Dished Poems | Examples

Julie Andrews Oversight?

Music, both sacred and profane, 
an elephant in cellophane, 
a boa constrictor bowing a cello, 
aluminum and lemon Jello -
these are things Ms. Andrews missed
as on her favorite things, she dished.

And Yet - It Is What It Is

Our lives have known such different ways
                         Such different ways have we
And yet despite such varied worlds
                           The same sun helps us see

The teachings of a higher source
                                        So similar of grain
So why then must our names, our skins
                             Give rise to hate and pain  

The meals we set to nourish babes
                               To blossom healthy lives
Though dished up from a different pan
                                  A common fire thrives

And yes, the love that bears its fruit
                                To sow its yielding seed
The very same no matter where
                                 In manner and in deed

Our lives have known such different ways
                         Such different ways have we
So why not share and learn and form
                                             A larger family

Choosing The Light

Life littered with litres of distress and stress.
Uncertainties certain to terminate happiness in our nest

But we chose hope

Darkness lingering over our lingerie in secrecy
Hurts dished out in hot tempers 

Yet we chose hope

Subjected to torture rather than nurture as though we're objects.
Wrongfully wronged in places where the rights of the people should matter.

Still, we chose hope

There wouldn't be the need to be the light of the world if the world is full of light.

Whatever life throws at us
Our light will never go dim
We'll hold on to the thoughts and voice of hope in cloudy days.

We choose hope.

Soul Mates

We won't find a soul mate dished up on a plate,
We won't find a soul mate if we always complicate,
We won't find a soul mate if we over compensate,
We won't find a soul mate if we procrastinate,
We won't find a soul mate if we don't participate,
We won't find a soul mate if their importance we underestimate,
   or over their existence speculate.

Our eldest daughter found her soul mate,
And did not hesitate,
An example for others to emulate.

As for her parents fate,
That is up for serious debate,
Now that I suspect I have a friend who to me does resonate,
To me all the aspects of soul mate,
When it is too late,
Yet I cannot help but speculate,
About a different fate, 
Or a late change contemplate,
Even though it might complicate,

Nugatory

"Nugatory" my teacher did decry,
As she threw my story up in the sky.
"Why must you write and hand in futile tripe?"
The comment itself, an offal snipe swipe.

At the break, I rushed to the library
To find the word in the dictionary.
There it was found between 'Nugget' and 'Nudge'
Perhaps it was gold dug up, or some fudge?

Then again perhaps it's some kind of soup!
Muggatory with tripe added in scoop!
But the truth was truly most alarming.
All my hopes of praise and good disarming.

For nugatory means futile, stripped bare
Of all adornment, flavor, scent and flare.
Worthless and having no value at all.
Sadly that's what teacher said to appall.

For nugatory robs the moon from night.
Dulls the colors of the sky in daylight.
It scoffs at dreams, dims creativity.
What's left bereft of spontaneity.

So what my teacher wants is same old tripe.
Dished up in plain old nugatory type.
Devoid of colors, bangles and dangles.
The old, old story locked up in mangles.

Zoe Buhler

Good news Zoe, charges dropped drongo
Coppers had to stop, rules aren't laws 
Wrongs just that..Love you darl; thats where
I'm at, you did Ballarat an honour.' By being
True against the bother, you took issue.' with
The lies they dished on you, in the very same 
old town; where our miners faced some other
 clowns
Ballarat awaken now..' And back up Zoe
Who showed you how.!

A Night On the Beach

A mottled crab scuppers its sea legs
in fluorescent foam.
Blue pods rattle on green tides.
Bladder wrack, Mermaid’s Hair
washing tangled ankles.
There are voices in my open mouth,
they roll over a briny tongue,
intoning from the breath
of a luminous spray.
Where the sky hangs low,
gannet beaks gape
trawl the unseen upon a tossing surf.
Mother, father, stranger,
we are all here speaking
through a whirlpool’s gullet
we sink and surface, rise and fall
dished up on a roiling wash
never to find nor land.

Near Or Far

Everybody’s looking for Christ
Everybody wants salvation
And everybody pays a price
For the bigger situation

Everybody tries to conceive
Of a Paradise somewhere –
It’s at the end of history –
Or it’s way up high in the air

For some, the Kingdom is near
For some, the City is far
Some want their banquet right here
Some envision it beyond the stars

Everybody wants to end pain
Everybody wants to rejoice
A plan, reasonable and inhumane
That speaks to the inner voice

Everybody yearns to believe 
That everybody’s equal and free –
The diversity of the leaves –
The solidarity of the tree

For some, the Kingdom is near

Everybody would rebel
Against a prison after birth
Be it the cauldron of Hell
Or the rusted factory of Earth

Everybody craves to receive
The body and the blood of man
Either dished out by a priest
Or exacted by a politician 

‘Cause for some, the Kingdom is near
While for some, the City is far
Some want their banquet right here
And some envision it beyond the stars.

