Long Piping hot Poems
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Suffocation experienced analogous
to absent echocardiogram
or electroencephalogram blip
(Derek Chauvin - he of
George Floyd infamy) iron maiden grip
linkedin with psyche subjected
to laceration courtesy cruel horse whip
mine inexcusable
(albeit clueless faux pas)
family members living social in Bend, Oregon
and Oakland, California did yip
private information across cyberspace did zip.
Apology (ex post facto)
extended regarding about
mine guilt ridden conscience
programming mental state
think sufferable infinite
jesting Möbius strip
casting dark shadow of doubt
looping along outer limits
of twilight zone
futilely shucking off
emotional tailspin (kamikaze) fallout
impossible mission
unable to muzzle or thwart lout
who poetically blurts out
simian old routine programmed
erroneously heavily incorrectly
peppers entire Hollerith
or IBM punched cards
yielding botched defenseless redoubt,
when Yankee doodles dandy
teapot short and stout
convection currents trigger
whistle Dixie when liquid piping hot
a microcosm concerning plate tectonics
across webbed wide world
yielding necessary oomph
to migrating trout.
Absent awareness
flourished amidst ignorance
sixty plus shades of gray matter
hotly doth smolder and burn
unbeknownst rancor did furiously churn
when yours truly divulged
he made aborted attempt
to couch his genuine
paternal care and concern
lack of discrimination
and judgment I did not
(honest to dog) recognize nor discern.
Understandable blameworthy
grievance against me,
not granted app parent permission
thus culpability I obediently yield
words that sparked hurt
now utilized to wield
heft to communicate authentic love
(cryptically coded)
and hermetically sealed
hopefully in due time
mine discretion well healed.
There’s fish and chips on the table
It’s lovely and all piping hot
Sauce and vinegar was in bottles
Salt and pepper each in its pot.
Now it’s laid out on the table
Driving me more and more to despair
It’s in individual little sachets
And some of them won’t tear.
My fish and chips lie uneaten
And they’re rapidly losing heat
Without a splash of vinegar
Their taste just isn’t complete.
Stuff just poured out of bottles
Didn’t give me the despair
Of wrestling with plastic satchels
That just won’t bloody tear
There’s designers and designers
Each in a field of their own
And I’m sorry if I’m grumpy
And ever ready to have a moan
But there is this little saw
That’s Quite frequently spoken
Just don’t try and fix a thing
If the original ain’t broken.
Marmalade Trees
Let me tell you this little story
Of just how the world began,
It happened last October
With an explosion or big bang.
Treacle oozed from open cracks,
Honey flowing o’er hills and vales.
Marmalade trees and lemon curd,
Spawned tartlets upon the dales.
Vanilla flavoured water springs,
Deep rivers of sweet red wine.
Free range chocolate cream eggs,
Cherry Cheesecake on the vine.
Volcanic eruptions of popcorn,
Rained down on fields of mallow.
Soda streams of ginger beer,
Filled Cola pools quite shallow.
Caves filled with Ice cream cones,
Stalactites drip blueberry sauce.
Stalagmites taste like Iron Brew,
Just as you’d expect, of course.
Jam Roly-poly and toffee mines
Piping hot from there formation.
Developing Cotton candy clouds,
Sweet vapours across the nation.
So now you know how it all began,
Don’t believe what scientists say,
Earth was created by sticky sweet treats
and it happened in just one day.
The End or Beginning
NO WINTER THIS YEAR! NO NONE AT ALL!
no winter this year, no! none at all!
the ducks dilly dally, honeybees in the fall!
my dry cleaners said "no need for your coat!
I'll get to it when, I dock my sailboat!"
anthills getting bigger, their soldiers don't hurry!
I checked the forecast, no chance of a flurry!
the blueberry tea, I've been served alfresco,
stays quite piping hot! thank you Ernesto!
my finest snow angel, about to appear,
must take a raincheck! with Santa's Reindeer!
the heavens above, must surely have reasons,
postponing ice fishing, and blurring the seasons!
I'll wait two more weeks, before I declare!
"remove thin-ice signs! steep drop-off beware!"
Grab a wooden spoon, and choose a mixing bowl
A breakfast that is piping hot is worth its weight in gold!
You can make them by the dozens, or one or two will do
Make them for your next of kin, or neighbors you have got
Even for those teenage boys, ...(the ones who eat a lot!)
Let's see you fry a stack of cakes that tower on the plate
The stack is high,...but folks will sigh with happiness inside
So get the griddle piping hot, and warm syrup too
And don't forget a pot of jam and marmalade is good!
Applesauce, gets an A+ ,.......and often gets applause!
Yes you can! Whip some up.....it's as easy fix to do
No need to go to I-Hop. Just make them on the spot
Wake them up to something yummy
Fill a tummy, make 'em happy, maple syrup needs some sopping
Buckwheat makes the grumpy jolly, just stir the lumps out 'til there's none
And someone's sour mood is gone, when sourdough is stacked at dawn
Flapjacks wake the sleepyheads, before they run straight out the door
They'll turn right back to have some more .....three or four, or five or six
Butter oozing down the sides, sticky syrup glazing eyes.....mouths will water
hear the laughter.....add some nuts, or raisin eyes, make a face a big surprise
Yum! Yum! Yum! M & M's add some fun, and add a chocolate prize!
