Sauces Poems | Examples

Poetic meal

#Poetic_meal 
Dining with words, its my daily enticing meal, the scrumptious juicy sauces, dripping all over my fingers, leaving me with much appetite to dip deeper, my fork and knife into this meal of creativity...

Could hear my intestine, groaning of ravenous intake, fueling my hands of vocabulary to dedicate much effort into this meal of mental nourishment...
My artistic arteries, chanting of thirst and I aiming higher than a mere quench, dilating much spaciousness, for the serving being way beyond just drinking and swallowing nor gnawing but influxing of varieties and intergration of creativity, some artistic manner of dining...

Shedding some radiant and illumination to ones psychological interest of art, beyond just seven colours of paints and brush sizes, painting a masterpiece of centuries of inspired poetic hormone, with my flooding poetic ink expressions. I am Poetic_Ink  
#Poetic_Ink

Should I Write of Chicken Wings?

Should I write of grand romance,
of star-crossed lovers tell?
I've not known enough of that
to really do it well.

Should I write of torrid sex,
hot and steamy affairs?
I'm old enough now to see
that there's no meaning there.

Should I write heroic tales
full of daring and lore?
But what tale could I tell you
that you've not heard before?

Should I write of politics,
get mad and take side?
But most people won't listen
if you're not of their tribe.

Should I paint a word-picture,
delightful imagery?
There's thousands of small poems
on sunset, dawn, and trees.

Should I write a Limerick,
give you the best one yet?
But who could do better than
that man from Nantucket?

...hmm...or....

Should I write of chicken wings?
A bar food mighty fine,
all those great dipping sauces,
but not too hot with mine...

Too much heat buries the flavor.

the fragrance of the Kitchen

the fragrance of the kitchen brings me to full awake status
coffee, oranges, and butter are the first smells to which I alert.
the closer I get, the more aromas I can decipher.

pumpkin spice, onions, Worchester and barbeque sauces are next.
I begin to salivate, ready to sample whatever the cooks will let me have.
Cinnamon! We are having fresh homemade rolls too! Well done!

What smells like chocolate? I ask my mother. Hot cocoa, have some.
My father has begun to dunk round droplets of dough into a grease vat.
Homemade donuts! This might be the best Thanksgivings Day ever!

By the time the turkey, gravy and mashed potatoes are ready
my stomach is growling with crazy appreciation
and I have not tasted much of anything yet.

my nose leads the way

New Orleans French quarter bakeries
feature luxurious flavorsome bene’s
palatable pumpkin pies, exquisitely decorated cookies
aromatic meaty soups, nectarous scones, rich dipping sauces
appetizing cobblers, and cream puffs larger than clouds.
My nose lead the way after I found the brochure
I was not disappointed

His Name Means Generous

I like all of my romances to be so cheesy.
I also like a romance that can be so sleazy.
I like all of my pastas sauces' so creamy.
I also like all pizzas that are so yummy.

I like feeling like I am living in Rome
With a Mediterranean man flirting with me in my home.
I like feeling him all up from top to bottom,
In all of the ways that surprisingly please him.

I like all of what he always is to me,
In him is a man longing to be set free.
I like feeling so high in the sky with him,
In all of the ways he fulfills my every whim.

I like this romance because it is the cheesiest
In ways that also make it one of the easiest.
I like eating foreign cuisines with him mostly,
In those moments I dine most gratefully.

one of my favorite colors

stop signs and strawberries
lavish lipsticks and lovely lingerie,
ruby apples and scarlet satins
tasty tomatoes and tangy marinara sauces
cherries and cold cheeks
one of my favorite colors

A Luscious Love Poem

You’re my banana split my favorite treat 
Rocky road chunky monkey and one more  ,
Your 're my Pina Colada ,hard to beat  
Sprinkles,whipped cream,sauces I surely adore ,

The Pina Colada, a booze drink with flare . 
You’re my peacock , a flashy bird  of pride .
You’re my hope diamond your beyond compare. 
You are like a redwood tree, strong, my guide 

Banana splits are great ;eat them ,you get fat ,
Do not drink to much or you will get drunk  ,
If peacocks have nous , be not a plutocrat,
Treat your  beloved with care or stink like a skunk.

Balance desires with care no, plights to share.
You and beloved are glad  without a care.

Poetic cauldron

Wanna go back to my poetic cauldron, the ink boils within me, pass me the spoon, minds and souls have went long without. Need I be punished for starving the nation, sprinkling my artistic expression, the aroma reverberates with poetic reverence, tasting glands oozes ravenously, sauces of creativity fills my hand, edible to the soul too, 

marinate the mind with creative expressions, like an artist painter, paint spots all over my poetic kitchen, in my artistic kitchen crockery and cutlery of spirit evokes words, fill the cauldron to brim, multitudes are to be served, a poetic meal, entice the smell sense, as appetites widens, one belly after the other,

I serve the voiceless, the trapped, the surrendered and  those who left this this earth not fed, for in my cauldron ingredients of life giving, competes. Lemme put flesh to these poetic bones and feed life back to this poetic body, it's in my poetic cauldron I wanna go back to
#Poetic_Ink

Dinner Manners

Quietly waiting
at the table
legs swinging…
Then, Aunty Jean 
brings in
green soup.

Mother-glares at me,
sister-stares with me
at the cold green soup.
Is it medicine,
pond slime, 
mushed frogs?
...at least twenty 
spoonfuls long.
Silently I say, “Ugh!”

