Fake reviews
In 1963, I ate lunch at Andrea’s café,
her food was wonderful
I advised mariners to go for a visit
and be welcomed by a true lady.
I now learned that unsolicited reviews
are no longer appreciated
My recommendation was delivered verbally
Andrea doesn’t know she is a grandmother and
One of her grandchildren runs the place
I once ran a café in Liverpool selling bacon butties
I could have done with the friendly review
From the people who worked at the small factories nearby
but when Margaret Thatcher
Came to power, they closed down
A young man from Pakistan bought my café
Changed its name to Morning Glory and sold
Curried chicken and shrimp
That, of course, was before the hatred of the foreigner was noticed
When Britain woke up 3 million people from
Syria and Iraq had entered they were not as friendly as the man from Pakistan.
She is prissy, stuck up, arrogant, I imagine said Joey Lee.
Have you met her in person though? How can this prediction be?
I can tell because I have met others like her, some are on my blog.
He also threw this in. Have you seen her arrogant stuck up dog?
But have you talked to her? What is she like in person? I queried.
He stared at me as if I had eaten a smelly storm drain curried.
I don’t have to he replied. As if I am not understanding him at all.
I can tell by her look she is not normal or a nice person at all.
I could not help but feel a bit sorry for Joey Lee then.
Can you imagine how hard it would be to not have a friend?
For if you make judgements like this without meeting a she.
It means he also makes judgments like this on others named he.
Waiting for chips*
Hungry at noon
Vinegar, salt
Use a fork not a spoon
Eat by the sea
Where the waves are unhurried
Peas that are mushed
Sauce that is curried
Two slices of bread
A chip butty create
Overloading my buds
Luscious carbohydrate
There are pies. There are peas
There is gravy and fish
Loading it all on your tray
Pile it up as you wish..
Unwrap from the paper
Don't decant to a plate
'Saves washing up'
And besides it tastes great
The angels in heaven
Look downward in awe..
As the humans devour
Much of what they adore
One of life's simple pleasures
Take a peek, there are many
Eating chips by the sea
Can't be beaten by any
Jinjagoliath
2nd July 2023
*in the UK French fries are 'chips'
OLD AND NEW 4 : CONTINUE TO SING
Sipping cold champagne in silver
cuff links at Thai restaurants
eating red curried prawns
while workers gape at
former leaders sold
Forlorn women starve
in naked hospital corridors
rulers drool in blue pools
with pink jewelled lovers
Rushing from airport to airport
bargaining for who knows
On plains of poverty children
whimper bony arms in
tattered sad sleeves
Slick smiles in linen jackets
mansions highly securitied
Ideals trickling through loamy soil
deep it will surely root anew
Waves upon waves descend
embracing hills with a roar
and throaty directions
to stop senseless hacking
Life rebirths from an unknown hole
Continue to softly sing simple
songs of freedom
exhale from a glittering axis
knowing sacred geometry
©GhairoDanielsPoetry1998
Always the plastic containers,
leftovers maturing stacked in gelid wastes
where pork slumbers among the peppers,
chicken spooning with onions and cabbage.
The polar remains of once tropical meals
transformed into undocumented containers
to be opened far too late.
A curried hash so ad hoc that it could be
the flotsam of a ravenous hurricane.
Zipper bags squelch under groping hands,
carefully wrapped comestible debris
speaks to the eyes more clearly
than any warning sign could.
Dinners and snacks survive
as half-eaten life-forms
buried behind a white doored crypt.
Some, a few only
may be resurrected, only to be boiled
into innominate concoctions
by a cook who once loved them
way too much.
Life is the same, yet lived differently
Under the azure of the sunny, crisp
For the seconds that birthed
Minutes that earned
Hours that gifted
Days that created moments
Months that yielded
Years that counted under the
Solar, I thank the Creator whom
Curried me through times and
The family that holds firm my hands to
Friends whose shoulders solid wrenched
Fans who inspired courage
I celebrate you in Love
My brother Fred thinks outside the box
Wears red and green polka dot socks
He still collects overpriced pet rocks
Eats bagel holes, no cream cheese or lox
Sister Sue sleeps with the horse in the barn
Her iridescent make-up sets off alarms
She's got a pair of tatooed arms
Among her other diverse charms
Me, I'm the white sheep of the bunch
When I eat, I snap, crackle, crunch
'Course it depends on what I have for lunch
On curried cockroach krispies, I like to munch
Always the plastic containers,
leftovers maturing like potted gardens
stacked in gelid wastes
where pigs are plumped with peppers,
goat spooned into onions and cabbage.
