Long Al dente Poems
Long Al dente Poems. Below are the most popular long Al dente by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Al dente poems by poem length and keyword.
How do I eat thee? Let me count the ways:
sauced, buttered, plain,
sprinkled with Parmigiano Reggiano,
pesto, pancetta, bacon.
Rowdy rigatoni, flamboyant farfalle,
perky penne, funny fusilli, lovely linguini,
spunky spaghetti,
personality abounds.
An atavistic love affair
with semolina goodness
in all shapes, sizes
like my three Aunt Rosas.
Dear pasta,
I count on you
for your depression-lifting goodness,
accepting no impastas!
When you end up in hot water,
you come out better than before.
You’ve stuck with me
through thick and thin,
mostly thick around my hips.
Pasta al dente, the choice
of strong Italian women!
Checking the lights on the dashboard when they flash and stay red:
it's the oil that needs to be changed or the engine that requires
maintenance, and in frigid temperatures who would venture outside and get frostbites?
A car is a necessity, a commodity and besides daily pleasure, it may cost a lot indeed.
Running to the grocery store through the backdoor when milk is low,
and guests wait for a fresh coffee pot and you put on a face not so mellow,
and much worse when you forget the roast in the oven...the bird you admire,
and smoke fills your kitchen...you just dial 911 and scream, " My house in on fire! "
But the worst one that can send you into havoc...
when the mean kid down the block throws a rock
and your window shatters and the cat flees with the swiftest animal beat,
but the dog gets vicious and runs after him by exposing his sharp teeth.
Ever forgot to send your mom a Christmas or Easter card?
She'll call you the same day knowing that the Post office won't deliver,
and what her voice will sound like? Soft or harsh, or angry as a bard?
I can imagine the words she will say, " Have you forgotten something, dear? "
These are just few of them that can drive you crazy like wild kids who love to fight
and make you head spin and ache until you sit down and take a break by a lamplight,
" Ouch!" You got burned from the splashing water while draining your steamy pasta...
you complain,"It's overcooked and not al dente!" And like mother you exclaim,"Basta!"
* The word "Basta" in Italian means " It's enough "
DISHES OF THE DAY - POETRY
Happiness à priori
Health well done
Peace to the right point
Love at will (á la volonté)... !
Even obvious lines
make sense
Abstract Ingredients,
they give concrete juice ...
The invisible becomes as dense
as the visible ...
Unused rejects,
reused are ...
Discarded
has also its time ...
Having some substance,
It's okay, it's not soup.
of stone ...
All together, it takes
to the cauldron in a water bath!
After cooking
in this soft fire,
cool down, and become
the table....
The poem is ready
al dente, primo canto...
Are you all served ...!?
NOUVELLE CUISINE
Nouvelle cuisine the waiter said, as he served the food to me
Where’s the rest I asked him, as I’d earlier skipped my tea
Tiny bits of something on a massive bloody dish
I tried to woo my girlfriend by pretending I was swish
You can pick the restaurant, was my very first mistake
I thought she’d pick our local for some scampi or a steak
Instead she chose Pierre’s, which was going to be steep
I’d heard the food was lovely though the prices made you weep
I gazed upon the menu, which was written out in French
And scanned along the prices, which made my buttocks clench
To refrain from looking stupid, I ordered some red wine
We requisitioned dinner and prepared ourselves to dine
A puny bowl of soup arrived, we felt a touch irate
We had to eat it quickly or it could evaporate
The main course had potato which was hidden by some meat
Five al-dente vegetables, all stacked up nice and neat
A de-constructed rhubarb tart, that’s what they served us next
Though why they took it all apart has left us kinda vexed
We left a tip and paid the bill…a pretty hefty fee
Then dandered into town and we got a KFC
DIRTY RICE
-----------------
Datiraisu
-----------------
El Stingy Pig
-----------------
8 cups of cooked rice
(toasted and browned in olive oil, and in chicken broth cooked al dente)
2 cups of meat from pork neckbone
1 cup of cooked chicken livers( grounded fine)
1 cup of browned grounded beef
stir fry unseasoned until mixed
set aside
1 cup of minced onion
4 Tablespoons of minced garlic
2/3 cups of diced green peppers
1/2 cup of diced celery
5 tablespoons of grated ca
add 3 cups of canned kidney beans (rinsed)rrot
sautee til peppers are softened.
set aside
---------------
in a pan brown 1 cup of pork sauage
remove the meat
measure 5 T of grease
5 T of flour brown a roux,
1 cup of veggie stock
2 tablespoons of chilli powder
1 T paprika
1 T dried Basil
1 T dried Oregano
2 T Cayeene Pepper
and sauage meat.
mix in rice and beans
toss
and serve!
