crawfish boils
rice, red beans and corn on cob
crispy gator tail
potatoes yes, tomatoes no
November they are not good-to-go
Jello, not anymore
gourmet popcorn I show the door
I like things that are stuffed and puffed
sweetened with sugar, the icing is never enough
gravy? Oh yes, biscuits and cheese sauce too
steak and eggs? You cannot lose!
beef and noodles, my go-to-dish
chicken? only the breast, and no danged fish
unless it is fried shrimp, I love it with marmalade sauce
homemade cake and coconut, yes, by gosh!
they ask the condemned
what they desire for their final meal.
comfort.
nostalgia.
pleasure.
memory.
something to remind them
of life.
if you ask me---
i choose flesh
and blood.
i choose the meal
that conquered death.
Nigerian most famous dish,
parties’ preferred meal.
Toothsome and eye-appealing,
cooked in rich red sauce—
spicy and tasty.
Delicious!
Yes.
When dining with he who calls the tune
remember to pull your punches
don't bite the hand that feeds you
if you know where your lunch is
discretion is the better part of valour
when you want your meal and eat it too
best not upset the apple cart
if you want it handed on a plate to you
and don't forget to butter your bread
on both sides ere you start to sup
as should you drop it on the floor
it will always land butter-side up
She walked down to the supermarket
To buy the ingredients to make him a special meal
A lamb roast was his favourite
Followed by apple pie and custard to seal the deal
She cooked away happily
Looking forward to his arrival home
The table set perfectly with a vase of coloured flowers
From her garden she had grown
He must of been held up at work ,she thought
As hours rolled by …. late afternoon turning to night
She sat in complete darkness at the kitchen table
Tears rolling down her cheeks as realisation came to light
He was not coming home tonight or any night
For he had passed many years before
Her silent tears turned to gut wrenching sobs
As reality ripped out her heart and she fell to the floor
Hearty Meal
Stone Soup:
Quite A Feast!
But He Hovered
Hanging Over It
To Use It
As A Loo.
That's No
Blessed Angel!
Ruined A Good
Story.
-Gray Squirrel
07-28-2025
By the street lamp we stand by,
our favorite restaurant.
Seeing people are eating,
hot dishes being devoured.
Food plays with my hungry tongue,
senses are jumping for joy.
Another heavenly meal,
mouth and stomach did enjoy.
I often see him panhandling on the main streets.
Ranting at things only he could see.
He once surprised me at McDonald's drive-through.
Banging on my car window, barking incoherently.
I quickly jerked away from his fifty-caliber eyes.
Didn't spare him one dirty dime.
While eating my supersized meal off to the side
I silently justified that he looked too clean to be in need
and that he wore better sneakers than me.
They say angels sometimes crisscross our paths.
Fully disguised, to measure the size of our hearts.
Snow White's dwarves were very short and sweet
Little knowing that they would end up as a very tasty treat
For the troll who lived lurking under the bridge
And kept the remains of the brothers Gruff inside his fridge
It was over that bridge the little men skipped to their mine
And every other time that had always been fine
As the seven danced over that day with their jolly Hi-ho
His net was thrown over and pulled them all down below
And that was how they wound up as a delicious dessert
Which kept the gluttonous troll so happy and pert.
Poor Snow White is now left so miserable and alone
And still wonders today why they have not answered her phone
#Poetic_meal
Dining with words, its my daily enticing meal, the scrumptious juicy sauces, dripping all over my fingers, leaving me with much appetite to dip deeper, my fork and knife into this meal of creativity...
Could hear my intestine, groaning of ravenous intake, fueling my hands of vocabulary to dedicate much effort into this meal of mental nourishment...
My artistic arteries, chanting of thirst and I aiming higher than a mere quench, dilating much spaciousness, for the serving being way beyond just drinking and swallowing nor gnawing but influxing of varieties and intergration of creativity, some artistic manner of dining...
Shedding some radiant and illumination to ones psychological interest of art, beyond just seven colours of paints and brush sizes, painting a masterpiece of centuries of inspired poetic hormone, with my flooding poetic ink expressions. I am Poetic_Ink
#Poetic_Ink
Not all of us ‘Eat, Pray, Love’.
One plate: a minefield
of coulda, woulda, shoulda,
of clink and clatter
long after a bite.
Taste lingers,
here!
If I were asked the question
what can we serve you
before the execution
my answer would be
just a slice of bread
butter and
salt
My sweetness, from you, my first meal,
Exclusively for six.
And for many more months after~
The grub that made me tick.
You'd go hungry for me to eat.
Still my tum begs for more
What yours for days has been denied,
For hunger there to roar.
Empty tummy twirls blank your eyes,
Then you fall down and faint.
Still you rise just to find me food,
Your hunger no restraint.
More I grow, so your sacrifice.
You forsake your pleasure~
For me to have a great future.
To you, I'm your treasure.
Why Mama becomes my best word~
On my lips, just your praise.
I care not what anyone thinks.
In my heart, your love stays.
Your face now wrinkled by old age,
More, to me, you're pretty.
Tell me Mama how to pay back,
I'll pay to show pity.
A fisherman said as he cast his reel,
"I have a delicious dish",
to a fish.
who said,
"A fly is a tasty meal
for a trout,
no doubt,
but for bass or eel, it's not ideal.
Furthermore, this is no fly.
Goodbye.
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