~ PIZZA ~
P- Piping hot, pungently brought directly to your
alabaster cloth covered table.
I- Italian, intoxicating, heady aroma, I eat all that
I am physically able.
Z- Zestfully, I first sip some beautiful, heady, imported
chilled, Italian Chianti.
Z- Zealously, I eat it all, as for pizza, there is no food
that bewitching that makes a body so mighty.
A- Affection to Italy's gift to the planet, I say "Grazie per Pizza",
that makes this planet ever so sweet and totally smiley!
(In Memory of My Uncle~ Peter Marchetti)
May 21, 2020
9:30am PST
Poem# 1,285
the world is a garden
where the poems are flowers
and the poets are gardener
bloomed flowers are spreading
the fragrance differently;
somewhere the smell (grammar)
opens its wings pungently
and somewhere mildly;
but to me
all flowers are accepted
-September 24, 2019 Chattogram
The Buena Vista
We met innocently, yet always at the famous,
crowded, Buena Vista Cafe.
Renowned for Irish coffee and it's view
of the spectacular, San Francisco Bay.
Over Irish coffees, we shared our days.
You, the journalist and I, the teacher.
After awhile the jabbering ceases.
We are now out in the Sam Francisco
foggy night.
Kisses blessed by the moistness of the fog,
It feels so tenderly, touchingly right!
A magical cable car appears and whisks us away.
Up, up, up, those picturesque hills.
Then romantically down,down, down,
Into a candlelit night of delectable night of
Osso Buco and risotto.
The scent of aromatic garlic and oregano,
Pungently slithers through the thyme-filled,
still night,Bay Area air.
Panagiota Romios
4/13/2018
I spent my 21st birthday
In a squalid old bed and breakfast
On the outskirts of Liverpool
That cost me $10 to light
And 20 a night
With the only bathroom
1 floor down
The toilet water brown
Pungently scented
The bed fermented
Now 21 years on
My 42 birthday hath come
And the only thing that has changed
Is I am further estranged
From what is luck
What be deemed chance
And the all too familiar
Side wise glance
Tut of derision
Privilege based on class
Shatters still my heart of glass
I hate every inch of these scribbled words
Stinging pungently inside my mind for quite a time
Even the taste of disgust is in my lips
In letting you know what I keep in this heart of mine
Language has composure when it comes to you
There’s always a reason to hold my tongue
My mind is much stronger than my heart
Yet the thought of you haunts in the silence of the dark
It’s even deadly disturbing how I want you
For reasons vaguely kept in my world
Your personality is hard to paint
This atmosphere does not work even if I’m blunt
Nature will not and cannot lie
The outside bubble may even say I’m crazy
Yet they do not see what I see
Every time my eyes set glance at your way
Your choice of words and the little things you do
And even if you stay frozen in a split second
I like just the way you carry yourself
Yet you are not sensitive enough.
First stretching whitely up in dark wet birth
Then reaching light to green and thicken
Soaking sun goodness to swell adding layers
Pushing and swelling in soft hugging earth
Pungently promising tear stinging peeling
Then slicing and dicing in peanut oil clarity
First in the pan to begin the stir fry
The next row is swelling to bursting in sunlight
As green turns to brown then a bright boiling red
Staining the oak from the slicing and seeding
Joining the other to flavor and color
Whatever wherever the fare’s to be fed
Partners in Gardens and partners in Flavor
Perfect companions to fit any feed
Their ethnic persuasion is easy to see
Tongue teasing Terran and tastefully free
onions and peppers together from seed
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