Short Grated Poems

A tomato & spelt soup
seasoned fresh herbs with
grated padano cheese
toasted sesame
muselli molasses
with skimmed milk
Slim!...

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last kiss collapses
                                           on hymeneal amber
                                            like grated nutmeg...

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There once was a chef very snobby 
Who made sushi at home as a hobby
Horseradish was great
But did not please his date 
So with sharkskin he grated wasabi 
...

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Cream cheese and flour are combined
With fine chopped walnuts
A cup of drained pineapple 
And grated carrots
To bake a classic
Carrot cake
Tart
! 









3-12-2016...

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Every year, sans celebratory birthday hat
She acknowledges the years past.
She sees her family on the other side of the grated glass.
And waves at them with manacled wrists....

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Clean cut crisp cabbage 
Onion diced quite small. 
Lets get the carrot grated 
Engage the taste buds all. 
Salad cream or mayonnaise 
Lemon juice for zest. 
All on top a baked potato 
What a feast  the best....

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It was but a crack
To grow up through me
My knees, hands, chest, and height
I crack and groan through the winters night
Like grated sand these cracks, they pile
Firm, unlike before
Though it feels more solid
Its a sand soaked in tears
Still, I slide and stumble
Even in pieces, I amount to more...

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Playground for poets online bizarre
Onyx sky where we are stars 
Emerald eyes eager to read
The next line written with elegant ease
Romantic patrons infatuated
Yellow sonnets purple phrases
Somehow we are all related
Onion soupers with cheese grated
Unity in what we achieve
Poetry Soup for all yes please....

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Grated darkness
Bleeding night
Serrated sanity
Shredding sight
Clenched teeth
Gnawing time
Festering fate
Widowed crime
Whispering walls
Squeezing shame 
Callous hands 
Chiseled name
Seeping shadow
Creaking door
Perfumed epitaph
Married whore
Seething scowl
Backyard breath
Shoveled plot
Cheating death...

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As rain starts to drizzle
cooling our sizzled body
aroma travels through the window
making neighbours hysteric;
Onions make sense
With whisper of pumpkin seed
A dash of garlic, grated
Green chillies choke breath.
Lentils, wobbling peanuts
Snow white Basmati
A Kechri.
Fire burns, widows sleep.



Summer Cooking Poetry Contest

Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
26th June, 2018...

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In the pleasing hush of mornings 
I embrace warmth in porcelain
A steamy cup of swirling fluid
With a bit of sugar and cream

Warming steel pot’s energetic tune
Unfurling savory leaves with a spoon
With lemon grass and grated ginger root
A delicious aroma it whispers out

Magic of the brewed tea leaves
Infused charm on my lips
An edge kissed by fragrant mist
A progressive calmness in every sip

...

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Rearview Mirror

You take me for granted
You always have
You run over me
Stomp on me
Treat me like dirt
Under your feet
Have I offended you
Was I not
Always there for you
You grated me
Put holes in my existence
Years of being
Your conduit through life
You don't care to look
At what you left behind
A pile of rubble


A poem you have not entered in a contest#8
Sponsor-Poet Destroyer A
Greg Hoffman
6/16/14...

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The Northern Lights petrify
Leaving stains of color to grated souls.
Foreign thorns entice the sky -
threshing what's left of flesh.
For a season deceiving remains,
jaded petals cover sinister views
~Yet~
Wilted and jagged with pigment stagnant -
Dark; blackened to average -
Decay begins from less fortunate sins.
Charisma lost while miracles fold -
Enigma strikes like pyrite gold -
Within life loss -
An aura with no glow....

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purple clouds, lost in shrouds, my life is about, the quiets and louds. i wonder what, the clouds are like, they turn purple, im riding a bike. why are they purple? god only knows, they grow deeper, my curiosity grows. purple clouds, lost in sight, life goes on, and i still have to fight. if its not, illusionated, the milk is sour, and the cheese is grated. to live on a farm, with purple clouds, my soul is gone, and im lost in shrouds....

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In the middle of the night
In the middle of a sleep
I was woken up
By a chirping beep.

Each assertive peep
Grated on my brain.
If it kept it up
I would go insane.

We knew what it was – 
Meant to stave off harm
‘Twas the battery
From the smoke alarm.

When the 9 volt dies
It announces such
With annoying chirps
No one likes too much.

So my spouse got up,
Made the beeping cease.
If a fire broke out,
Least we’d die in peace....

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Following Suzette's lead and going with 5 senses:

Hearing: midnight drums / blood rushing through your ears
Taste: the tingle tongue from too many kiwis / anticipation 
Smell: lipstick / 1985
Touch: a handful of grated cheese / falling down a hill having grabbed grass that snapped 
Sight: people sat in parked cars / brains in formaldehyde

Oh and...
Proprioception: knowing where your toe is / waiting expectantly for someone to arrive home...

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I turned the key,
pressed the gas pedal.
The motor belched
the starter grated.

“No. Not today!
I can’t be late.
I’m teaching the class.
I have to be there!”

Our three-year-old
piped up from the back seat,

“Try it again, Mom.”

The motor coughed, caught,
settled to a steady purr.
My little two-cylinder Fiat,
slow, but steady as she goes,
took me everywhere.

Again, from the back seat,

“I knew it would start, Mom.
I prayed.”...

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carved cruicifixes,
slashed n’ sliced stars of david,
chiseled taijitus,
hacked stars n’ crescents 
cleaved christs
dissected n’ shaped buddhas,
engraved menorahs
chipped n’ etched away Confucius 
trimmed dharmachakras
whittled & molded muhammad
severed n’ separated astrological zodiac signs 
snipped aum
chopped n’ cracked pentagrams  
lopped off lotus flowers
shaved n’ grated ichthys &
pierced pentacles---
all wash away in the sink
after running warm water over them
for a little while....

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There is a pathway called Lonely Road
That every mortal in solemnity walks.
Its ruts are deep from life’s grated load,
And tales of woe echo there as if a pox.

You have walked it in hours of despair
And so have I, world-wearied in extreme.
As we walk we litter it with every care,
Our pain and hurt sickening the scene.

We have faults that foreclose expression
To some who want to think we’re saintly. 
Thus the Lonely Road affords confession
To ourselves and He who loves us greatly....

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