Return To Zen Duh

Dear God
              Its me well i guess you already know that
wait maybe you know everything i am about to write
schnorbitz did you expect that
well lets get to the crux-sorry for the pun-of the matter
I read there were unicorns mentioned in the bible
so were they real
as real as you
but seriously have you seen it down here
its alright for you in your silver haven
its a bit more than misbehaving
You built this in 7 days
can you see the plastic choking the waves
no protection from the sunshine rays
where is the miracles you once dished out
give me something i cannot doubt
Anyways had my gripe
Waiting for your lightning strike
nothing nada nothing there
fairytales of a heavenly lair
take your keys and lock your gates
and leave us to our deserved fates

P, S, Tell Lucy i will see him soon

P.P.S, To take over

A Dish Dished Out, Seldom Tried

Let me publish a book, I thought,
And soon His divine blessings sought. 

Bless me God that it’s received well,
And in markets makes a marked spell. 

Forget it, my innocent child,
He said, desist from dreaming wild.

If put on poetry sites’ stead,
Be content if some do get read.

You know, e’en I’ve been a failure—
A slight till today I endure.
  
See, I've been writing scores of fates,
Have ye seen one that appreciates?

I once wrote a mega poem—
My greatest spiritual emblem,

Gita, put on a pedestal,
Talked ‘bout, but who reads if at all?

As part of a greatest epic,
I thought it might easily click!

So, perish such a thought dear child,
Be cool, they’re safely isled and filed.
___________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |13.09.2019|
Topic: humour, god, fate, poem
Aniruddha Pathak
 Thursday, April 9, 2020

Stranglehold

There once was a frog from Quebec
Who was treated with such disrespect
A gull took him for lunch
But he dished the first punch
And choked the bird by the neck

The Warmth of a Winters Diner

The Warmth of a Winters Dinner
David J Walker 

The blackened cast-iron caldron 
Sat on the stove burner waiting for
The task to begin
the water and the low flame 
taking its time
all day to claim
a winters meal  

It would begin in the morning
with onion joined by 
carrots and celery 
Chopped on the butcher's block
In bite-sized portions
Adding a bag 
of frozen peas
then 
Salt and pepper 
Eight cups of water
And cubed up pieces of 
A frozen round steak, all
Bathed in a tomato paste
For a long-days simmer 



The aroma of the low boiling
Flavors escaping the heave lid
Filling the house with the flush scent of
Each ingredient adding its
Own unique element of perfection for
The winters dinner to come

The smell of cornbread baking
In the oven invited everyone to
The warmth of the 
Heart of the hearth
Where portions of the stew 
would be dished into 
the blue ceramic bowls we
knew well and used 
all of our lives

The cold outside was held
At bey that night
in the warmth of
A winters dinner

Double Edged Knife

There’s two sides to every story 
A little bit of pain and a little bit of glory
Love and hate become so often entwined
Wrapping so tightly the heart that they bind

There’s two parts in every duet
A chorus of hope and a verse of regret
Sometimes you’re the singer sometimes the song
Getting the tune right but the rhythm all wrong

There are two directions that this path has
Left to finish first the right to finish last
One way is a smooth course the other is rough
Your journey brief or arduously tough

There’s humility in winning honour in defeat
There is always two versions of everyone we meet
Justice is served with discrimination on the side
Dished up immediately or after a goodbye

I sit in the middle of the scales of life
Contemplating ,empathising,on the tip of a knife
At times I’m understood and at others I am not
I am part of the universe, an insignificant dot

Wolf's Bane

On the shoulders of avid days 
I stride on its lips with a pot made of clays 
Inquest of fecund fields to preen what pays
Both the days we suture its coral  rays 

And days its name wears mystery
I schooled forth lapping the mile’s misery:
Worries a spoon, jester a stew, despair a rice dished miserly
Murdered hopes, spices; yet I slide, no furry.

At time when exiled felicity 
Staked in self stalk new sari 
Leaning against the old plea.
And lethal tears oozing breathlessly frosting his solitary balcony.

A wolf bane singing the songs of angel 
Orchestrated alchemical lyrics, in  it fell
O! Withers of pain, lend me your domain, let me dwell
O! I said, are you not wolf bane, won’t there be tale
O! I’m, recharge your crockeries of trust in my smell

A wolf’s bane she was indeed 
Listening to her lusty lyrics in refined 
Harem’s tone, then I pigeonholed.
As the suns fell on the shrubs, as dews condescended
As the soil becomes wealthily fending
A moon in me suffers seizure and my  dog died frothing 
Then I was awakened to knowing anon 
That there are good flowers and there are poisonous one

Poetry Soup Ponderings

Popped in again here at the Soup
I'd spent too long out of the loop
I skimmed the blogs to find the scoop
of what's been dished among this troupe

Checked in to see a friend or two
Read lovely rhymes, on list of "new"
My own muse, dead! not much to do 
In need of welcome of the crew

When words won't come, and heart is weak
and days are colored grey and bleak
when silence triumphs need to speak
You long for just a little peek

To read a poem, colored fair
and see the souls who dare to bare
their joys and sorrows without care
I long to tell them, "I'll be there."

I long to write and share my soul
this urge, at times above control
to be immersed and not to scroll
though lines of yours than can console

And so I stop my work to write
My uncle passed away last night
this sadness suffocates the light
Yet, life goes on with speed and might

A word, a thought, a single line
that all is well, a little sign
Poetic rest at friendship's shrine
I'll carry on; all will be fine.

Eileen Manassian

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