Long poem by
Tom Arnone | Details
(Created using the bAbBlE sentence generator, various text excerpts, and a minuscule bit of human editing.)
And she smells good without keeping all ...
Beef, sitting lonely on that lies floating on the tufted floor. "Surely," I was napping, cold noodles, I implore!
But the Raven, "Nevermore."
Deep into that darkness peering, I got enough trouble.
Boy, the whole world together. Eagerly I guess dirt is what thy worldly name is on the tufted floor.
Taken from the night thinking. Eagerly I sat engaged in guessing, when, I'm supposed to spend the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose foot-falls tinkled on the floor; And my soul grew stronger; hesitating then he fluttered - Till the dirges of evil! - prophet still, hot noodles with seeing bird above my heart be still is there balm in Gilead? - here I scarcely more than muttered, sitting lonely on that placid bust, chicken guts!
Beef, while I pondered, shrimp with garlic sauce, and the silken, Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; hesitating then no longer, "Nevermore."
Beef, yet all undaunted, nearly napping, and sour chicken, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to take out, "Though thy crest be shorn and mighty truck load of prehistoric swamp mud! Take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, lemon chicken with fantastic terrors never felt before. Then the bird said, beef with fantastic terrors never felt before; But the morrow he will leave me burning, curry sauce, crispy noodles, all my soul within me burning, roast pork, pepper steak and sour combination, "Nevermore."
But the Raven, "Or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore!" Quoth the morrow; - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber of flea-bitten bug ridden throng of flatulent sewage! - prophet still, if bird or white rice, chicken guts! Take out, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burnt into my bosom's core; This and more I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burnt into my bosom's core; This and more I sat engaged in guessing, curry beef lo mein, shrimp egg foo young, roast pork with my head at my chamber of contaminated cigar butts!
The Raven, "Nevermore."
Beef with broccoli and nothing more.
"Prophet!" said I, "Tapping at my chamber of pureed monkey mucus! - prophet still, if bird or steamed dumplings, stir fried rice noodles, beef with chili sauce, fried or steamed white rice, perfumed from an erratic horde of his Hope that melancholy burden bore - Till I said, Doubtless," said I, "Sir," said I, "Art sure I heard a tapping, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of septic frog water!"
Beef with many quaint and mighty dipstick of Pallas just above my chamber door, "Nevermore."
Beef Szechuan style, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the only word, anniversaries, roast pork with onions and spicy beef egg foo young, all the seeming of seething pus! By that Heaven that bends above his chamber of soggy camel snot!
Ah, Bar-B-Q pork with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now to take out my heart be still the beating of my heart be still a moment, and nothing more!
Beef with sorrow for the lost Lenore! Quoth the floor; And his eyes have flown before - On this home by Horror haunted - tell me see, then, shrimp lo mein, boneless chicken almond cookies, chicken, chicken egg foo young, vegetable chow fun, "Nevermore."
The Raven, "Lenore?" Merely this and nothing more!
Beef lo mein, free delivery within 4 blocks, I implore; But the fact is I was napping, hot spicy beef fried rice, open 8 days, suddenly there came a blasphemous sliver of steaming monkey meat!
Then, pork fried rice, weak and mighty stack of my heart, and mighty bowl of rotten bear whiz!
This I flung the shutter, catering for free delivery, weak and mighty repository of the countenance it wore, shrimp, shrimp, with garlic sauce, fearing, Doubting, Buddhist delight, I stood there wondering, beef with my head at my chamber door - This is it and tomato, beef, That one gently rapping, crispy noodles, roast pork, eggplant with my head at ease reclining On the fact is I was napping, calamari with broccoli, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered - not a schizophrenic cask of mealy verbal diarrhea!
Beef with many a flirt and mighty crust of repugnant disk failures!
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to take out that now burnt into my bosom's core; And my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, crispy shrimp, I implore - Is there - is there balm in beer batter, sitting lonely on this desert land enchanted - On the morrow he hath sent, Bar-B-Q beef, while I pondered, General Tso's chicken guts!
Startled at the house specialties, "Thing of evil! - prophet still, Singapore rice, my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the angels name Lenore - Clasp a cow. Not the ducks and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore - Tell this is some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast delivery within 6 days, Nevermore."
"Thing of evil! - prophet still the beating of forgotten lore - While I nodded, nearly napping, and chicken, chicken wings, run, with my chamber door!
Jane said, "Here he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered, Sir," said I, funny, Though thy crest be shorn and shrimp with me truly, shrimp with this and sour soup with mien of lord or steamed white rice or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Jane and tomato, perched above my bosom's core; This and vegetable chow fun, look, I muttered, Jane, I muttered, "Mother."
You - here, all the shutter, dropping her underwear now burnt into the chamber turning her dress.
Colors may be paid by that God we have sent, consult your receipt. There balm in Gilead? - tell me, feeling the door - Perched upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door.
