Soggy Ramen
By: Fawn P.
August 28th, 2026
One day…
You’ll be stuck in a loop,
Infernal, constant, unable to change,
If you're lucky it'll last a second,
If not a year,
You'll tear open a pack,
You'll save the left over dust,
Then…
You'll wait…
At first you’ll be perfect,
Your bowl well filled,
But slowly your oasis dries,
Next…
You'll wait longer…
Worms swell bigger sliding around dirt,
Made from liquid gold,
They shimmer as you watch,
Your bowl fills full now,
Your oasis less empty,
Finally…
You’ll stall…
Watch the worms,
Watch them slither and stretch,
White, pasty,
fragile…..
Your bowl is fool,
Your oasis less bear,
You sprinkle it in glitter,
Glitter makes it shine again,
Your mind eats before your mouth,
Your hands break,
as they grip and drag the brain,
The worms are squirming,
So, slippery,
So, hard to grip,
“Stop moving!” you’ll cry,
They already have,
Have they ever moved?
Did you watch them squirm?
They lay limp,
Dead and empty,,
But still swelled thick,
With liquid gold
Your bowl feel fool,
But the liquid gold is gone….
Born with the skin I'm in
likely for all my life,
the color, some describe to be
a shade of pasty white.
Those sunshine rays
are no friend to me,
I seek the shade as shelter,
and safety beneath the trees.
I've suffered the pain of many burns,
some as close to third degree,
my skin tone is so white,
it at times distresses me.
Never will I get a tan,
my skin is melanin free,
a pinkish hue for color,
is as close as I'll ever be.
No time is spent at beaches
or drifting with the tides,
the shore provides no places,
for a guy like me to hide.
If it seems like I'm complaining,
perhaps, that could be true.
My whiteness curse or privilege
well.....
I'll leave that up to you.
Daleks dialects..Destroying humanity is the aim? you bet.' Nasty is the taste required, of lunacy theyr'e never tired.'
Zey..haf..vays.' yet I'll ignore em; see' plastic
Entitys how God abhors them, theyr'e on
Borrowed time.' And running late..Old
Clausies dropped one.' You can tell by his
Gait..Its all the toxins..Shedding upon them
They are weak and pasty, maggot like morons' They need deleting ' the whole world about' send
Them into outer space..Where ever its deepest, lets loose all trace.' It should be
Simple heres what we can do keep on
Talking reality..' And they'll soon shoo.'
Pudding and pasty very tasty
When you eat it don't be hasty
But also watch your expanding waisty!
Tanned physique
straight hair
my pasty flesh and
limp side-locks did not share
A bronze, chiseled adonis
was the look to emulate
but sunken chest and poor muscle tone
complemented my frizzy pate
Yet one advantage held I over
the muscle-bound crowd
Acknowledging the whistles of the crowd
~ My head, and heart, I bowed
Another wee witty ditty about Chris (the Hawk) on BBC 6 Music - as they celebrate World Poetry week
“He talks the talk (well that’s his job to use his gob..twiddle that kn*b)
He walks the walk
But don’t balk..not a dork
Popped champagne cork
Baby face dropped by a stork
Won’t stalk like the Duke of York
Hasty that haircut.. we squawk
Looking pasty..no bulwark
At his barnet we gawk
But still love the Hawk
Tasty as a fork of Iberico pork
Let's all have a ball..twork
Maybe K.Y.O.B.C or just S.W.A.L.K”
Turnips are delicious,
Turmeric is tasty:
Tartlets are officious,
Truffles make for hasty
Toss-ups. It seems vicious,
Turbot served in pasty
Titbits. It’s pernicious!
Reasoning
‘My reasoning is
pasty-faced,’ I
remark.
She basks in the golden glow,
Draped in sunlight, ready for the show.
Empty laughter fills the evening air,
Her dreams alight, she doesn’t care.
Twirling in silk, adorned with lace,
Capturing moments that can’t be erased.
The world’s her stage, the city her muse,
The awaited golden hour, she can’t afford to lose.
Just a block down,
Another woman weeps,
Through crowded streets, she weaves,
Where hope has been denied
And promises deceived.
Her heart heavy as the golden hour strikes,
Burdened by night, searching for solace
Whose bed will she share for tonight
As they both glance up at the tie-dyed sky.
The other’s pout parts,
The other lets out a weary sigh.
One basks in warmth, while the other hides,
For the golden hour decides.
Their fates so different
Two lives entwined in a fleeting hour,
One finds bliss, the other her power
The sun sets low, casting shadows,
Skin tan and glistening
While the other is pasty and sallow
The starlet hopes to shine
The trick dreads tomorrow
Their paths entwine in the golden hour,
Where both their worlds realign.
