No pease porridge for me if you please
neither hot nor cold
especially not if what's in the pot
is nine days old
for when in Parma Palermo or Pisa
(no pottage slop)
I'm predisposed and have the propensity
to pour a potent potable
(pink plonk)
and prefer to partake of a piece of pepperoni pizza
with pancetta pomodoro peperoncini
porcini plus a peck of pecorino on the top
even the penchant for a piccante prosciutto panini
or pass me a plate of penne puttanesca
with the proclivity for a platter of pinoli pesto
possibly pasta with parmesan
and I'm pleased to wine and dine al fresco
The creamy-porridge skies
Gave us drizzle at noon
The sun’s drooping violet
Palette squinted over the hills
And hid there, for the clouds
Were annulling her will.
At one the rain shifted its weight
To white withering gloom,
With haste warmed to puddles
Which watered the walk
Sustaining the blade’s colored
Green-gray fluttering stalks
Which lashed in the wind
As a whip’s cracking cord
Snaps like lighting strikes
Who writhe from the Lord
With cries of agony found alone
In those troubled with toil
And so sunk their roots
Deep down the soggy brown soil.
Thus, the bleak flat land
Has been deprived of defense
To be destroyed ‘til the freak
Winds hush and relent.
weighing curds and whey
the spider spied, her courage
curdled, ran away
----------
another alliterative haiku for you
White as snow
sugar sprinkle and cinnamon
In the middle
a yellow moon smiles
One - just one almond
in the pot
Whoever finds it
a surprise will receive
Heart warming
Christmas ritual
12.12.2022
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Poem of the Day 14.12.2022
“Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie, face
Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!”
“Address To A Haggis”, Robert Burns, 1786.
(Keeper o’er the Fourth Kingdom)
Robert, Robert, Fourth Kingdom
Gate Keeper.
No Telestial glory
Befits the poet deeper!
Wherefore is thy legacy
Robert Burns, regretfully
Wherefore is thy Haggis?
Thy Puddin’ flees before thee.
Thy Hippopotami give birth
Purple, purple, such deliver
The royal eggplant hatchling
That multiplies the giver!
Celestial porridge is thy claim
As such befits thy story
But no resplendent poet name
Perpetuates thy glory
Terrestial kingdoms blissfully
Reject that higher leaven
But thou hast won, delectably
That Kingdom Fourth of Heaven!
Prayed for courage
And in return was given porridge
Topped with salt instead of sugar
And water for milk
Cooked in a kitchen of filth
To be eat out of a chipped saucepan
With plastic chopsticks for cutlery
Tracing help into forage ferrell wild oats
The holy father's sins
Handed down to his children
Silver Spoons
Cabin in the Woods
Feeding impoverished bears porridge
Golden Plates
Dirty hairy faces
After dinner Mama Bear washing dishes
1/27/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
A pot of stew.
Made with meat.
Meat and more meat.
I am hungry.
What is for dinner, mother?
Sailing through airs of iridescent clouds
I collected spoonfuls of rainbow joy
To sweeten porridge included in my love's cuisine
Embellishing it with laughing almonds
Served it hot with fragrance escaping to heavens
Angels flew down to taste the delectable dish
20/02/2019
Courage in Steerage and Porridge
You will never read another
limerick like this one. Was
watching Cinderella when
courage was mentioned.
We heard she had so much courage;
Was stuffed in shoe in her steerage;
So much delight,
In pretty sight;
She also had tasted it in her porridge.
Jim Horn
Her booty is like yam porridge
She's gonna blow that mind away
I know you can't wait
She will show you how to work
without an interview
She's bad into the cage
You wanna go there?
Ugh! I won't advice that but
The moment is on
The Mic is set
Go into the woods
Deep there
You'll find her.
She’ll make you forget your name.
It's okay babe
I know!
You have 10 thorns
Still you've got to run so fast like a lion
into the jungle fever.
She's alone, along the craziest
crafted woods.
Wishing that someone who
loves her for what she is would visit.
Go get her,
Kill those cats
Rats!
Bees!!
Frogs!!!
Bears!!!!
Beasts!!!!!
Go see your baby..
My mother said:- I have to eat more porridge,
And when I grow up, I will be very strong.
Now I'm a porter, carrying heavy bags to storage.
The advice of a mother never can be wrong!
PORRIDGE
I’ve put up with it for years - how?
It’s been too long, but no more.
My head is sore, it’s such a bore.
She’s been always daily to the fore,
And nightly too with her snore.
Not like our early days of yore.
I wonder who’s stirring her porridge now?
Ready brek is super smooth
Porridge in your bowl
Steaming hot, delicious oats
For when you’re on the go
So for those winter mornings
Why not try a bowl
Be nice and warm on the inside
And have an instant glow
To make it, it’s so easy
Just stir in some hot milk
Then your lovely porridge
Will come out smooth as silk
It’s full of rich vitamins
Calcium for your bones
And it’s the one and only
Ready brek original
© Copyright K.C.Leake
13th December 2015
All Rights Reserved
Holy Porridge
When you suffer a sore throat
you'll appreciate this thought;
The softness of holy porridge
with no ingesting way is a bridge,
Without biting or chewing tooth
gums, hot porridge will sooth
For, babies and toothless alike
have nothing in porridge to dislike.
Where one is bedridden or sick
has energy only porridge to lick.
Recommended meal from bed
When weak innards can be fed;
Heavy bombardment of tummy
by blows of morsels can be runny.
As child and the infirm you raise
porridge deserves all the praise
Shall you find someone flourished
never on porridge so nourished..
Should you find one let me see
for, it might be one up the tree!
TO LOATHE OR DISLIKE PORRIDGE
IS TO BURN YOUR OWN BRIDGE!!!
02nd Oct' 2013
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