My aunt Pat sewed one for me
She loved my aunt Louise
Neither of them were aunts to me
The frog full of corn still dangles
over a trophy for a marathon of mine
I didn’t win or remember,
but I hope she is remembered more
than what she left me
when I was too young
to see that frogs
and being
are more than uncooked corn
This heart keeps beating
even when I tell it to stop
You deserve more than corn
I cannot count your kernels
to match your character
but I will try for longevity here
while lines match
the strenuous longevity
of my limited kernels;
vocabulary
Your wishes
half empty
Your hopes are
half full
Chameleons
perspective
Hell bent
on the view
Tomato
tomatto
Once sliced
are the same
The pulp
left to ripen
Regardless
of name
Those blessings
upon you
Accepted
or not
Define
a new vista
uncooked
in the pot
When leaving
to enter
Once piercing
the veil
The end
comes in
focus
— a butterfly’s tale
(Dreamsleep: August, 2026)
A conversation I had recently with a lady I just met. With Remembrance Day coming up - Lest we Forget….
Over a cup of tea
She told me of her Dad
Who was a Rat of Trobuk
You know he didn’t tell me until I was 14
But he didn’t say much about it
He was only 21
When the War begun
He enlisted with his mates
Because he couldn’t wait
But he didn’t say much about it
There were things he wouldn’t eat
Rabbit and rice uncooked sometimes
There was not much water
Fighting the Germans and Italians in the desert
But he didn’t say much about it
When he came back home
He married my mum his sweetheart
But some nights he couldn’t sleep
Shouting out in nightmares so complete
But he didn’t say much about it.
© Paul Warren Poetry
On my walk to stretch my legs
Today I came across,
On the path, a dozen eggs,
So I am at a loss.
The carton sat there and each shell,
Though rather neatly cracked,
Did pique my interest and compel
This writer to react.
Did someone eat those eggs uncooked?
(I’d cringe to try one raw.)
But on the sidewalk, last I looked,
A flame’s against the law.
At least within whoe’er consumed
Those eggs for some strange bash,
A sense of guilt should then have bloomed
To chuck them in the trash.
My love for all on Poetry Soup
like a tasty broth group.
Cook and stir
* 2 pounds lean Lebanon ground
in Dutch oven over medium-high heat,
breaking the Lebanon meat up as it cooks,
until all is no longer pink and has
started to brown, about 10 minutes.
Stir in the
* 2 Canada onions, chopped
* 3 United Kingdom garlic cloves, chopped
and cook for another 1o minutes
Stir in
* 3 cups Africa water
* 2 (15 ounce) United States cans tomato sauce
* 2 (14.5 ounce) cans India diced tomatoes
* 3 tablespoons Isle Of Man soy sauce
* 2 tablespoons dried Italian herb seasoning
* 3 Philippines bay leaves
* 1 tablespoon seasoned Bangladesh salt, or to taste
and bring to a boil over medium heat.
Stir
* 2 cups uncooked elbow Australia macaroni,
cover, and simmer over low heat until the pasta is tender,
about 25 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Poets with golden ink and pens
that make us move forward as friends
with inspiration, kindness, and honesty,
encouragement and compliments.
A small act of caring, which has the potential
to turn a life around.
I thank each and everyone of you far and near.
