Corned beef on rye bread
steaming hot
Tangy mustard, fresh sauerkraut
~ Salivate
_____________________________________
'Essen' means 'Eat' in German....
Of course, you didn't need me to
tell you that.
Mary found a dinosaur egg
in her closet
The stork was the latest victim
Of rye bread and corned beef we speak
dancing in the everglades
A pale moon worshiped the morning sky
Trauma aboard the toy boat in the bathtub
incestuous conversation in the lobby
Golden pianos warm up the soup
Flying ninjas escalate the fight over
landfill’s gold reserves
Barf is, too, a clinical term
Jasmine Crockett, not Davy
Larry Bird, not Admiral
Eisenhower, Stevenson and Kennedy
Three Flyways
Computers yield to the abacus
tummy ache, all better
Suburban lawnmowers on the prowl, daddy
When Hell Is Full**
Sweet memories fade like old Navy clothing,
leaving an unpleasant taste in my mouth—
like a can of Grace corned beef with stale onions,
drizzled with oil; it was tolerable at the time.
Years have passed, yet those thoughts still
send chills down my spine. I utterly detest those moments
when the pain won’t let go.
Just as I was about to turn the key,
He walks toward the elevator,
the same old walk heading to that all-too-familiar place.
Vulnerability is weakness; voodoo may offer
only fleeting relief.
Sweet memories fade like old Navy clothing,
and a scorned wife never forgives—it’s a viper’s sting.
The dead cannot rest easily, knowing what
they have done.
Forgiveness carries a hefty price!!
and it’s dark. The living will move forward,
while the dead will roam this earth for eternity
When hell is full.
Parade in the streets, eat corned beef,
And let the darkness flow.
St. James’s Gate is the birthplace.
Let the darkness flow.
Grand day for grazing, life’s amazing.
So let the darkness flow.
Jump in a reel or fiddle a jig.
Then let the darkness flow.
Drive out the snakes, embrace the blarney.
Letting the darkness flow.
It may be the day for wearing the green,
But let the darkness flow!
A leprechaun who was afraid
To take part in today’s big parade
Found a good place to hide
But once he was inside
Quickly saw the mistake he had made.
For instead of a pub to appease,
With some corned beef and Guinness to please,
It became very plain
He’d be eating lo mein
Since the place he was in was Chinese.
Still, the waiters went out of their way
To make sure that this unplanned delay
Was as good as could be
So, along with his tea
Was a cookie to brighten his day.
When he opened the fortune, he read,
“Though you’re Irish, we’re glad you were led
To try out our cuisine;
Now it’s back to the green
For great riches for you lie ahead!”
The ceiling sparkled;
I saw the big dipper, then the little one.
The painters needed a bigger tip for their creative execution.
Without a warning to prepare, a requiem played.
The symphony corned all aspects of a so-called classic; muffled screams, vulgar tongues and your tears –
Silence doesn’t come fast and
I begged for forgiveness and solidarity whilst connecting the dots of Orion.
Staring at my learners in my four-cornered room
I see the dynamics of life as I zoom into
The shadow that’s not displayed
Some smoke weed
Not realizing that they will bleed in the workplace
Some enjoy cough syrup with a cool drink
Not realizing that this simple addition will
Change the transaction in their lives
Later, it turns to tablets yet learners
Think that they can control their habit
Like a rabbit, some will hop from experiment to experiment
Keeping themselves intoxicated while growing in stupidity
Staring at my learners in my four-cornered room
I see some learners grow in intelligence
Some study daily
Knowing that they will enjoy their future job
Their passion shines through in the classroom
Because they do the hard work when no one is looking
Staring at my learners in my four-cornered room
I see the lazy ones trying to feed off the strong ones
Procrastination will lead to a weak spell
This is something your future will tell you
Break free because you are the future and
It all starts in this four corned room
Mark Frank
Copyright 2023
She was five when she was set down for a talk. Don't walk alone in the dark, keys between your knuckles, don't let them take you to a second location, scream and fight. That is what her mom said, a frown on her face. She was five when her dad said cover your body, boys will be boys. Only wear baggy clothes, a women can't defend herself from a man. Trust no man. The rules of a women.
Now she is all grown up, searching for escape routes in every room. She only wears misleading clothes, took self-defense, and always carries a taser. Her whole life has been a war against herself. The life of a women.
She only keeps one headphone in, wears sweatpants even at the gym, and when she walks alone her keys are between her knuckles. But they just laughed when they corned her in that back-alley. How could a girl beat three men? The misfortune of a women.
