Burger King’s and KFC’s
Large kebabs topped off with cheese
Too many beers slip down with ease
A Double Whopper, no salad please
Pile on the pounds, put on the weight
That greasy fry tasted just great
Eat it all, let’s clear the plate
Another bar of chocolate
Living it large on the cardiac ward
The doctors have, my heart explored
Lying here on a hospital cart
Would you believe, I broke my own heart
Fresh cream buns, so nice to eat
The icing sugar tastes so sweet
Scoff the lot and then repeat
A McDonald’s meal, a late night treat
Living it large on the cardiac ward
The doctors have, my heart explored
Lying here on a hospital cart
Would you believe, I broke my own heart
Taking a walk, an alien activity
Go to the gym? To much productivity
Lazing around is joyous proclivity
All hail the God of inactivity
And now I regret being such a glutton
I should have refused that last plate of mutton
Wishing there was a reset button
For a life of chips and beer and bacon
Living it large on the cardiac ward
The doctors have, my heart explored
Lying here on a hospital cart
Would you believe, I broke my own heart
Categories:
kebabs, body, food, health, heart,
Form: Rhyme
You might have blisters on your hands from all your manual toil.
You may be climbing up a pole with an electrical coil.
Could be a produce vendor shucking husks from the cob.
It’s just a job.
You might have permanent employment, or only work from time to time.
You may have ring around the collar from industrial grime.
Could be working in a hotel kitchen spearing kebabs.
It’s just a job.
You might regard it a profession, a career, or a chore.
You may be forced to punch a time clock when you pass through the door.
Could be an undercover agent, or a thug with the mob.
It’s just a job
You might be laboring like Sisyphus for minimum wage.
You may possess a golden parachute for late middle age.
Could be widgeting the fittings on a thingamabob.
It’s just a job.
You might be entry level ready for the corporate sphere.
You may be hoping to retire in by the end of the year.
Could be cleaning up a crime scene where the vic was a slob.
It’s just a job
You might be licensed by the state to practice criminal law.
You may be framing out a condo with a circular saw.
We all need to make a living, even trash-talking snobs.
It’s just a job.
Categories:
kebabs, allegory, humor, work,
Form: Light Verse
My name’s Juno, I do my duty,
us black cats are quite well suited,
for adding scares this time of year,
our sharp claws, people often fear.
We have a reputation, human-given,
and to please, we’ve constantly striven;
offering good scares on Trick’n’treat night,
to serve the folks with a desired fright.
Human’s seem to love a good scare,
careful going ‘round corners, I’ll be there;
I’ll flash my eyes and hiss and spit,
to pump your adrenaline, just a bit.
Really, it’s not the most glamorous job,
I’d rather be eating some fish-kebabs.
10-12-2020
Halloween Meow Poetry Contest
Chantelle Anne Cooke
Categories:
kebabs, cat, halloween, nature, poems,
Form: Rhyme
June
delights
fresh salads
grilled kebabs, all-
right.
Written 5-22-19
June or July Lanterne Poetry Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Categories:
kebabs, appreciation, food, garden, june,
Form: Lanterne
Frogs’ legs
French cuisine fad
Amphibians hopping mad
Shish kebabs
Cubed lamb chislic
Served on toothpick
Pizzas
Flatbread Italian feast
Waist measurement increased
Bird’s nest soup
Rare Chinese foodstuff
Swiftlets sleeping rough
Mexican wraps
Spicy chicken fajitas
Hot as senoritas
Seafood paella
Shrimp, lobster, cuttlefish
Saporous Valencian dish
Maple syrup
Canadians tree tap
Sticky sweet sap
Digestif
After dinner drink
Brandy glasses clink
17/09/18
'six-word couplet poetry contest' : Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Categories:
kebabs, culture, food,
Form: Couplet
The blue cheese is too smelly which I do not like
The white cheese with the orange stripes and dots
From my mom’s kitchen gets into the psyche
With the Darjeeling tea and toast it cozily prods
Towards the hectic activities of the golden day
With the prawn curry and rice, a lunch with purple glee
The evenings come with the brown shadows on the tray
That you hold while your look floats on the cups of coffee
The sweet and sour soup with a dash of green chilli
Blended with the aroma of your flute like fingers
The kebabs of grilled crab with pomegranate jelly
In the dreams most nights the aroma of dinner lingers
January 18, 2018
For My Blue Cheese is - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kevin Shaw
Categories:
kebabs, food, life, love,
Form: Rhyme
COMING HOME
I came home at last across the seas
To my home country in South Dublin,
And stood soaking up the refreshing Irish mist,
Allowing the Manchester smoke to wash out of my lungs.
O’ Connell Street was busy as usual,
And the familiar glottal stops of Arabic drifted
Out from a traditional kebab take away,
In its doorway a tin whistle player and his hat of coins.
I watched the policewomen adjusting their hejabs
And very politely controlling the football crowd -
Stragglers from Croke Park,
Heading for Guinness and kebabs for supper.
Categories:
kebabs, home,
Form: Imagism
Katie put some chicken
kebabs in the fridge, then
kicked off her tight shoes. The
kettle boiled and she made
kiwi fruit tea. Her cute
kitten climbed onto her
knee and fell fast asleep.