3/14/2022
As I write ... streams slow
And a trickle of guilt
Flow, flow, flow
"Father, father, Faaathhher"
From beyond my gate and border
"Pastor, pastor, pastor"
Was the cry an hour before
He, Shady, got 5 Rands; he hoped for more
But as I write, I decide
Wonga won't be attended to
8 o'Clock at night? No, Charity will wait
I have shared uncooked & cooked rice
And the usual soups, bread, fruit
Coins adding up to 30 Rands
But mostly under 17; to enhance
My safety - giving minus predictability
So my "parishioners" see limits
But raised mostly Catholic, FATHER
Comes naturally to them -
I did not take any title at the beginning
They avoid churches, even at funerals
Tents at homes is the local culture
So I share a little, though few attend
Our Protestant style of worship
Yet, once a week I invent JesusLuvsU Day
Jesus is Love, Love, LOVE
The turkey in the oven
In the early afternoon
Getting hungry now
Mashed potatoes, carrots
Put out the cranberry sauce
On the dinning room table
Time to check the turkey
Disappointed, uncooked
Wait a few hours
It is still uncooked
So we had the cooked stuff
With the stuffing mix
When the turkey was ready
Our stomachs were full
Homemade cherry cake
Was the finishing touch
Our meal was not so bad
Turkey served the next day
Popcorn
stillborn
Colonel
kernal
Combat
dessert
Army
charming
Uncooked
good luck
quack quack
says duck
10/12/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
magazine cover
lovely beautiful turkey
painted but uncooked
5 CUPS OF FLOUR
1 PACKAGE OF YEAST
1 TEASPOON OF SALT
5 TABLESPOONS OF MELTED BUTTER
4 EGGS
3 tablespoons OF vanilla EXTRACT
2 & 1/2 CUPS OF BUTTERMILK
MIX TOGETHER AND ALLOW TO DOUBLE IN SIZE
ADD
1 CUP OF MASHED SWEET POTATOES(OR PUMKIN MASHED)
1/2 CUP OF TOASTED ALMONDS
1/2 CUP OF RASAINS
1/4 CUP OF MASHED BANNANAS
3/4 CUPS OF UNCOOKED OATS
1 TABLESPOON OF CINNAMMON
1 TABLESPOON OF MACE
MIX WELL
AND MAKE WAFFLES
SERVE WITH
FREID CHICKEN
PRAGRAZ'S CHICKEN
4 CHICKEN BREAST
CUT INTO HALFS
MAKES EIGHT PEICES.
(SPRINKLE CHICKEN WITH 1 TABLESPOONS OF CAYEENE PEPPER,PAPRIKA,GARLIC POWDER )
1 CUP OF SEASONED FLOUR
1 CUP OF BREAD CRUMBS
EGG WASH ( 4 EGGS 1 CUP OF MILK)
FOLLOW BASIC BATTERING PROCEDURE
FRY IN 3 CUPS OF COCONUT OIL
OR HALF COCNUT OIL AND HALF OLIVE OIL
SERVE WITH WAFFLES
AND
MAPLE SYRUP
OR SUBSITUTE CHICKEN FOR LEAN PORK
Failed promises
You promised to love me more than I do
Treat like a child
Handle my heart like an uncooked egg
Not to listen to any foes
You promised to accept life defeat,to prove immortality of our love
Be with me,even at the peril time
Never to leave my side
Not to hurt me like others
You promise to drag down moon before my feet
Take me to that hiding paradise
Be my estacy and forever fantasy
All this promises was made in the morning
Hurts me most,seeing all been failed before noon.
Preoccupation
The brain is a miraculous oddity
Roaming at will, out to play,
But returning to sober reality,
Preoccupation stilled for focusing
On the must-dos of the day.
Ah, but then there is that flower,
That beautiful bromeliad,
And the mind preoccupies to the child
Who thought it would make her glad.
Repot it to a larger container
And she’s diverted to that task,
And the chicken breasts remain uncooked,
The brain is a miraculous oddity.
Where is the potting soil?
Preoccupying itself with raw chicken,
While the house goes unkempt,
Wandering to wonder where is the parchment,
Humming a song about children and flowers.
The brain is a miraculous oddity.
“Phil!” he squawks and Phil replies
Which, naturally, is no surprise
For Bogart’s lived with Phil for years;
They get each other, it appears.
At dinnertime, while we did eat,
The parrot joined us, quite a treat.
He ate his pasta, while we looked,
And also munched on some uncooked.
He delicately nibbled cheese
And broccoli, by small degrees;
But most surprising, we were stricken
By the fact he chomped on chicken.
Guess when birds are raised as pets,
They eat the food their owner gets.
I hope, though, Bogart wasn’t hurt
‘Cause no one offered him dessert!
It's late
And I am taking my prose
From the either
A non believer
Who sees belief
Not as the word of God
But rather as a question
To which answers
Provide more questions
Which came first
The chicken or the egg
I don't know
Egg's cook quicker
And chicken is deadly uncooked
But it is finger licking good
And egg's are full of protein
Which came first
Breakfast
I feel
disrespected
neglected
unaccepted
unsure what I did
I am
never complimented
disconnected
spinning in circles
a broken record
Always
unappreciated
hated
degraded
underrated
not burnt out
yet definitely faded
Feeling I am
Overlooked
uncooked
an unwritten book
a fish on a hook
Being
outcast-ed
contrasted
distracted
I'll get past it
Depleated
unheeded
defeated
this is what I needed
I wont be
punished
dismissed
a fool to your tricks
no longer aiming at glass
while holding a brick.
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