Slow cooked ribs.
Melting off the bone but under the bone is a brain-skeleton.
Makes me motivated to turn from an onion to the best onion rings.
Those slow cooked ribs fell of the bone and made a “plunk” sound.
Like peeling back layers of slobbery sauce over.
Everything is tasty over yonder.
When they cooked my brains?
Didn’t know they’d leave behind vein-shaped spindles.
They added a touch of rosemary.
Stirred me up good.
And maybe turmeric too.
Take up more brainspace, sure.
I’m altered.
Everything is syrup everywhere.
Pretty summer days are really hot,
am I being cooked like crabs in a pot.
Fireworks made me pee my pants,
all wet but I will still dance.
Looks like I hit the big summer jackpot.
Speaking of Christmas dinner
and not to be overlooked
some say it's a winner
when your goose is cooked
but now let's talk turkey
and by hook or by crook
let me set things straight
it's gobble-gobbledegook
What a long hot year here,
the cactus are wilting.
Cement is getting soft,
birds in the trees are cooked.
Long hot days with hot nights,
must stop for everyone.
Let It Rain-cool rain now.
Written: June 23, 2025, for Brian Strand contest
-----------------------
m y r r h
on your s o f t s k
i n—
a
k
e t
t l b e d
e hums in r o o
m s
we speak without n~o~i~s~e
---------------------------
p
a
b
u
l
u
m of t*o*u*c*h
fuels the pain below my r_i_b_s
l
o v
e, slow-cooked f*i*r*e \|/\|/
* * *
My sister had us over
For a special home-cooked meal,
With sauce and pasta made from scratch -
To me, a real big deal.
When we arrived, upon a nifty
Plastic-armed display
Were fresh-made noodles, gently draped,
With lots more on the way.
We watched as sheets of dough were placed
Into a cool machine
Which my sister cranked until, Voila!
The noodles could be seen.
Upon the stove, a giant pot
Was bubbling away
With sauce made from tomatoes
She had crushed that very day.
The dinner was delicious -
Meatballs rounded out the deal -
And I marveled at the effort made
To serve us such a meal.
Every now and then,
When the moon is in the right quarter,
I think of my daughter,
And then,
I want to bake a cheesecake that is even better,
Than the one I baked to impress her then.
An invitation to tea when the moon was in the right quarter,
So out came my old recipe book then,
A lemon cheese cake, could not be better,
A week to get the ingredients then,
And make a cheesecake that trumps the last one I made my daughter.
And then,
Back to the recipe book before the moon moved to an unfavorable quarter,
Now where in the book was the lemon cheesecake recipe then,
It had to be there, the moon was still in the right quarter,
What other explanation could there be then,
Later after an hour and a quarter,
I found I was not yet going out of my mind then,
And could put off upsetting my daughter.
If it is a lemon cheesecake I told my other daughter,
That is what it should be called then,
Especially when the moon is in the right quarter,
So why call it a superb cheesecake then,
As I have no wish to upset my daughter,
Before the time comes when?
.
i
When I joined poetry soup,
I thought to find free daily soup
From different world junior and senior poets.
By my surprise I found best quality cooked foods,
Which I could eat without knowing their ingredients
That pushed me to concentrate in African cuisines
To be sharing different African foods
With the world poets and others.
May 30/2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
You know the old saying your goose is cooked
Whenever I hear that I really get shooked
I hear there's some truth to that nasty old saying
I'm valuable because of the many eggs I keep laying
You have to learn how to run really fast
If you don't, how long will your life last
I've learned to do more then just waddle
You'd be smart to use me as a role model
Don't get caught walking around here alone
The inside of a kettle will be your next home
Keep your bill shut, don't utter a honk or quack
If you get noticed it may be your last act
Author Eileen Clark
Sun-kissed dipped and baked
Wonderful gifts to man for him to take
Be it from a tree or a vine
Please take with grace and in kind
No need for a stove, microwave, or grill
It's been perfectly cooked by the sun so
you just need to see, smell and feel
Bountiful blessings beautifully unbound
Leafy greens, meaty melons, and juicy berries
all around
A curve of sky
in a corner cusps a smooth,
thick dusting
of carrot-mauve hues
tonight. Drapes over heather
trees
whose arms
and hands bend with this drowsy sky
as it starts
to fall asleep-
the cyrean "silk" upon
which this
cantaloupe tint
is traced, daubed, by the brushstrokes
of Mother Nature;
is ready
for the deep onyx doves-with halos-
of a cold Spring night.
With the Heavens'
cut diamonds-for the Goddess-
and immaculate
lambency.
This soft lusty Dusk will Father
a shiny glass red
rose,
a radio balefire
that will
capitivate
through the limbs of the esteemed
trees,
wink
through this Springtime's beetling
intimacies
on a windy night.
The man-made magenta
comforts
as it beams
next to the "Sunrise Field",
mowed emerald blades
under
another sky of day-break
pigments-
a dawn
placenta of bright lemon
vanilla,
and little
sugar- coated strawberry
juices-
another corner
of the clay, sea, and cloud-and ash-
colored campus-
bewitching
oil paintings in crystalline
emblems...
Cooked
If Mr Ramsey tasted my food
His head would crease, and say something rude
But I do my best with what I’ve got
And I bung it all-in a great big pot
No one listens to my excuses
And my eggs gratin has several strange uses
My pis de resistance is egg and chips
Hurts your stomach; stays on your hips
I gave some leftovers to my dog
He trotted upstairs and spat it in the bog
He’d seen this happen lots before
He’s an intelligent dog do I need to say more?
So Mr Ramsey if you're ever near by
I could use some tips and some crisp and dry
I’d make you a meal you’d not forget
And a dog’s free transfer if you wanted a pet.
David Cox 08/12/21
Discounting the Cooked Clerk
Bah humbug humidity.
Cratchit’s counting on hot reality
with an unquenchable boss.
Air conditioner’s broke, but not.
Think Winter’s better? it ain’t.
Scrooged in Summer taint.
9/13/2021
I cannot anymore say “I do not give a hoot!”
When a policeman pulls over my car,
First thing I say is, “Officer, please don’t shoot!”
Now, I am afraid to go--to venture very far
From the security of my very own back yard
I no longer visit my local neighborhood bar
These days we need a personal security guard
To feel safe when we go to the village malls
Guns from all public places should be barred
Once we could handle old-fashioned brawls
But with serial killers and snipers on the loose
I am afraid our backs are pressed to the walls
Discarded social mores have cooked our goose.
foresight ~ how thoughtful
insight ~ nice ingredients
hindsight ~ acquired taste
By
David Kavanagh
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