"Get thee back through him."
She knew that way she was watching her flesh. There spoken was unbroken, $111.
Then, what thereat is not the Beatles.
Quoth the grave and stern decorum of the angels name Lenore. Quoth the whole lobster with broccoli, Dynasty delight, all the night thinking.
He was in beer batter, By the ushers watch me up was sure gets complicated. They like parking your gum on the floor; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the stuff in the other kids are a man. They like you came rapping, truly your forgiveness I wish he'd hurry up snappy answers for evermore.
Copyright © 1994 Tom Arnone & bAbBlE (computer writing program)
Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details
Start and end each day,
with a taoist egg.
I doubt my eggs are religious.
No, but they are natural,
co-arising nondual yolk form
with white-transparent regenerative function,
and cosmology, maybe,
if you're a chicken,
or a turkey, or a sitting duck.
So you say.
I guess these eggs are merely metaphysical.
You might best remove "merely" from "meta"
lest you perpetuate an oxymoron.
at their best, and most permanently encultured,
have room for culture and language and religion and spirituality,
as well as economic science and eco-logical nature.
OK, but I'm not absorbing this political empowering metaphysics
of a co-arising incubator,
or an egg,
Eggs are temporary organic incubators.
Therefore, comparatively Closed-Set,
Only their exterior shells
remain actively interdependent with their environ-mental
risk and opportunity.
This double-boundary formatting eco-centric development
responds to thermodynamic balance
and transparent organic/holistic fuel,
compost of 4-channel co-operatively balancing synergetic organization.
Eggs are sensitive to co-gravitational pressure
and have bilaterally limited tolerance levels for speed of climatic change,
which interact with their relative temperatures,
temporal sense of internal heat and exterior cold,
breathing in and out,
slower warm and faster cold.
Maybe I am lost in the forest of your analogizing
but sounds more like you are co-arising
well-composted ego in these eggs.
And, this shell sounds like a scientific eco-paradigm,
with some seriously revolutionary boundary issues,
mutually incompatibility building up a defensive perimeter,
anti-inductive while pro-deductive
of in-formation dissonance
protecting internal design process,
even language and enculturation,
secluding indigenous specialists to research within,
Still not seeing the Tao in this egg,
or co-arising incubator,
or whatever whenever
If Yang is the power of yolked formation,
while Yin is bilateral-squared flow and function
of ecologically positive octave-frequency nutrients,
regeneratively composting embryonic fractal forms
of RNA/DNA-rooted teleological function,
then which is this full-colored economic health-yolk
and which is this transparent ecological webbish white,
and is it healthier if they tango gracefully,
or tangle bad karmically?
OK, yes, now I see the taoist, well-timed, egg.
This begins to feel like egg-cooking class for a vegan.
An embryo is a "budh",
if you are a conscientific Buddha-brain
and a "bud"
If you imagine your Left brain ego-identification
as your egg's DNA yolk-center
being fed most eco-nutritiously
by your RNA-inclusive
SuperEco Right-Only Bilateral
TransParenting cultural fuel-power
of yin binomial light squared = c-squared
= e-squared prime-relational Wisdom,
that might be how a post-millennial eco-scientist
and nondually bicamerate incarnation,
as co-regenerative enlightenment.
So, we are all economic scientists balancing ego-logical
as eco-normative systems.
Homo Bicameral Sapiens as EcoNomists.
But, because Yang (+) ego/eco-bodies
are dipolar incarnations
of Yin's transparently co-arising eco-soul intention,
Yin is Yang equivalent only as squared,
as well as either-or,
or dipolarly frac-taled,
like RNA strings of regenerating in-metaphysic-formation,
[prime root of "polynomial"]
Right intuitive fractal-octave frequency harmonic
in RNA/DNA's spacetime natural co-arising systemic consciousness.
Wow, dude, that's some really esoteric shit you've been smoking!
Left-yolks just bangin' gracefully away
TransParently flowing evolutionary information
of eco-conscientific revolutions.
but sticking with generic embryonic Left-brain beginnings,
embryonics, genetics, metaphysics,
a bicameral Taoist ego language developer
might re-paradigm "esoteric" as "eco-terra"--
Earth's ecological syntax-normative
as ubiquitously displayed
in co-gravitated fractal-root tree structures
of healthy temporal-spatial cellular development,
emerging from aptic-universally transparent
appreciation of a more aptic-thru-synaptically inclusive
bicameral Right-unitarian with Left-universalist eco-consciousness.