The polar remains of once tropical meals
transformed into undocumented river craft.
A curried hash so ad hoc that it could be
the flotsam of a slaughtering hurricane.
Zipper bags squelch under my groping hand;
stomach turning, carefully wrapped debris
speak to my fingertips
more clearly than any danger sign could.
Dinners and snacks survive
as half-eaten life-forms
buried behind a white doored crypt.
Some, a few only
may be resurrected, only to be boiled
into innominate concoctions
by a cook who once loved them
far too much.
ARMED WITH COURAGE
The world is crazy, often a brute,
spoiled, lackadaisical, and hurried.
Why follow the Pied Piper with his flute?
The terror, behind the window-blind shoot!
Entertainment ceased and the crowd scurried.
The world is crazy, often a brute.
Whilst craven armed man, delivers the boot,
with courage some shine, aiding the worried.
Why follow the Pied Piper with his flute?
Hurricanes and fires - the storm’s quick pursuit.
Fleeing devil’s flames. So many buried!
The world is crazy, often a brute.
When many men run, some wear their saint-suit,
unnoticed and wise, favor not curried.
Why follow the Pied Piper with his flute?
When others destroy, many more gain fruit -
angels of might - courageous, not worried.
The world is crazy, often a brute.
Why follow the Pied Piper with his flute?
10/8/2017
Tale of a Squirrel's Tail
There once was a very impudent squirrel
pretending to be an innocent girl
she wore a blonde wig
tried to act so big
dancing and prancing, giving life a whirl
One day I caught her peeping at my sill
gave me an evil eye...if looks could kill
shot back with a frown
had to take her down
I'll get that meddlesome squirrel. Yes, I will
She's not naive like sweet lil Goldilocks
but was wily like a devious fox
no porridge she'd find
I spanked her behind
with the heel of my brand new rubber crocs
She screamed at me until her face turned blue
"I'll get even with you, before I'm through!"
Oh, she is quite nuts
She limps 'steada struts
Whiney baby was crying, "Boo hoo hoo."
She cursed naughty words and off she scurried
Twitching her bushy tail as she hurried
I'd no cause to fret
Rodent trap was set
Tonight I'll feast on squirrel that's been curried
^..^ ^..^
4/27/17
For Jan Allison
syllables of 10-10-5-5-10
Weekends
In the afternoon sun
the asphalt road shines like an ice rink;
flanked by green trees that
cast black shadows,
helped by the breeze
they flutter slightly,
soundless articulation a symphony for the deaf
My memory brings me
the aroma of curried
chicken and rice,
but since it is Friday, it will
be smoked haddock, boiled potatoes and
stewed carrots
Still a twenty minutes drive,
before getting home,
shadows merge with the evening and
the ice rink is a memory
Is Platypus a beaver? Or is it quacking duck
Not proper as pet
What to feed this bizarre thing that is odd as
An Australian, strange people the down under
Half criminal half saints
They used to be impossible British Say, 1922.
Their diet was egg& chips, now they are sophisticated
Chips with curried sauce
Always willing to fight for the USA proud soldiers with
tropical hats that make an easy target.
More sheep than people so what do you expect they shear
sheep and like it, chips fried in ewe fat.
The platypus takes no interest in this can it be made into
a Vietnam duck, a country the Aussie were lured into invading.
Australia is in a way a Platypus can`t make up its mind whether
it is a far eastern country or a European settlement.
A fortress on a vortex is a myriad of milestones on a moon. But moons are not mules and mules are not to be entrusted with the delicate art of spooning dew into bowls measuring six metres. So all hail. All rise. Which goldfish ate pie rations today? Today is not a toddler nor a taming temperate temperature. And a mist in view is not a monstrous monkey bellowing in a display cabinet. Hahaha the internal sail salad dance hahahaha number of prancing prawns playing games and eating curried chocolate xxxx convoluted z
An abacus arriving ate apples and so articulate were the sonnets delivered. So brave a bead. Pass pass passing. 5million mules delivering bread. Grabbing a gatepost. Steadily surfing a silvery wired wave. Whilst juggling 863 cows. Hahahaha mystified mood swings hahahaha and a peach coloured bucket carrying a ladle. Marketing strategy. 1 2 3 and a curried curriculum climbing. Xxxx evaporation z
Under Winter sky
Love-Curried-soup lets me try
Hurry home to fly.
Fengleishanren.
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