.
if yesss
mine
must
want
need
begz
i've found
yourn
cue
yearn
lacuna
clamor
I eat a piece of fudge
it lands on my hips
great
I devour a potato chip
she travels to one of my tummy rolls
I see her happily settling down
I slurp down biscuits and gravy
Feel my butt get fluffy and puffy
starting to look frightful
Bizarre and illogical
the successions of images
unthinking in the mind
the mixture of visual
experiences influenced by
the happening's of the
wakened world
ideas, emotions and sensations
Frustrations from the debate of
two people who believed that building
a bridge over the Cook Strait was
a good idea.
His restless mind found him trouble
he dreamed of him being on
a horse
along side a woman on
her horse
with ice-cream in there back pockets
with horses following them
It's beleived he awaken from
the dream inspired to
to build an under ground amphitheater
there he'd televise shows
across the world
The Queen has a navy
That floats in her gravy,
It’s sharp and its clear,
But it’s sure tough to steer,
For the rudders get stuck
In that thick, grayish muck,
And the lads in the stern
Have a penchant to yearn
For the bright shining waters
All popping with otters,
Yet they smile as they sail past
Her Majesty’s repast,
And wink as they think
That they’d better not sink,
For if sailors go down
In the gravy, they’ll drown,
And you can’t hear them yelp
Through the lard for some help,
And therefore it’s wise
On the ship to keep eyes,
And they sail towards a biscuit
And think that they’ll risk it,
‘Midst butters and jams,
And kippers and clams,
On a crumbly crag
Raise Her Majesty’s flag,
And with hearts beating proud
Face the smiling crowd,
For a deed large or small,
It is better than all,
If it’s done with conviction,
Not merely good diction,
And protecting the table,
Or more, if you’re able,
Brings honor unseen
To country and Queen.
I love light gravy on biscuits, mashed potatoes, turkey or in a spoon
Bring me some if you please, I will love you more than the moon
If you bring me dark gravy my appetite runs away and yells yuck.
Light gravy or nothing, says my persnickety brother, two-year-old Chuck.
Our old fashioned kitchen ways,
way before the modern malaise,
those family favourite, radio days,
Swinging Blue Jeans, Johnny Ray,
Martha Reeves and Marvin Gaye,
those sentimental songs they played.
Our old fashioned kitchen ways,
without plastic meals from trays,
those salad days of mayonnaise,
with fablon coated, hollandaise,
and chicken roasted, lyonnaise,
experimental honey glaze.
Our old fashioned kitchen ways,
mum singing songs of praise,
inside that gravy, misted haze,
where memories are still replayed,
Cilla Black to Doby Gray,
the soundtrack of our yesterdays.
Stephanie did not know about sausage gravy
Until she decided to join the US Navy.
What is this delicious stuff? She asked her first mate.
Biscuits and gravy; ain’t it enormously great?
She wanted gravy on her eggs, gravy on her toast.
She loved sausage gravy so much, actually the most.
I want gravy in my coffee and gravy in my tea!
She was a six hundred pounder when she decided to marry Lee.
We children gathered around the table.
The aromas were rich and dense, we fidgeted.
But we had one last thing to do - before we began the feast.
We all, in our places, held hands, smiling, as my dad began to sing
- and, after a beat, we all joined in.
** To the tune: “Rudolph the red nose reindeer*
“Leonard the big leg turkey
had two great big turkey legs
and if you ever saw them
you would actually say, “they’re big.”
All of the other turkeys
they would laugh and call him names
they never let poor Leonard
join in any turkey games
Then one foggy Thanksgiving eve
The pilgrims came to say,
“Leonard with your legs so big”
“How’d you like to join our Thanksgiving gig?”
Then how all the turkeys loved him
and they shouted out with glee
“Leonard the big legged turkey,”
“you’ll go down in history.” (like the light bulb)
“you’ll go down in history.”
“you’ll go down well with graveyyyyyyyyyy.”
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
.
Three times this week I have had biscuits and gravy.
They are fifteen hundred and two calories per plate.
I know because I do not make them.
I eat them in restaurants and they list these calories.
All three times this meal was super scrumptious.
I was not expecting them to be as good today.
For the menu listed them as 1402 calories.
At this rate, I should weigh six hundred pounds by Sunday.
Blessed be the person
who turns the sour to sweet.
Blessed be the person
Who sees the child in the lead.
Blessed be the wind
That carries truth about the air.
Blessed be the soul
That cares, and cares, and cares.
Blessed be the heart that knows no bounds.
Blessed be the ears that hear no greed-filled sounds.
Blessed be the love that loves all love.
Blessed be the life that moves
With cunning grace and
Spontaneous dignity.
Blessed be the reviler of 2023.
May they carry every baby
And pour extra gravy.
Gravy Slave
Her eyes now dim, lustre lost with worry and age.
What will today or tomorrow bring?
More assaults to this already tired and worn body.
She used to say, ‘Old age does not come alone.
No, it comes with disease rampaging through cells, taking with it function and purpose. In its place are left pain anguish and decay.
One hand holds on to the side of the gas cooker to steady herself as she stirs the gravy.
Years of her life lost to this task, melting away like the lumps in the gravy.
I am on a mission,
I am on a quest
To discover who’s Biscuits and Gravy
Taste the very best
I’ve dined on them in fine restaurants
Ate em sitt’n round a fire
OH! To taste the very best
Is my prime desire!
I’ve traveled to the east
Journeyed o’er the west
I have yet to discover who’s Biscuits and Gravy
Taste the very best
On a humble mission
A mission I carry with zest
But I must conclude my poem
And continue on my quest
The ride is as long and boring as could be.
So I sit and watch leaves fall from the trees. Then I heard her say hello.
And out of the car, I was sure to go.
The smell of bacon pleases me.
As I sit under the big tree.
There are eggs, biscuits, sausage, and bacon. What I notice the most is the gravy or was I mistaken.
The regular gravy that I put on my biscuit.
But this one, this one was way different.
Dark and creamy, no chunks at all.
But before I could ask, I heard “ Come and eat y’all. “
It’s different now with her not here.
This is the one thing that I had feared.
I knew her time was soon to be.
Not that soon I hoped, but now she’s free.
But now I know, as time has passed.
That I wish she had seen me last.
The memories are very wavy.
But sometimes I wish I had some chocolate gravy.
Crisp oven bacon
baked next to homemade biscuit
drenched in syrup
morning breakfast dish
potato
covered in gravy
Lune Poetry poem
3/5/7 Word Count
5/3/5 Syllable Count
1/26/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Rainbow gravy on mashed potatoes
Invented by angel only knows.
It’s on my plate, and it truly glows.
Formed into trees, and two distinct toes.
Cousin loved it, she ate her’s and Joe’s.
I pass my plate over, and eat my jellos.
Rainbow gravy on mashed potatoes.
Where is the cook? Which one of you knows?
How did he make this gravy that incredibly glows?
Is that his homemade chocolate syrup that aptly flows?
And who added on my tray this gorgeous rose?
I will never again eat gravy without rainbows.
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