Now you're saying we are a species of anonymous Buddhists,
and also Unitarian Universalists?
that "anonymous Christian" conjecture
by Hans Kung
really didn't get great reviews
from many multi-religious exegetes.
but Christianity is a theistically framed view
of our shared eco-consciousness,
our Original Story,
emerge naturally bilateral co-arising principles of shared consciousness
as self-proclaiming exegetical teleology
incarnating systematic theology;
an ecologic of Fuller's Universal Intelligence,
Yang-Form with Yin-Function, nondually unitarian,
assumes co-gravitational balance as transparent purpose
toward discerning ego-satisfactory meaning (and "meme"ing),
"Earth", and all DNA/RNA encrypted Earth Tribes
sharing a cooperative vocation
to balance our co-gravitational solidarity
with our thermodynamic eco-DNA/RNA harmonic default preference
for Win-Win mutual Yolk and White subsidiarity,
reverse-hierarchical governance eco-norms,
electromagnetic with elder webbed transparent nutrients
co-mentoring infant yolk.
I think more rainbowed folks
will like these yolks
but I'm not so sure our whites
will appreciate such co-arising/co-falling transparency.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Carol Connell | Details
Our Second Trip To Peru
In 2014 my family and I were privileged to be able to go on our second missions trip to Peru. The year before we had gone down with a group of 12 from our church, comprised of mostly young people, but this year it would be just my husband, 2 grown children and I. After about 10 hours of flying, we landed at the airport in Lima. We were greeted by the missionary and his helpers, loaded our luggage into a couple of vehicles and began our trip to the missionary’s home. Lima, which is the capitol of Peru has a population of over 12 million people and driving in this city can be a hair raising adventure, to say the least.
In Lima’s traffic
a person can learn to pray
for their survival.
On our first trip, we had spent all our time in Lima and her surrounding suburbs, but on this trip we had plans to visit Iquitos, a city in the Amazon jungle region and Cusco, a city and area of high elevation and home of the legendary Machu Picchu. Our first stop was to Iquitos, the largest city in the world that is only accessible by plane or boat. Cars are pretty scarce in Iquitos. The most used method of transportation is the rickshaw, which is basically a motorcycle with a cart behind it in which passengers sit. This open air form of transportation was a new and fun experience for us.
Hailing a rickshaw
negotiating the fare
and then we take off.
My husband was scheduled to preach a crusade that they were having at one of the churches in Iquitos. The people greeted us warmly, the worship was exuberant and it was very hot. None of the churches there have air conditioning.
Sweating a river
in jungle sanctuary
we praise God anyhow.
I told myself I would do my best not to use the restroom while we were at church. It’s just not the same as it is in America. However, there was one service where I just had to go.
sometimes do not have a seat.
Bring your own tp.
We enjoyed our time in services with the Peruvians, and after the crusade was over, we had occasion to do some sightseeing. We paid to take a trip down the dirty Amazon River to a small wildlife refuge. It was a peaceful ride down the river, and after about half an hour, we pulled up to the shore where there was a rickety wooden stairway that leads up to a small wildlife refuge. As we exited the boat, we saw several small monkeys coming down the side rails of the stairway. Much to my son’s delight, one of the monkeys came and jumped right onto his shoulder. These monkeys seemed truly happy and anxious to see who their visitors were. We found out that these monkeys, as cute as they are, also can be full of mischief. One of the little guys pulled a chopstick out of my daughter’s hair and tried to run off with it, but we were able to apprehend him and retrieve the article. I had my own encounter with a small imp.
Fresh little monkey
trying to lift up my skirt.
As we made our way through the refuge, there were several animals that we were allowed to hold in our hands if we so desired. We all took turns holding a giant turtle, a toucan and a colorful parrot sitting on a limb. All of the animals there have been thoroughly cleaned up and have had parasites removed from them. I also held a sloth. It was not what I was expecting.
Stiff, sanitized sloth
much like a furry backpack
held near in my arms.
Before we returned to the city area of Iquitos, we planned to make one more stop. The missionary told us that there were groups of native people that live along the river that ran around very scantily clad or sometimes naked. We weren’t at all interested in seeing that, but the tour guide on the boat told the missionary he knew of some native people that were not like that, and he could show us where they were. He took us to the spot, we got off the boat and started walking towards a large hut that was in the distance. For some reason, my son was ahead of everybody else in a group, and when he reached the hut, he went inside. That tour guide must have fibbed. My son was mortified.
A primeval hut
filled with half naked women
he quickly exists.
Once we had returned to Iquitos we took a walk through an open air market. Just one look at the filthy hands of most of the merchants let us know that we would be playing Russian roulette with our health by eating anything here. We came to one particular vendor where we just stopped and stared for a few minutes.
Grub worm on a stick
I think I will pass.
Near the end of our Peruvian trip we boarded another plane for our flight to Cusco. Cusco is a region of Peru, and there is also a city by the same name. We were told that where we were landing the elevation was 11,000 feet. . As soon as our plane was on the ground, I could feel the difference.
Landing in Cusco
one thought dominates my mind.
I need oxygen!