It isn't all men but it is all women. Being a women isn't simple, everyday is a fight.
When I get to heaven it will be St. Patrick’s Day
There will be a lassie there playing a harp merry and gay.
She will be wearing Irish colors, and there will be corned beef.
When I finally die of this cancer, it will also be a big relief.
But don’t angels wear white or pastels? Her grandchild asked.
There will be cabbage and shepherd’s pie, and ale in a flask.
Grandma was in her own world now, dreaming of a better time.
When she could taste Irish soda bread without standing in line.
ickity dickity splickity mertickity splay
Homer and Oscar have both had a persnickety day
They are dancing a swiggle wiggle jig, heading my way
I love watching these identical leprechauns on St. Patrick’s day
ickity dickity splickity mertickity blarney climbs out of the clay
March 17th is the yearly utmost happiness day for enchanted fey
eve rainbow is shining on us with leprechaun’s magic spray
Toodlie oodlie ooh dance is presented by Fannie O’Shay
ickity dickity splickity mertickity forms a new blue jay
Don’t you know that emerald is the color of this magic Irish Thursday?
The bird hops off without commenting, a tail feather sashay
reach for corned beef and cabbage, off an Irishman’s tray.
The Dubliners are heading out the backdoor toward the bay
Harmonizing the best they can with a high ho ho hig hey!
Is it always this much fun here? Asks a visitor from Monterey
had to tell him a ring tail truth, for he is not Irish, Okay?
Top of the Morning to you
It is a beautiful day, right cousin Lou?
Until the parade starts, what shall we do?
We have to entertain ourselves ‘til two.
My idea is to buy corned beef for Sue.
She is the best cook in Kalamazoo.
While it is on simmer, here is what we will do
Round up your harmonica and my kazoo
Top of the morning to you Bonnie McDew
Want to watch the parade with us at two?
You’ve invited too many women already said Lou.
Mrs. McLeary’s cow Bessie went “moo!”
I asked Bessie “Where is your cousin Stew?”
They were always getting into trouble, these two.
The horse tried to tattle, but his super long snout grew.
So I knew he was lying about Bessie and Stew.
Corned beef
25 years ago, I found in the attic of a small hotel
briefly used as headquarter by British troops after
the war, a tin of bully beef.
I opened the tin, the meat looked lovely and fat
cut a slice tasted as made yesterday.
Later in the evening, I made a stew of potatoes
onions and carrots, added the corned beef, for
refugees, a Polish family of five; yes, the Poles too
had once been refugees, not one would think so
closing their border for other asylum seekers.
As it was their first hot meal since they bedraggled
arrived, they ate well; the next day, over the cornflakes
I was glad to see they were well.
About corned beef, a friend of mine, Alex Skillen, had
been a cook in the army, now he worked at a plant
assembling cars in Ellesmere Port, he liked bully beef
we used to go to the British Lion, play darts and
drink beer, he loved my little books and told people
about it; he was a fan.
Once, he told me he had made the observation that
workers went to strike more under labour than
the Tories, I resisted saying there had been no labour
party since Clement Atlee’s government.
It’s Purim and St. Patrick’s Day
And if you’re up for noshin’,
Have corned beef, cabbage and dessert –
Some bright green hamantaschen.
For those of you who do not know,
This pastry, always eaten
By Jews on Purim represents
The man who had them beaten.
His name was Haman and when he
Was finally defeated,
The bakers made a special treat,
Fruit-filled or poppy-seeded.
These sweets are shaped like Haman’s hat,
3-sided (and delicious!)
But since today’s St. Patrick’s Day,
It would be most judicious…
To make them green to honor both
The Irish and the Jews
And washed down with a Guinness,
I’d give 5-star-plus reviews!
All day Franco-American spaghetti-suckers
do not make connoisseurs' lips pucker
Neither do grilled spiders and a side of beans
appeal to kings or to queens
When looking to make a culinary splash
never serve reheated corned-beef hash
And even if you're in a real time jam
fuggetabout cold pizza topped-off with spam
Just stick to the basics, you'll surely succeed
~ A dozen raw eggs afloat in seaweed
As I walk the city streets
and listen to the city beats
my heart keeps time with every sound
as precious memories abound
I think of where I’ve walked before
and those with whom I would explore
of restaurants and laughter’s fill
deciding who would pay the bill
Aroma of fresh pop-corned air
competes with fragrance everywhere
hypnotic billboards, signs aglow
distract as all the car horns blow
And as I walk the city streets
and clock my brain as it repeats
I’ll not forget the days and nights
of many fascinating sights
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.