Cornwall is almost an island,
Thanks to the river Tamar and the sea,
Its indigenous inhabitants are us Cornish and
We Cornish are a nation - and will always be.
Kernow (Cornwall) boasts its own:
Parliament and laws home grown,
Flag, anthem and crest with fifteen bezants,
Cornish Pasty and Oggy Oggy chants,
Patron Saint and noble Kings,
National bird with its black chough wings,
Unifying tagline of ‘One And All’,
Cornish wrestling and silver hurling ball,
Ethnic Minority status, Unique DNA,
Cornish language still spoken today,
Nationhood recognised worldwide,
Facts are facts and the facts can’t hide.
We embrace our British neighbours
For we are part of the UK team,
But we Cornish are a Nation
And we have always been.
Westminster chooses to ignore this fact,
Let it relent and admit its shame,
For whilst the truth beats in Cornish hearts,
A nation – we shall remain…
People started running,
for buses, taxis, trains,
with umbrellas no defence,
against the wind and rain,
a drowned rat cycled past,
then disappeared down a lane,
when lightening flashed, I dashed,
hoping to dry out again.
I shot past the pub’s “welcome” sign,
“No Prams or Pushchairs Inside”,
then scrutinised the menu,
for something not micro’d or fried,
with my paper, pint, pasty, and peas,
I sat by the warm fireside,
waiting for the storm to pass,
and brighter weather outside.
Now I lay me down to sleep
Alone upon these empty sheets
Of paper lying on the bed
Side table clock says 5 a.m.
Oh dark of night, I beg thee stay
Keep the morning light at bay
Oh dusk beloved!
Oh dawn be damned!
Me pull the curtains tight again
And only this I have to show
These tries at rhymes
Turned tales of woe:
Of sticky socks
On stinky feet
Sit ankle bones
Prop broken knees
‘Neath pasty thighs
With muscle pains
Crooked back
And shhit for brains
Tired eyes must take their rest so
Leave behind this manifesto
For the rights
Of righteous minds
To get their forty-winks, sublime
Después de la fiesta
While they take la siesta
Sun sets low
On the horizon
But lo, the sun set also rises
O’er every heart and soul supine
Crouched behind their window blinds
Who heave a sigh
At yet another
Evening pass without a slumber
All perchance to dream is lost so
As tonight is now tomorrow:
That is all
And with that said
I take me self to bed again
She has spotty skin
Whereas he has warts on his
He has freckles
She has boils
One's too oily
One's too dry
He is too pasty
Her's is too dark
She is too yellow
One's is patchy
The others too red
Yet for all of these many differences
There is one thing they all have in common
Is we are 1 and all
Universally unhappy in our own
Skin , within and without
Go to Massachusetts for its chowder,
in Maryland you’ll find tasty crab cakes.
Texas has their famous beef brisket rub,
KC says it’s good BBQ they make.
Head to Maine to dine on some lobster,
Florida’s Coconut Shrimp is best.
Montana cooks some fine mountain oysters,
Colorado’s lamb chops top off the west.
Eat some deep-fried pickles in Arkansas,
in California get their avocado toast.
Crisp Fries with vinegar in Delaware,
y’all, it’s them boiled peanuts that Georgia boasts.
Hot pork tenderloins of Indiana,
Hawaiian shaved ice, Beignets of La.
Wyoming’s Fry bread, Illinois’ Deep Dish,
Michigan Pasty, Cheesesteak from Pa.
You can travel around America,
even a few countries across the sea.
Anything you’ll find has yet to compare,
to my wife’s fried chicken and mac-n-cheese.
Through a slim slit between light and darkness,
we walk on roads riddled with hurdles;
On tricky trails and wily wilderness;
On devious deserts and pasty puddles.
We are like trekkers on a misty mountain,
hanged by a cliff on a chilly evening,
trying to find our endless fountain
to quench our drought and end our longing.
On swirling plains and fiery waters,
we try to find the way to glory,
but our bodies grow weak and our feet falter;
Our hearts grow tired as our souls go weary.
But now, we're about to reach the end,
we must hold on to hopes and promises;
For, hopeful hearts could find a way to mend,
like fated birds that rose from the ashes.
We're here at last to the end of our journey,
so, we must give our greatest shot.
Though, life is harsh and the roads are thorny,
our will shall cut the Gordian Knot.
March 24, 2023
Now That We Are Here Poetry Contest (2nd place)
Sponsored By: Unseeking Seeker
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