And if you dare, to be so bold
Flip your flapjack, pan-fried gold.....Just grab and hold your frying pan
It 's in the grip, ......then flip ! You can !!! And if you're lucky it will land
upon the plate........not on the floor, across the room,......
but one mistake......, just mop it up, and try it all again!
Practice tennis while you're at it,...Ping pong too...., and batter-up.....
Up it goes........and down it comes........Something yummy for your tummy
Pancake's, flapjacks .......hotcakes, hoecakes..
Pick your favorite, flip them high........ make them small or any size
Make a ton........!!! It's worth a try !
__________________________________________________
For Didactic Food Contest: sponsored by Tammy Reams
10/5/15
I'll take you on a floatplane ride
I know some quiet lakes
We'll land and in the marshes hide
Drift where the current takes
We'll moor along the shoreline
I'll provide the gear
We'll set up camp then light a fire
And spend the evening here
We'll talk until the sun goes down
Then snuggle in the tent
The great outdoors gets cold real quick
Once the day is spent
But that's ok, the night is long
We'll find something to do
Inside the sleeping blanket
Alone, just me and you
At sunrise I'll get up and make
Fresh coffee, piping hot
Then go and catch our breakfast
And cook it on the spot
I'll wake you with a gentle kiss
While whispering your name
And when those blue eyes open
I'll kiss you once again
Come out now, all's prepared for you
A feast made for my queen
All done to perfection
A picture perfect scene
Then when the morning slips into
The early afternoon
I'll pack the gear and load the plane
And one last time I'll swoon
My little dove, I'll shower you
With kisses from my heart
And right before we take off,
Once more,
Then we'll depart
“Paste”
by Positive Mark
At times, I find it difficult to call myself a poet.
Can such a grandiose tag be placed on a recluse?
It’s one thing to possess a passion for words,
quite another to put them to use.
Political climates produce frigid spells, intended to get on your case.
Busted relationship matters that swell into masks that I wear on my face.
The pieces of man and his harsh incantations
The heartbreak of vixens revealed at this station
The murder of music
The horn blasts of sports
The sight of my girl’s daughter prancing in shorts
The use of two eyes, while ignoring the third
The smoking and toking of each broken word
The hairdo
The smile
The swagger
The butt
My slip on the grip left a kid in her gut
The Black on Black crime
The innocents shot
The infrared beam never placed in one spot
The wording
The phrasing
The stories we tell
The eloquent way to tell you “Go to Hell!”
The grease on my lips
The holes in my shoes
The deep crystal stare, tryna find Langston Hughes
The coffee
The creamer
The over used pot
The anguish of wanting to be what I’m not
The piping hot liquor that burns in my chest
The rhyme at the Devil’s behest
I’ve discarded pieces of my broken soul with the chaff on my living room floor.
The poetry virus just cannot be killed, so the hurt ones can even the score.
Peace.
Some say I’m picky.
I say I’m not.
I won’t eat raw noodles out of the pot,
But watch me scarf them down when they’re piping hot.
Wait a second.
I change my mind.
Today I don’t like noodles.
Some say I’m crazy.
I say that’s true.
I do not care if any of my clothes match, or my shoes.
I don’t even care if I have shoes at all.
Ouch! Oh, that hurt!
I change my mind.
Today I want my shoes, and quickly!
Some say I’m spoiled.
I have to agree, sometimes I am.
I’m spoiled with the amount of people I call my friends.
I’m spoiled with the number of people I call family, or clan.
Wait a second?
You say you’re related to me?
Today, I’m not adding any relatives, sorry.
October had three days of ice
with howling winds of cold
Winterize your home tight
for winter is coming bold
Get ready for soups and stews
and every type of piping hot brews
To warm the soul and ward off ills
blankets and long johns to fight the chills
Stock the pantry and fill the freezer
the furnace glow such a pleaser
Be ready to get snowed in
we are ready for winter to begin
November arrives with skies of blue
temperatures warm enough to melt igloos
A warm week in November became two
hardly a sniffle and not a sign of flu
The month went into week three
temps of sixty and over eighty
Glorious days with cool nights
my low energy bills a beautiful sight
But December is coming with a northern wind
time to winterize all over again
Goodbye to November roses and mowing the lawn
time for those things for a season to be gone
Cold winter night
Snow on the tree branches covered in white, frost on the leaves cover the covet stone streets..
People of all ages, are gathered in Rice park anxiously awaiting the winter carnival festivities to begin, parades, warm apple cider, hot cocoa delights the senses, enticing the young and old.
Rice Park is a buzz of excitement, ice sculptures meticulously carved out in the cold, the bright winter moon lights up the sky. St Paul is a city of its own, The St Paul Hotel with its glamour lights up the back round, to know St Paul is to visit its famous Rice Park.
Couples both young and old, holding hands as they are dancing in the snow, sipping on their still piping hot drink reliving their first date, stealing a passionate kiss, oh I’m sure their saying, “Never let this night end”.
Rice Park is surely a delight, do come again. I promise the winter snow will keep you in delight.