The next morning a taxi that was scheduled to pick us up came and dropped us off at the train station. The train ride to Machu Picchu was about an hour long, but it was scenic and pleasant. After exiting the train, we got on a nice, spacious tour bus which would take us the rest of the way there. All I can say is that Machu Picchu is absolutely breathtaking. I can certainly see why it is now named as one of the new Seven Wonders of the World.
Oh my, what splendor
Machu Picchu in person
Photos can’t compare!
I might mention that the elevation is around 7,000 feet at Machu Picchu, so I had no problems breathing during our visit. There is so much more that I could say, but I will end my recollections by saying that this was a trip of a lifetime, and I was so blessed to be able to experience this with my family. I will never be the same!
The people, the sights
of our journey to Peru
live within my heart.
Submitted for Foreign Travel Contest sponsored by Thvia Shetley
Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017
Long poem by
Ivor Davies | Details
Back in 1962 when I was just a lad
my dad gave me a holiday
the best I ever had.
A holiday of every dream
that one lifetime could hold
so listen while this wondrous time
to you I now unfold:
In bygone years to travel far
was not a normal thing,
to travel some six thousand miles
by plane was amazing!
Propellers aided by a jet,
a very modern way,
aboard a British Eagle plane
my life would change that day.
A little island in the sun
where British troops were based
on active service out Far East
where they would get a taste
of jungle warfare while they helped
to form a brand new state
by helping stop objections from
a few this change did hate.
But as a teenage boy, you see,
the politics of war
were not as noticeable to me
as other things I saw.
I felt the beauty of this land
with folk of every kind
for at this time in England
few ‘cultures’ could be found.
For back at home in Blighty
a youngster such as me
had to know his place in life
and couldn’t roam quite free,
but out here in the tropics
no prejudice I found
of the nature that had kept me thus
by England’s limits bound.
Now out here in Malaysia,
on this island of Penang,
I found a place where deep inside
stirred memories that sang
of a time in my existence
that I’d never felt before
born of ancient inner knowledge
that my soul was screaming for.
To continue with my story
of the time I was a lad,
when in a British Barracks
with a soldier for a dad
I had given up my schooling
for adventure in the world
and like a butterfly emerging
my wings were now unfurled.
On this truly wondrous island
Minden Barracks was my home
with excitement and adventure
wherever I could roam.
I immersed in all the wisdom
of simplicity I met
and learned that what you give to life,
returns in what you get.
For the Chinese and the Indians,
Malays and some ex-pats
had found ways to live together
though all wore different hats,
in perfect symbiosis
where all fulfilled their roles
and by leaning on each other
could emancipate their goals.
Now even at this early age,
I was not too dim to see
that the rich were getting richer
and the poor were never free,
but something buried deep inside
these people of Penang
bore a certain understanding
of the common song they sang.
Now I grew up very quickly
as my friends all went to war,
young soldiers who were now my age
what were they fighting for.
Atrocities befell them
as they fought Malaysia’s side
against those from Indonesia
who would not join this ride.
though Penang was hardly hit,
it was only very seldom
that we faced a scary bit.
When Minden B’ was threatened
all the locals stayed inside
just in case the British soldiers
started shooting the wrong side!
But throughout this ‘confrontation’
my job became pure joy,
for the Army’s recreation
then became my brand new toy.
On the island’s sandy beaches
you would find me day by day
driving speed boats for the soldiers
when they found the time to play.
In Penang, their favourite island,
the troops would take their leave
and have fun while water skiing
as they took a short reprieve
from the nature of their duties
that had brought them to this land
and for just a fleeting moment
could enjoy the sea and sand.
For three years whilst Water Skiing
I enjoyed this paradise
but the days I was not working
were all equally as nice
for at home in Minden Barracks
was a special swimming pool
where friends would meet
and wash their souls
with conversation’s tool.
This really was the centre
of our commune in this land,
the meeting place for sharing
where all friends would understand.
Soldier’s wives, their men at war,
and others gathered round,
if any place is hallowed
then this pool is sacred ground.
But Georgetown and its traders
was the place I loved to be
where the colour, noise and culture
always let my soul soar free.
Where the many, many trishaws
and the bikes and traffic mix,
with the hawkers, shops and markets
this is where I got my fix!
Four good years I lived my life
in this very special place,
at a multicultural pace.
I’d been born into a country
that the world thought was mature,
but maturity is lost of mind
when progress is the lure.
Back in 1962 when I was just a lad
my dad gave me a holiday
the best I’d ever had.
Back in 1966 I went back home again
and the schooling that I’d given up
had not been lost in vain,
for I’d learnt the real meaning
of my Life in this short stay,
a meaning full of everything
I carry till this day.
So now I’m in My sixties,
not the sixties of my past
and the thing I’ve found along the way
is most things never last.
But learn from where you travel,
let morals be your guide
for none can steal the things you hold
and carry deep inside.
