I spread layers of laughter in a long baking pan,
with a rhythm that twists the smoky scent I can scan.
Five lines per slice, I assemble carefully quick,
make this dish pulsate and glint like a limerick.
First sheet, a town and a person, famed or unfamed,
second, an odd trait that need not be tamed.
The rhyme goes A-A, then loosens its tight grip,
repeats at the last layer with a tag line flip.
Short lines on top, longer anapest pasta below,
the meter stumbles slightly, then steals the show.
B-B ricotta and spinach creep in the middle on the sly
with simmering mozzarella that doesn’t overflow dry.
I season the dish with nonsense spice, lively and loud,
a crispy curl at the base makes the last layer proud.
With light ragu sauce I garnish the humorous trait,
just with the perfect comical timing I bake it great.
The final ingredient is hilarity with melodramatic bend,
with a twist at the end to be served with fun to a friend.
Topped off with a punch line parmesan. that is hot,
I cook the best meal, limerick lasagna, in poetry pot.
a tug of the leash
and off she goes
Lizzy has plans for our dinner
squirrel soup and rabbit ragu
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
Sweet and sour pork or chicken?
Hard to figure out which one she liked best last time.
Which one had she ordered?
She wracked her brain, but it was not helping.
Crab ragu is delicious at this restaurant.
Not so great at the other one.
She was glad they stopped here.
You must have read my mind she told her date.
My parents own the other restaurant, he told her.
I was not about to take you there on a first date.
Oh, wow, they owned the one with the bad Chinese food.
She was not sure what to talk about now.
five hours on the stove
garlic, onion, tomatoes
the great smell of sauce
My grandmother in the kitchen all day
Cooking dinner while her kids were away
Nobody ever knew
She always used Ragu
And drank a bottle of fine cabernet
the fine cabernet hidden, inside a vat of red wine vinegar
eat and die said the passerby
a pop fly in the eye although the bid me a goodbye
Willow Tree makes me stop to pee or forbidden to most
we coast through each turning point to venture through
send the party home no place for them to roam
did you ever feel that nobody cared was down to the lowest pit no one gives a
Smooth sailing said the operator be generous at the door
like a lit pumpkin by with to soar
we need to keep score,
stand at attention in its ovation
calaborate to masturbate the true rivers wild
give me a box of macaroni with Ragu sauce
sever the head of the outcast,
Lionel Richie sang it beautifully
hello momma say hello to father
a burdened stroke to see you tomorrow
to beg to dine a great pillow design
stay below the concrete there will be a rose
shake the hand of the lumber Jack Man
the surface within reason its in the changing of the season
Pasta with tomato sauce and basil please!
Or, white pasta with olive oil will do,
Steaming hot, slippery, sprinkled with cheese,
How about tagliatelle smothered in ragu',
Cannelloni stuffed with ricotta and spinach,
Thick lasagne layered with ham.
Please say it's pasta, please say we can.
Ravioli with potato filling dripping in butter,
Tortiglioni, penne, spaghetti, fusilli, I silently mutter.
Please say it's pasta, the good old red, white and green,
Please heap our plates and order us to lick them clean,
Pasta, please, Pasta.
There is a penalty for sin
There is a way that seems right to man
There is a real devil that comes to kill you
No one will help you;
All are loose cannons in their idle John Wayne existence
Satan is their god & stomach
~
No one will pray for you in this sin sick culture filled with Ragu!
Liars & evil angelic beings having viscous fangs that bite in night
A trap for your feet lies onto Hell's peak
Along the valley chosen to rest next to the River Styx;
Rapture ready only to Hell!
~
Eyes of black resin filled death
Eyes of smoke filled sulphur with smoke
Eyes of skulls cross with bones intact
Eyes in misery along a heart attack;
Hands that hold the innocent to prey
A dreary day marked on its blotted page will frey
A challenge to be free is a question in time
A society that lost touch with reality & blind
A false god of self in idol prey
Sufferings servants in the night will play
Dogs in colorful blackened frenzy
Plagued by societal idol frenzy
Gone our the days when sid met Nancy/
Tragedy!
When I saw Susan's cute little contest on the famous Roses are Red poem,
I went upstairs and said to Joe, "How would you finish this poem:
Roses are red
Violets are blue. . ." ?
(in case you don't know this famous little English poem, the actual finishing lines are "sugar is sweet/ and so are you")
Very quickly my husband gave me an ending that was a twist on the old poem's
lines. But I was proud of him for actually coming up with something, so I put it into Susan's contest. I wanted to see how my hubbie would do if he were to enter a contest
here!
(if you want to see it, it's the post I made before my Abracadabra poem)
Later I thought up a bunch of other endings. These are some I came up
with for
Roses are Red
Violets are blue:
1. Be my spicy meatball
and I'll be your Ragu.
2. your library book
is long overdue.
3. I'd tell you much more
but it's all Taboo.
4. Do you style your hair
with Dippity-Do?
5. Your cocker and my poodle
would make one great Cockapoo.
6. You tempt me like honey
tempts Winnie the Pooh.
7. I'll play you a love song
on my kazoo.
8. you'd make a good rooster
Cock a doodle do!
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.