Quietly waiting 
at the table…
Aunty Jean brings in
passionfruit cheese-cake,
cream dessert.

Is it more slime,
frog spawn,
tadpole eyes...?

Oh no, it’s a giant slice.
I take one bite…

“Oh,” says Uncle Ron,
“Don’t you like it?”

“Not really,” I murmur.
 
“All the more for me,”
He smiles,
turns goggle-eyes,
leans across,
adds my slice to his.

Cauldron bubbling,
mixture squelching
sauces oozing
gases belching…

“A glass of milk?”

“Yes please, I’d like 
a glass of milk.”

“...and a chocolate frog?”

“No,
No thank-you,
Aunty Green.”

The state of the fourth estate

No estate should be able to turn away health inspectors,
No estate should be able to turn away ambulances,
  while bleeding internally,
No estate should need to employ so many muckrakers,
  or bush lawyers. 

No estate should hold so many water rights,
  if they pour cold water over journalists,
  who want to investigate,
No estate should hold so many gun licenses,
  until shooting oneself in the foot is no longer endemic,
No estate should be given awards for mediocrity,
No estate should have license to print money,
  to pay for influence.
No estate should be bereft of microscopes, 
  or access to an eye specialist.

No estate should hold so many contracts out of state,
  to stifle competition,
No estate can survive without bread and butter
  or an understanding that no freedom is absolute.
No estate can survive when it no longer sees the need to spellcheck,
  and uses words covered in sauces past their use by date,
No society can survive when it has a fourth estate,
   that no longer pays heed to the edicts of,
   Walter Cronkite or his ilk.

Buffalo Wings

Buffalo wings,   buffalo wings,   buffalo wings
when I was young, just a boy
the skies overflowed with flying buffalo.

 Take shelter for if you looked up
splat on your face from a buffalo butt
Now the poor creatures grounded for we clip their wings
deep fried and tasty sauces they are a favorite food thing
Herds of buffalo floating in the sky
kids waving at them as they mozy by
Peaceful and plentiful wouldn't hurt a fly
but sad for them their wings we fried
Poor buffaloes on foot they must roam
no longer in the air can they call home
Buffalo hunting a dangerous sport indeed
shot from the sky hunters squashed for their deed
O poor bison how now life must stink
hunted for their wings on the brink of extinct
So when chowing down on their tasty wings
watching sports with friends gathering
Why is the taste not what your expecting
cause buffalo wings taste just like chicken.

The Waiting

Sitting on a pew
Grilling and skew
Cravings that streak
Gravy of the mountain peak.
Sauces and condiments laid
Sprinkled, dashed and said
Vegetables, meat and bread
Cooked, baked and knead.
Reserving, consuming energy from tree
Drinking, nibbling like spree.
Waiting for the next bonfire and gaze
Rollicking with charcoal, dust and blaze.
A shooting star from the night so dark
Oozing with smoke and might that spark
Writing your name in the dark board of chart
Weaving canvass in your heart of art.

Secret Ingredient

The secret for great flavor
in a baked cherry pie
Add a little almond extract
for the taste that will happily surprise

For dull tasteless vegetables
like cabbage and green beans
Add a little bacon grease
watch the kids lick their plate clean

For tender succulent beef
every Chinese chef knows
Mix the beef with baking soda
become a stir fry hero

Sauces to bland slow down
simmer that sauce for a taste profound
Slow and easy a little sugar will do
cook extra for second helpings too

Need some flavor oomph
in meats gravies and stews
A good shake of Worcestershire sauce
your taste buds will woo

Add the old stand by for any plan dishes
pour on the ketchup make it delicious
But the true secret ingredient every cook knows
a little love adds the flavor that makes your kitchen glow.

Busker

I stood on that busy street
And I rattled out some tunes
On my tap dancing clogs
And a pair of soup 
spoon
I rattled out some fast songs
And I rattled out some slow
I rattled out bonny songs 
As I thought folk might know
And I placed my cloth cap
There between my feet
And folk threw their money in 
And filled it up a treat
And a lass fro the baker’s shop
Brought me a fresh balm cake
Full of meat and tart sauces 
That the baker do make
I tapped her a few steps 
Went down on one knee
Saying oh my bonny lass
If only I were free
And she dropped me a curtsy
Flounced back across the square
Gracing that town street 
By just being there
Then paddy kelly came and caught me
And marched me to a cold cell
But he let me keep my money
So I did very very well
And I went to the ale house
When he let me out
And I celebrated my freedom
With a glass of cold stout
Then I walked down the road
Rattling out a song
And doing a quick tap dance 
As I marched along

Ice Cream Gran - Rest Easy Gran

Turbo Gran’s Zimmer is right by her side
Her head is tipped back and her mouth open wide
Time was she saved every human alive
On land or in flight or a deep ocean dive

The armchair recliner impossibly old
Just get a new one, she’s often been told
She never spent money on night cream for wrinkles
All her spare cash went on sauces and sprinkles

Kids loved her ice cream, they also loved Gran
They barely believed that she fought like a man
But now she lies still, with the cat she likes best
Turbo and Nitro, two heroes at rest

But when her phone rings and it’s screen comes alight
She opens one eye and prepares for the fight
Thus, when the call comes, she stands firm and steady
It seems then, Dear reader, she’ll go when she’s ready.

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