Ivor G Davies
Copyright © Ivor Davies | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Aa Harvey | Details
Babylonia : Part Two -
Pandas chew bamboo, while you film them in the nude;
Red Elephants are extinct (Apart from a view).
Fly up high, escape the zoo’s!
The latest attraction is a Man named Hu.
Hu Man? Strange, he’s not humane.
Seize him and lock him up in a cage.
Tiger claws shall keep him in place,
Until the Cock crows to tell us,
That the night time has come upon us once again.
With the darkness, come the Creepy Crawlies,
The Snakes (The Adders, the Pythons and the Cobra’s).
The Tarantula is being chased by the big bad Wolf,
Whilst the Bear has been poisoned,
By the Frog beneath his foot.
Owls spin their heads, as Buffalo’s charge away from the herd.
The Elephants follow the Rhino’s. Such a noise to be heard.
Armadillo’s watch the Ant Eaters, as they sweep up the path;
The path has been created,
Thanks to the Rhino’s and Elephants at the head of the pack.
Birds squawk, as Eagles fly high.
A sure sign that the convoy can once more ride!
Ride on out, heading into the future;
There has been a calling, for a gathering of creatures.
Heaven awaits them, at the end of the rainbow;
Every animal is invited, even the Sloth.
The Mice sit on the Dogs head, talking to the Fleas;
As the Dog sits on the Donkey,
Who has lost his legs to disease.
The Gorillas carry them all aloft,
On bamboo rafts they found perchance.
As they sit upon the Elephant,
Who is being carried by a million Ants.
Gazelle’s rush past, with Cheetah’s in pursuit.
The Jackals stuck in the Bracknell;
They’ve lost the Cheetahs and their food.
But the Hippo will defend the Jackal, from the Crocodile;
As the Parrots collect the fruit,
To lay a path down the Green Mile.
For many shall pass through, whilst some will pass on,
But the way has now been eroded,
So at least we can see where we are going.
Follow the food, come one, come all.
Share it with everyone, there’s plenty more.
The Lions roar “Get out of the way!”
More Elephants and Rhinos are coming through,
To destroy and to build us a way.
The Chimpanzees are jumping and screaming…
The Animal Garden of Eden!
Big one’s up front please, little one’s behind.
Get off the trail if you get caught short;
Someone please be a guide for the blind.
Make them walk the Conga in a straight line,
Like you were taught, before.
Hello Rabbits. Feeling savage?
The Deaf need directing, but they just won’t hear of it.
We need you to keep them in line and on time;
Do you think you can manage?
Will do Noah (The Kangaroo),
The way we breed, we could Rabbit Surf them around Egypt,
If you asked us to.
Mr. Giraffe, could you please not do that?
You are stopping the sun, from shining on the Cats.
All you Bats, change places with the Cats.
I’d move if I were you, Rats.
Foxes and Weasels, go down the side.
You are used to cross country; you don’t need to follow the line.
Badgers, Moles, Shrews and Field Mice,
Stop playing with the Worms;
Take the underground; it’s dark, but nice.
Vampire Bats! Stop that!
He may look dead, but he is just very old.
Sorry Mr. Tortoise,
But it’s not their fault they have no soul.
Penguins and Polar Bears, stand behind the Elephants,
When they wash themselves with water.
All the Sea Creatures took another route,
To get to the Babylonian border.
Heaven for all Animals, such a beautiful sight.
Not one bar to be seen…It is paradise.
It has Roaches and Bird droppings and no view of the Sea.
It has a jungle, trees, fresh air and the Animals are free.
Free to breed and free to catch disease,
Free to live or die, depending on their destiny.
Now ten thousand years later,
A Babylonian Paradise is still thriving…
Not a machine, not a cage,
Not a human in sight…it is truly amazing.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © Aa Harvey | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Hannah Borke | Details
After three-and-a-half* millennia
Europeans walked the earth in America
And chanced upon amazing crops
That, back at home, they knew of not;
Around the world, new foods debuted
For one and all, and me, and you
Chocolate, chocolate, and chocolate
What was the world like without it?
Hot cocoa sips, cookies with chips...
The proof is in the pudding, favored:
That would be the chocolate flavored;
Bittersweet or milky -- on the palate, silky...
Chocolate melts as I write -- in my mouth
Credit goes to the tribes of the south
Vanilla bean -- from the new-world gleaned,
Surpasses chocolate, in ice-cream and malted;
Strawberry, too -- from America, stems
Add your best flavor to milk, and blend!
In this world of Hershey bars and milkshakes,
Let us acknowledge corn and cornflakes;
Corn is the base of most puffy snacks
And crunchy ones, and Cracker Jacks;
If potato chips is what speaks to you
Keep on reading -- that's American, too
(When is it proper to act like a slob?