Wooing, My LOVE
Chateau-Briand, with homemade sauce Bernaise
Pancake cottage fries, al dente cauliflower Polonaise
1971 bottle of Pouilly-Fuisse on ice, already Chilled
The Love of my Life, Barbara; with Love my Heart: Filled
The Centre piece is Roses : White, Yellow, Red, and Blue
Pure Love, Unforgettable Love, LOVE, FOREVER YOU
Mandarin Orange Cheese Crepes, Golden Brown, as YOUR EYES
For YOU My MOST ONLY LOVE : “Barbara Jean” My GIFT: My PRIZE
_________________________________________________________________
The Taste of LOVE
Shadows Caress in the Flickering Candle Light
Fingertips dance on the silky softness of her skin
The flame in Her Forest Brown eyes shines bright
Her hands fondle the baton, let Love’s Symphony begin
Lips meld in passion, tongues tingle the Carnal senses tonight
Moist Mouths explore Love’s Exquisite Existence
Tasting the many Flavors , filtering through my nose tonight
“Now my Most Precious LOVE, I make LOVE with : YOUR Assistance ______________
“ ENTWINED “
When I enter Euphoria , and We become “ONE”
I will follow the Path Of LOVE in YOUR EYES
The heat of LOVE is Burning in her Eyes and Lights the Way
The warmth in my loin Expanded and Swelled LOVE, Grew
The Passion is mounting, such warmth, such LOVE
As I begin To Erupt YOU press me to Succulent Teat
I kiss the hardness of YOUR nipple as Life’s river Flows
I muffle the Screams of Ecstasy “AAAAhhhhhhgg! AAAAhhhhhhgg! “
Inspired by the Contest “ SOFT SENSUALITY “
Sponsored By “ nette onclaud “ - Written by HGarvey Daniel Esquire
Dedicated To Barbara Jean Gorelick ( My HEARTBEAT )
Today I declared war
on my own laziness—
no more delivery apps,
no more surrender.
I would conquer pasta.
First victory:
water bubbling on the stove.
Time to add salt—
but my hand betrayed me,
half the shaker tumbling
into innocent water.
The pot became
a miniature Dead Sea.
Fine, I muttered,
tossed in the pasta
and drifted to my phone,
already tasting glory—
al dente perfection.
Minutes melted by.
Then—the horror:
pasta demands attention.
I returned to witness
culinary catastrophe:
noodles welded together,
a starchy sculpture of regret—
a twisted monument
to my distraction.
Deep breath.
Sauce will save this.
Sauce fixes everything.
Oil hit the pan—
high heat, quick work.
I disappeared
into curated breakfasts
and filtered perfection.
Then—
the sharp scent
of disaster.
I sprinted back
to find my kitchen
staging its own revolt:
oil blackened,
pan smoking,
alarm shrieking
accusations.
Heroically grabbed the pan
with hands unburdened
by common sense—
a yelp that would shame
any wounded animal
echoing through
my foolish pride.
Twenty minutes later,
kitchen scrubbed clean,
dignity in ruins,
I opened the app
and ordered surrender—
extra hot,
with a side of humility.
Sometimes the best lessons
arrive through smoke.
Sometimes, the kitchen
is wiser than you.
You are the stuff my culinary dreams are made of.
Unending shapes and sizes.
From skinny linguini to the rounded orecchiette
and squiggly fusilli.
As my tongue tastes morsels of your saucy tubular goodness,
I compose a rhyme of the ancient marinara to atone
for my over-the-top pasta love.
Stuffed, plain, buttered. Swimming in Sunday sauce.
The tastiest were those plain whites I pilfered from the pot
before nonna caught me. Whack! with the wooden spoon.
It’s rumored my very first uttering was mangia – an oft-heard word
spoken by mama as she attempted to feed me.
“You’re going to turn into a rigatoni
if you don’t eat something else,” she implored.
Ha! If I were a rigatoni, we’d be cugini.
I only liked you, beautiful al dente you.
And semolina only, please. I accept no impastas!
You’ve been with me through thick and thin,
mostly thick ... around my hips.
Late night comfort snack,
midday bowl of depression-busting goodness.
The breakfast of strong Italian women!
You are Sophia Loren’s guilty pleasure.
Mine, too. With the emphasis on pleasure.
One bite and I am transported back to childhood.
Visions of homemade pasta drying on pristine
white flour sack towels tantalize my taste buds.
You, dear pasta, are la bomba.
My love for you is unending, until we all farfalle down.
I like my poetry soup cooked al dente,
so lots of diced adjectives in the pot went,
and I threw in some fresh verse,
lyric, I did immerse.
I folded in liquid imagination,
and sprinkled poetic inspiration,
nothing wrong with a pinch of creation;
and a toss of wordy rhyme gambling.
and a swirl of flowers scrambling.
I sifted in beauty,
I steeped words gloomy,
it was a mix of eloquence quite soupy.
Oh, I like my poetry soup hot and al dente!
_________________________________
January 25, 2017
Poetry/Verse/I like my soup al dente
Copyright Protected, ID 17-8688-02-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Poetry Soup Recipe
sponsor, Cindi Rockwell
Eighth Place
A squirrel named Lou lived up a tree
with tastes refined as tastes could be.
He’d sniff acorns, then pout and say,
“Again? I had those yesterday.”
One afternoon he found a plate
of spaghetti—fresh, al dente, great.
He twirled each noodle with such flair,
like a tiny chef with perfect hair.
He slurped a strand, then struck a pose
with parmesan dust on his nose.
He’d scamper off, then shout, “Encore!”
and steal lasagna from your door.
One day he tried a ravioli~
declared it “too square, too holy.”
But fettuccine made him sing,
and penne made him do a fling.