Monster
life destructor
roller coaster
heart roaster
Beast
false priest
giant fist
shaky and weak.
Jessica
Categories:
roaster, anger,
Form: Rhyme
Trapped in a place unknown,
I walked fast to find my home.
Lost in the wilderness,
Afraid of being alone.
My mind keeps telling me,
Continue and enjoy the journey.
Like a rainbow in the sky,
A pot of gold I can hold.
Though obstacles hinder,
With monsters like creatures.
Passing through the deep sea,
Just to get back home.
Awaken by the roaster crowing,
I came to my senses.
Glad it was just a dream,
An experience with a meaning.
Categories:
roaster, adventure, deep, dream, emotions,
Form: Free verse
I don my towerin' torque at a jaunty angle when I prepare my cuisine!
Eat yer heart out, Gordon Ramsey; of all the world's chefs I'm the dean!
I can whip up a delectable repast in a trice from a can of pickled spam!
I've appointed myself the world's greatest chef - that I am, that I am!
Ain't nothin' better'n my ravioli heated from a can of Chef-Boy-Ardee,
Or a tasty frozen pie or cake defrosted in my microwave from Sara Lee!
Why, I can heat up a canned ham quicker'n Emeril Lagasse can utter "bam"!
I'll say it agin, I'm the world's greatest chef - that I am, that I am!
Try my tasty Eggo waffles or pancakes that I forge in my toaster,
Or the magnificent stews that I concoct from Dinty Moore in my roaster!
People rave about my sandwiches of Skippy peanut butter and Smucker's jam!
Are you convinced I'm the world's greatest chef? I think I am, I think I am!
I learned the art of grillin' hot dogs at French culinary ecole Le Cordon Bleu,
And it was there I cultivated my skill fer broilin' burgers on the barbecue!
I invite you to try a bowl of my delicious Campbell's New England clam!
I'll repeat it agin, I'm the world's greatest chef (or at least I think I am)!
Categories:
roaster, food, humorous,
Form: Rhyme
early in the morn
the blind roaster in the corn~
dog gnawing a bone
chickens in the pen
waiting on the kind old men~
to feed them again
cats a meowing
rubbing against farmer then~
looking at marsh hens
at the waiting pond
farmer working in his field~
the ailing horse yield
pure alabaster
flee faster in the pasture~
"Who knows? We shall see"
dreaming of Girlie
early in the evening pink~
leaving with a wink
4/25/2020
just musing
5-7-5
Categories:
roaster, cat, farm,
Form: Senryu
I pace about feeling crazed
seeking pieces of the puzzle
fazed confusion at this maze
creaking my worn muscles
is this existence a gift
with no guaranteed luck
twist and relinquish
good will and corrupt
Most notably through time
are the lessons of loss
something once mine
inevitably the cost
show love feel harmed
confidence drifts
dealt luck real harsh
love and friendship
reaching peaks
and come downs
bonds wear weak
each bombed out
life mind messing
what it gives and takes
relax or stressing
emotional-quakes
a rollercoaster
run you over
freezer roaster
loss and plunder
Categories:
roaster, life,
Form: Rhyme
It's not the cup but the coffee within.
Arabica beans, fair trade
organic and shade grown
often from a woman's cooperative in Peru
then roasted in small batches
by a local roaster.
I like mine dark
but my wife likes medium
so we alternate
or sometime mix the two.
The beans ground
medium-course
with a burr grinder
are placed in our
pre-warmed press pot
just before we brew,
and covered with
our non-chlorinated well water
which has been brought
just to the boil
then left for 45 seconds.
A pause, three minutes is best
but sometimes we can't wait,
before the plunger is pressed
and our morning elixir poured
into our waiting cups.
And by the way,
mine was thrown
by a local potter
many years ago.
Sometimes we worry
that climate change
may ruin the source
of our morning addiction,
but we do our best
to tread lightly.
Inspired by Anne Lise's ode "Without Worries"
Categories:
roaster, drink,
Form: Free verse
Cash Gifts Only
By Elton Camp
The wedding invitation was unusually frank
“Only gifts that can be deposited in the bank”
They’re not interested in some crummy toaster
Or even that new high-speed turkey roaster
They won’t even bother to take a look
At a worthless gift of some stupid book
Sets of towels and sheets they so abhor
Because they already have them, galore
After all, two years they lived together
So to have cold, hard cash they’d rather
They’ve decided and hope you don’t mind
Any presents other than cash they’ll decline
“It’s the thought that counts” they don’t believe
Plenty of the “long green” they want to receive
If it’s not enough to cover the cost of your seat,
At the ceremony, they’d prefer you not to meet
So if as a wedding guest you expect to count
Give cash and make it a substantial amount
Categories:
roaster, family, wedding, wedding,
Form: Rhyme
The roaster woke me up
Today
I sprang up with bold face
And smiled
For it was dawn
I left a prayer by the bed
In haste to catch the train
And hoped the man
In the moon finds my petition
I told him to bless
You and you and you!
Dedicated to: mummy Vienna Bombardieri
Categories:
roaster, family, prayer,
Form: Verse
Dedicate to human rights Mr. Anna Hazare activist that fought for free corrupt Indian society.
this poem is a result of my disappointment.
Inhabitable lineal consanguinity, paraphernalia under the subordination.
A resourceful visible Bond, to colonize the characteristic of vocation.
To command inhabited Living, to obtain Ledger of human grace,
Aristocrat, Barbarian excommunication, excellence of allocation.
Mom says,’ Son’ go and sleep’ rising Sun brings bounded calculation’.
Intensive, restraint viscosity reliance, consciousness of annihilation,
A grain roaster, provocative nobler, a big bundle of convocation.
Bubbling well being blazed meandering futurist contrivance face,
A winnover shabby, recommital mumpish, a rational versification.
A readymade self imposed Leader fatal solubility calcumination.
Mum says,’ Son, ‘go and sleep, optimist opportunist evaluating eternity’.
Mom never says,’ son, ‘go and fight’ recarnation is a mean formality’.
Categories:
roaster, caregiving,
Form: Sonnet
Sometimes a whisper,
desperate to join the real world
calls out from the tower,
the cry of many memories trapped
within the egron of time.
Sometimes! Deafen by the silence
one hears the exhaust fans
out of balance, a simmering
smoke stack exhale,
rutunda roaster tumble,
seductive klaxon wail
spent bean silo rumble.
Alas! The same stars still shine,
the same moon reflects,
as one feels again, the innuendos
extracted out of the very shadows,
that linger within the walls that
surround this place. Profoundly
this void, this vacuum of personification
guides me as one follows one’s
inculcation through the labyrinth
of reasoning, where recollections
pass by in a moment of blithe,
an instant of reverberation
spray dried in a cascade of
fine blend, evaporated within a
classic symphony, harmonies of
years, sweat and tears grounded
out of an idea.
Yet spent! Like the rest of us.
© Harry J Horsman 2000
Categories:
roaster, work,
Form: Free verse