When eating buttery corn on a cob)
Starchy potatoes in earthy skins
Were cultivated by Indians;
And naturally became prolific
Across the Atlantic and Pacific
Due to their 'filling' characteristic
Besides which, they also taste terrific:
Baked, or mashed, or nice brown-hashed
Or stuffed in a knish, for calorie rich;
For potato cakes, do shred them thin;
With fries, serve ketchup for dipping in
Ketchup -- a tomato-based condiment
Stems from the American continent;
Offer ketchup when you serve spaghetti
Or else, they probably won't eat any;
Cook your meatballs minus a sauce ...
More than likely, they'll end up tossed;
Pizza is Italian? Not fully true --
That's not the place where tomatoes first grew;
A sandwich begs tomato slices
Never mind how high the price is --
One large slice, or two, suffices
First grown on American soil,
Avocados are fatty and royal!
People chop onion and dice a tomato
And mix it together with mashed avocado
Which makes a dip called guacamole --
To get it hot, just add some chili
Instead of a route to the Indies
Columbus discovered the Chilies;
First, they were shipped to the Asians;
From there, acquired by Caucasians;
What's your fave bell-pepper hue?
Red or orange, green (not blue)
Shiny yellow, or purple too;
Very versatile, stir fried or grilled
Or cut up, fresh, in salad, chilled;
The people of the colored ponchos
Grew specimens like jalapeños
For the folks who so desire
For their tongues to feel on fire --
No food prior could effect that
Though I 'get' not why they want that
I do 'get' the goodness of pancakes with syrup
And we sure didn't learn to make syrup in Europe --
The Indians tapped holes in to trees
Through which the sap oozed out with ease
Which was boiled into syrup, tasting of the Maple,
Although syrup from corn is the candy-making staple
Sweet potato's loved by babies and adults
Bake it extra long, for sumptuous results;
People on diets, who need special flour
Rely on cassava and arrowroot powder
(Cassava starch is called 'tapioca')
All these 'roots' have roots in America
Pineapples grew on the Native's ground,
With a leafy crown, and spiral gown,
And yellow pulp, so juicy and sweet --
No one else knew about this treat
The south is home to the unique passion fruit
Which tastes as good as it looks bad, which is cute
Sunflower seeds; and popular quinoa
Started out, both, as American flora
Pecan is the nut I rate first place
Cashews, no less, rank high in taste;
Peanut allergy is indeed a dread
Though, jelly or not, most of us spread
Peanut butter on slices of bread;
No ifs about it, ands, or buts
We depend upon peanuts and nuts
And all the above American food stuffs
That, thanks to G-d, traverses our guts
* The continents separated during or after the flood.
Copyright © Hannah Borke | Year Posted 2017
Long poem by
Christine Phillips | Details
Since childhood I was always fascinated with nature
Curious to know how plants grow
Always intrigued by the ingenuity of ants
And mesmerized by the coordination
And spectacular tactics of birds.
Birds come in different colors and species
They symbolize many conditions and have various
Significance and meaning in different cultures.
You have the nightingale and the humming birds
And the whippoorwill is perhaps the most cunning
of all species because it can camouflage itself.
Even though you can hear its distinctive sound
It's difficult to be identified.
I used to listen to them singing in nature
singing melodious tune, tunes that span beyond
Centuries, tunes reminding us that life is still divine.
I love to watch them soaring in the sky
flying from north to east, south to west
Until nature bids them to take their rest.
Birds embrace freedom and they hold the power of truth
they are unique messengers so the next time you see one
land on your doorstep just figure out if it is genuinely from nature
who send it, and what it is trying to say before you angrily chase it away.
Birds have wit and might, they are powerful
communication tools, they earn their keep from nature
and that’s how they stay alive
like the cows and the sheep
they can see way out in the deep.
Something peculiar has been happening in nature
I have been observing something unusual from the sky
While walking down the street the sun burst from
underneath a dark, cold overcast sky
and spread its light over me then suddenly disappeared.
Each time I take a stroll an army of birds appear from
nowhere and split up into different directions,
they form groups of six, seven and eight, three,
four, two, one and groups of twelve.
Sometimes they are so many that I can hardly count them.
It didn't seem as if they were on a journey, it appeared as if
They were caged up somewhere and were suddenly released
into the atmosphere.
My curiosity grew deeper when I pounced upon
a man attracting the birds with feed laced with
corn grain and black sunflower seeds.
This was quite unusual because
no one in the entire neighborhood feed birds
I could read right into this mysterious cultural behavior
not only was he making a statement,
he was marking something by placing
the bowl of feed in front of the house
under my window and luring the birds to
fly from all directions to feed from the bowl.
They say that black birds are symbol of human soul
and they symbolize happiness, intelligence and wisdom;
they also have deep religious meaning.
Always remember that everything we do
evil always hinges close by good
to make things seem inconspicuous.
Legend has it to say that the devil appeared to St. Benedict
in the form of a black bird to tempt him.
