strong
the more you use the less it taste wrong
The vigor of mustard on your tongue
that sweetness of ketchup sings a song
Disguise that flavorless gunk on your plate
pile high those condiments for goodness sake
Make it bearable and a eatable chow
with sky high food prices can't be wasteful now
So be grateful and thankful that you are able to chew
your mediocre insipid rather mild boring cooked food
By simply adding to the table what you must do
a jar of mustard and ketchup too.
a hardening mangosteen
with wounded white seeds
increasing into rotten arrogance
of monstrous' velocity
sentimentality-
rises slowly to the skin
emitting cerebral poison
flavored with the sourest
and most bitter condiments
as troubled being
devours senseless hurt
sentimentality’s lava
flows drifting soul into sin
June 4, 2022 9.52am
Disana Magluto is our good cook
Who writes recipe in our kitchen nook
With some herbal condiments
Trying all things different
She will write her first fictional cookbook
June 4, 2022 8.23am
PS Syllable Counter
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 7 7 10
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