It's almost half past three
time to cosy up for tea
kettle's on the boil to brew
tea for two me and you
with egg and cress or
cucumber sandwiches
with nary a single crust
(they were all donated
to the National Trust)
it's after forty to four
shall I be Mother and pour
I know you know Pekoe
the table's set quite daintily
two for tea you and me
and we can sing my song
'Lapsang Souchong'
I LONG
YOU LONG
WE ALL LONG
FOR OOLONG
unless you're feeling more Darjeeling
This sandwich is destitute
And the dijon has expired
A miraculous vision appeared to me, a gentle lady
One who gloriously gazed on my face
What is the life of but Art and Science?
The Shepherd's Dream?
When there are no living to remember the dead.
God knew of the culpability
The rearrangement of kitchen condiments
The kitchen being a cathedral of failure
Church of pie
I am the balcony in the balcony scene
And I'm exploring mental health through poetry
Hoggish, empty, splod.
And oh the hearts of the dollars.
Life's rampage.
All is love in love and glory.
My priest bowed to my maid today.
The ones in my mind.
This is our absinthe.
Our absence of release.
Find the wings in your basement.
The soul's retreival.
You are so much more than all the world.
POV and length of line be damned.
Of all cosmic energies,
You are peanut butter and jammed.
His mother went the extra mile
Spending hours after others went to bed
Creating sandwiches shaped like frogs
Baking cakes that resembled dinosaurs
Today Mat’s lunch was butterfly sandwich
Created from raisins, carrots and cucumbers
He traded it to his friend Willy
Loving Willy’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
Feeling jealous of Willy who had a playful kind mother
Wishing his mother would spend less time trying to impress
Wanting her time, wishing she would listen or play a game
She was too busy with her job and her sandwich creating
I wake in the hour of ghosts,
alongside the songs of owls
& swim through la mer d’etoiles
to the bakery
The door rings at my entrance,
flour coats the table like sand.
Culled fresh les champs de blé
for the bakery
Loaves are rolled then scored thrice
in the plentiful, cinnamon air.
Ovens hot as le desert de l’amour
at the bakery
Mother’s buy loaves in the hour of dawn,
freshly baked, for children’s lunches
to be eaten at tables d’amitié.
In the bakery,
with flour-soaked hands, my heart
beats sparrowquick at the thought
of my bread enjoyed dans le jardin des enfants
O, blessed to work at the bakery.
thin sandwiches
we make thin sandwiches in thin times
we don’t have much but the rust of the engine
and the dust of an old house,
I hear her call me in like yesterday
my inner eyes wade into the seas of once was,
I can taste these thin sandwiches
this thin meat with thin mayo and dried mustard,
in time this becomes my history,
we make thin sandwiches
n thin times we don’t have much
but the rest of the engine
and the rambling of this old house,
in times of few
these sandwiches thin were relished,
my eyes lost in the distance
the distance of memory,
I taste this bitter-thin imagery,
into my history, it fades
a memory,
a memory not really needed
or
wanted but here nevertheless.
WAITING FOR DEATH
How tedious it is waiting for Death
When She is still dressing up
To sit in a quagmire of silent prayer
While sandwiches turn dry
How tedious when a nappy
Must still be changed
As Forgiveness waits for a touch
And a mantra hangs like a noose
How tedious when the chain thins
But do not break
Links either clogged or rusty
Clock hands not moving a second
Then a message is written and
Read twenty times
Her mascara brush picked up hurriedly
Death did not even knock
Crispiest lettuce,
Chewy cheese between soft loafs,
This sandwich truly
Of utmost deliciousness,
As we travel through the trees.
Soup and Grilled Cheese Sandwiches
Winter prowls at the doorstep
Fingers of cold reach through cracks
Solid ice statues shiver
Icy blasts freeze the gaunt marrow’s soul.
In this scene of starving snow,
Hungry snowflakes on the loose,
Time for warm tomato soup
Grilled cheese sandwiches hot and gooey.
3-2-22
Contest: Lind30nr
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
My favorite lunch during winter.
Mustache sandwiches if you please
I am confused but a second
Then I jump on the band wagon
What about mouse whisker sandwiches?
Mortified muffin sandwiches?
Meager mayonnaise sandwiches?
Now to turn this into a poem somehow.
I sit and stare as a marigold sandwich takes a bite out of my leg.
That works I think.
Writing it down.
Get a slice of bologna extra thick
add butter to the frying pan so it won't stick
Cut the bologna in the shape of a German cross
fry it till the edges brown the taste is boss
I am not trying to boast
But I like my served with toast
Add a slice of American cheese
melts just right so easy to please
Spread mayonnaise or mustard, I like salad dressing
without the tangy taste you don't know what your missing
Lettuce a slice of tomato and don't forget the pickle
it's enough to make your taste buds water and tickle
Take a big bite another one two three
yummy yum your tummy in ecstasy
There's only one thing to do when your done
and that my friend is to fry up another one
Peppermint soup, unicorn sandwiches, and broth for the gods.
I look at the second grader, who gives me giant pony-tailed nods.
Of course we can do it, I tell her. Have I ever let you down?
She begins clapping and dancing, and twirls around.
Unicorn sandwiches have unicorns in them? I fearfully ask.
She giggles uncontrollably, for I do not understand this great task.
Peanut butter and jelly, with sprinkles on them, she replies.
I should have guessed that. She makes one in front of my eyes.
Does peppermint soup have anything other than peppermint?
She glares at me with her little girl stare, as ebony as flint.
Water? I guess. But I am wrong she lets me quickly know.
We have to sprinkle glitter in it she says, a big smile in tow.
Awaken child dreams of kittens,
and eating jelly and jam sandwiches-
He rises from his gentle mind,
With thoughts of kittens in his head,
He eats his jam with lots of bread.
Ready for the day new find.
1/28/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
From “A FULL AND LOVING HEART” poem 76(12/27/19)
Spider-ific sandwiches whizzing through Halloween eve
Gathered by the most talented Magiks
the only ones who see
Whipping in crazy delight around October’s skies
the most talented of the talented
Dare not see or deny
Sparks rear ending
Familiars in owl bodies and meowing cats
Witchcraft cagey in all ways, in clever acrobats,
Spider-ific sandwiches dipped in pumpkin juice
sprite,
Garnishing the talented
As they exit on broomsticks on this night.
Jellyfish sandwiches delicately sliced.
Two or three on a plate, scrumptious and nice.
Eat them with pinkies, raised high and proud.
Please ignore the screaming; they are ridiculously loud.
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