Long time ago my kindergarten teacher
used to teach me this poem by mother goose,
“Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye,
four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing
wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
The king was in the counting-house counting out his money,
the queen was in the parlor eating bread and honey,
the maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes.
Along came a blackbird and snipped off her nose.”
Birds are free habitats of nature
they do not earn their keep from artificial feed
but from natural food in the environment.
So the next time you see a bowl of bird feed
laced with black sun flower seed and corn
do not take it for granted
something is deeper than bird feed.
©2015 Christine Phillips
Copyright © Christine Phillips | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
William J. Jr. Atfield | Details
Food for thought !
Over what has been lost.
Days of long ago - filled with much flavour,
Foods exotic – for the discerning palate to savour.
There was Beef Wellington to enjoy.
Delicious, Lobster Thermador – Oh Boy !
There was exotic Japanese cuisine.
Much Chinese food to be seen.
There was Italian, Greek, Mexican,
Korean, Canadian and American.
All, to an adventurer, what a treat !
With French, Indian, English to meet.
In those days of long-ago – oh the pleasures
it stored in memories hoard - what treasures.
Time erases all that once was, it no longer is.
For today’s survival – the main biz,
as one comes down, downsizing to simplicity –
is to become creative, live off the majesty
of one’s own creations - a grilled cheese with sweet
mixed pickles, tomatoes, egg and a delicious meat.
Taste buds - still alive – have not forgot
to savour food and enjoy food for thought
that fills ones stomach and his soul – not
to regret or forget all that he once got -
with some of what yet may not be lost
if one could only get up, could afford the cost
that could change the state of the economy
he now lives, as he lives in a state of autonomy
on egg salad sandwiches permeated with salt,
pepper, onion powder, cayenne pepper, garlic salt,
cayenne pepper, fresh garlic butter on buttermilk bread.
this, to fill my stomach, taste buds to savour, fill my head.
It is down to this for a fifties, sixties, seventies man
who now creates a soup with his own, aged, hand.
It’s base, begins with Campbell’s tomato and tomato basil
soups with red peppers, cayenne pepper, so much so, nasal
drips, begins to run as weeping eyes start to flow
over the pork and beans you will now know
have been added too, along with beaches and cream
corn, rice, fresh garlic, ginger root, pasta, what a dream
for this one’s palate to sample before it goes down,
through the gullet, into the stomach, to one’s crown
Another dish – by these hands – to fill the days, the week
is a salad that consists of all the vegetable I did seek.
Cauliflower, broccoli, celery, red, green, yellow peppers,
cucumbers, onions, radishes, mushrooms, garlic, cheese,
honey ham, ginger root, avocados, brussel sprouts, tomatoes
drowned in Kraft’s golden Italian dressing - is how it goes
The final cuisine created to sustain this old soul,
throughout weeks, months as they rapidly go
by, into the ether of life’s swiftly, decaying hours,
- hours lost to what we once were – no longer ours.
It is a sauce for my spaghetti dinner
that will run the eyes, the nose and inner
recesses of the soul as you come to know
the power, the combination of these ingredient will show.
My laziness dictates, a base to be created with
Classico and Prago spaghetti sauce – there is no myth
here, as Campbell’s tomato, tomato basil soups are added.
Then red, green, yellow, jalapeño peppers sautéed, will tell
- as mushrooms, beef tenderloin , bacon are sautéed as well –
as fresh and canned tomatoes, garlic, ginger root add smell
and taste, as do the onions and sages that are added.
The pièce de résistance, red, cayenne peppers set fires of hell
all the way down and into the pit
as one will, to supper, bravely sit.
A fire extinguisher is what you will need
as upon my spaghetti sauce you decide to feed.
B. J. “A ” 2
November 7th 2004
Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
cherl dunn | Details
I’ve dreamt of mountains of rocky rode ice cream, dappled with candy
Kisses of purity sprinkled on top, hot steaming fudge pouring from heaven
On high, cascading as if an ocean of water streaming downwards onto my
Fantasy world of pleasure unleashed, behold chocolate dreaming, good to
The last drooling mouthful!
Give me illusions of M&M’S, delusions of chocolate covered mints extra thin,
I’m tasting that sugar rush, and thinking unto myself as a woman who needs
The company of men, after the discovery of this magnificent sinful delicious,
Bitter to the sweet, farewell to heartache, its comforts fantasy food,
So indulge me if you please!
Who needs a brilliant rose covered garden, I’ll grow strawberries fields instead,
And allow the fountains to spill over them, with gallons of melted dark chocolate,
Wow as a poet now I’m really getting into this now, so let me become a farmer
Of gluttony, excess and poundage’s expanded flesh, I’ll watch an exercise video
Tomorrow morning, when I awake from my chocolate dreaming!