K Pleiades Contest
Sponsored by Kim Merryman
Checked with How Many Syllables
03~09~17
Categories:
kebabs, cat, food, home, ,
Form: Verse
A heritage resplendent in culture and crafts
Where monuments rub shoulders with swank malls
Enticing blend of old and new
Lucknow my town always enthralls
Values well enshrined so deep within
Greets with a warmth endearing
A city with a global vision
Boasts of a legacy alluring
An array of exquisite creations
Their splendour holds us spell bound
Dreams woven into yards of fabric
A magnificence that does astound
Succulent kebabs relished by all
Medley of age old secret recipes
Sizzling in congested lanes
Take pride of place in grand feasts
Tourists find it hard to part
Leave behind their piece of heart;
Taste and grace, or class , cuisine
City of Nawabs reigns supreme.
Nov 2, 2016
Contest My kind of town
Footnote
Lucknow is the capital of Uttar Pradesh , a north Indian state, home of the erstwhile nawabs of the mughal empire well known for their sophisticated taste. Hand crafting or chikankari of world fame is a hand embroidery renowned for its finesse.Lucknow takes pride in its rich cuisine especially kebabs, made of the finest lamb mince preferred for its soft texture
Categories:
kebabs, history, home,
Form: Rhyme
We all hear about the habits of successful people,
My habits are not the same.
Successful people, whatever that means,
Their habits seem kind of tame.
I don’t read a lot, nor organize my year,
Nor ever get up bright and chirpy.
I enjoy writing my thoughts, living spontaneously,
Then waking up feeling blurry.
I dance in elevators, touch hot plates,
And practice arguments in my head.
And rather than minimizing distractions,
I live with color and music instead.
And when I’m on the phone I don’t sit
And pronounce with perfect allocution.
I walk the house laughing, joking and swearing-
It’s a trusted institution.
I would like to eat healthy, drink water, walk heaps,
And regularly go and press weights.
But I love my kebabs after a night at the pub,
Dancing, drinking and singing with mates.
Actually, the other day, I went for a run, through the rain,
In the car park, to my car.
It was a fun little run; I dodged bullets and missiles,
Pretending I was a big movie star.
Well, thinking about it, my habits are successful,
Other people’s just don’t match mine.
To me it’s about being happy, open and free, it was easy,
“Success” I would redefine.
Categories:
kebabs, fun, happy, joy, nice,
Form: Rhyme
Lemon shortbread tastes no better on a sunny day than a rainy day but wind is inclement conditions in which to eat a flan. ? Stare not at a wandering ivy bead plant for it is intelligent enough to understand that a dishcloth cannot cook in a microwave. Never stick a twig in a cup of tea as it might frighten the passing cucumber family whose strides reach five hundred miles an hour. Even on ice. For every toothpick there is an iced bun. And over alot of coffees discussion is not a relevant useful thing as wavering kebabs on boom clouds sumasault over the ray sharks. Hahahaha and now I will eat a pickle. I carried it for eons in a suitcase. Destroy not. Waste not. And be at one with an illuminated bus stop. Felon feet fetching. *** fraternities. *** trepidation. *** talismanic tantric trees talking xxxx xenophobic *** ha
Categories:
kebabs, angel, blessing,
Form: I do not know?
Anchored by its feet hangs the carcass
Butcher removes brisket and strings it
Chuck steak diced for stews and pies
Dark well matured silverside rests
Entrails give the dogs a royal feast
Flank minced for spaghetti bolognese
Gullet chopped into stock pot simmers
Hanging meat swings as the butcher works
Icy still from the blast chiller
Juicy steaks thickly cut are parcelled up
Kebabs skewered, placed on display
Loin of beef neatly lined up
Minced steak patties for burgers
Neck used in both stock pot and stew
Offal set aside for pate and pies
Perfectly roasted beef ready to carve
Quick flash fry of rib eye seals in juices
Rump not too trimmed dribbles on grill
Sirloin anointed by a king sizzling
Tongue gently braised in gravy or stock
Utensils casting shadows on the wall
Venison from red deer's makes tasty things
Wing rib rubbed with hot spices waits
Xhosa cattle graze in pastures green
Yellowed meats set aside for soup
Zibeline hides scrapped and cured, nailed up
8/27/2015
contest Any Poem written in August
Categories:
kebabs, food,
Form: Abecedarian
It’s been a choppy day for trading,
And the market’s looking wan,
Gold is sticking to its vaults
While Bitcoin faces a ban
Greece is eying the drachma,
Its kebabs now overcooked,
While Chinese knees are trembling
As America cooks its books
And as the rich get richer
And the poor man fades away,
Money, gold and diamonds,
Will always win the day.
Categories:
kebabs, money,
Form: Rhyme
The Truth about Narwhals
The truth about narwhals, is that they're just bags.
Majestic bags, filled up with swag.
And bags filled with swag, well, they aren't a drag.
The truth about narwhals, is that they're just unicorns.
They dress up like dolphins, but still show off their horns.
And dolphins with horns, they love to eat corns.
The truth about narwhals, is they love shish-kebabs.
They make them all day, to worship their gods.
But narwhals themselves are gods, gods of kebabs.
Categories:
kebabs, animal, education, food, poetry,
Form: ABC
Aadab the Aarab's
Favourite food was kebabs,
Be it beef, be it chicken,
He thought they were finger lickin'
With hummus and garlic dabs
authors note: i know Adab & Arab
are spelled with one
...a.....at the start but i put in
the extra ....a.....for pronunciation
of a long.....a.....sound
Categories:
kebabs, funny,
Form: Limerick
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