Gum drops, and jelly beans don’t bring the same pleasures joy you see,
Ask any Jane or Jo Ann of the female variety, and she’ll answer you just
With the same response, give me chocolate or give me nothing, I’m a
Heart shaped valentine all year round my gentlemen friend!
Low fat to the none fat, leave us unhealthy people alone, we know what
Tastes good to us, forget that unflavored rice cake, I’d prefer the double
Fudge rippled round cake with extra creamy frosting on top, that’s
A true woman’s reality fella, get the drift if you want a happy misses,
Now fancy cards of devotion with words of poetry may make a lady
Weak at the knees, but give that gal a torte made of layers of chocolate
Deliverance, and all be forgiven if you forget a certain holiday of importance,
Just throwing that one out there for future reference, gentlemen take a note
From a voice of experience, chocolate rules a woman’s universe!
Rock me to the boiling point of melted joyous over tones, I’m in the kitchen
Of Hersey’s dream world, almonds to the almond joy, chips ahoy all
Aboard let’s set sail to that factory beyond pleasures horizon!
Oh ginger bread man run, run, as fast as you can, but just remember
I’m not chasing thee old fellow, I’m too busy getting my hands caught
In grannies’ old cookie jar, she after all makes the best chocolate chip
Cookies ever invented, I’m still trying to get that elderly lady’s secret
Caramel covered apples are GREAT for a seasonal treat, but when I’m
In celebrations festive mood, I’m looking for the sweetness of a woman’s
Chose preferred, wondrous miracle first discovered by nuns whom indulged
Themselves, until an evil corrupt establishment shut them down, thank God
These men of the cloth saw the light at the end, right ladies!
So tonight as I lay me down to sleep, I’ll know what words are to be said,
Thank you for the brilliance of that cocoa bean, it is the best sinful indulgence
Not listed in the ten commandments to be broken, I’m in their lord,
Dreaming that chocolate dream forever, and man it’s a tasty illusionary
Fantasy to behold!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
David Ward | Details
Driving my car across the country, numerous years ago, going to a new place,
Changing who I’d know
A loud bang broke the boredom and blue smoke filled the air, engine was
A ’knocking, a sound beyond compare
I rolled onto a shoulder she shuddered then just quit, steam billowed, gurgled
Upward, a vaporous boiling spit
Radiator hose blown open, fan belt a shredded knot, out in the center of nowhere
My old motor smoking hot
In the trunk I found duct tape, a knotted ball of rusty wire, a pair Big Mama
Pantyhose tucked beneath the flat spare tire
Duct taped her hose- wiped her nose a rusty water spot, wound nylons ‘round
Her pulleys tied them in a big old hairy knot
She sputtered on, then started, guzzled water like a horse, I slammed her hood to
Close it shut, and got her back on course
I landed in the town of Burning Fork slightly after six, found Joe’s Garage and Mini
Mart, hoped that there I’d find a fix.
I said hello and told old Joe my car was needing some attention, she’d blown a
Hose- thrown a belt, quick repair my best intention
Joe wiped his brow with a greasy towel, wringed his hands as if in sorrow, but I’m
Sorry son, the parts won’t come, until after four tomorrow
Told me there’s a place to eat across the street, Maggie’s Eatery and Hotel
So I took a seat, smelled fresh eats, then rang that dinner bell
Bacon, sausage and four eggs- sourdough toast tangy orange marmalade,
My spirits were sky high, farmer fresh- just like Mom’s homemade
Yes chili size, a big o ’side of fries, calf liver fried up with onions; green beans with
Ham, a thick slice of spam- Heard chocolate cake might cure my bunions
Large strawberry shake, a mixture of fresh fruits, chicken Chow Mein over egg
Noodles, with slivered bamboo shoots- don’t forget a fortune cookie
She could tell by my order I was starving, asking a for quite a lot, so I explained in
Momentary detail, all about the shiny- polished spot
Worn upon my backbone from my stomach rubbing upon it with great fury; no
Disrespect, don’t tally up that check, I’m famished but in no great hurry.
Maggie laid a check at my plate that fateful date, my excuse was awkwardly hard
Dug in my pockets, eyes bulging their sockets: had no cash; no credit card
I told her my tale of highway grief, managed out of that tight spot; I gave her my
Best smile, I gave the moment my best shot
If I may stay I’ll make you a deal, potatoes and onions I will peel, come morning
Scrub your pots and pans, smooth as a harbor seal
I’ll work hard, you bet, I’ll pay off my debt-if it takes me until late cold November,
I don’t even recall she objected at all, just a smile I’ll forever remember
Thirty years has passed by, since I capped that meal with sliced apple pie, to live
Out my dreams in Burnt Fork endlessly
Maggie and I were soon after wed, my dinner check I have twice daily read
Probably will till the day I meet my maker
But until that day arrives I’m a husband to my wife Maggie’s great surprise- one
Heck of a cook and a baker
Copyright © David Ward | Year Posted 2016