Glory of tandoori story or Brit palette whet reformer korma
Vindaloo or sag aloo woo you or coo crazy about jalfrezi
Gets hazy as things mesh came fresh from Bangladesh
Can’t naysay Indian takeaways most days top performer
Made for Brit eccentric never ever looked a bit authentic
Teach explore each region with its own locavore legion
Preach mountain ranges to cities and fountains changes
Neighbourhoods vocally hooked homegrown locally cooked
See wee chatty seller with natty chapati smothered in gee
Poms popadoms covered with mango glow aplomb or roti
Lentil dahl elemental or experimental flurry of curry in a hurry
Ask a fella stellar biryani actually Indian or factually Pakistani
p.s Oh and no argy bargy about the Raj but do so love a bhaji
With coriander cumin turmeric
basmati rice saffron and spice
onions chilli peppers
and all things nice
with chapati and chutney
a samosa or two
naan for starters
rogan josh vindaloo
not eye-watering
yet tasty is best
tandoori tikka masala
korma's a meal with zest
chicken lamb chickpeas or lentils
a dinner for two you do not hurry
allow what you've got to simmer in the pot
for a winner Indian curry
but if I were you whatever you do
don't put Scotch bonnet on it
For yer supper, vindaloo,
hop to the music doing a poo,
toilets are crowded, yer tummy is mush,
bang the doors and plead with 'em, 'Rush.'
Drop yer pants and let it go,
paper's all gone (but yet you don't know),
fearing the soap is now missing too, yes?
Well, jus' saying...You're in a mess!
When I let one loose in the elevator
It wasn't a squeak but more of a roar
The night before I'd had a hot vindaloo
My guts were churning and out one flew.
Thankfully I was alone until floor three
Then six girls got in and stood by me
Guts churned again ; I tried to clench cheek
The door then closed and boy did it reek.
Written 1st August 2021.
For When I Let One Loose In The Elevator Poetry Contest.
Sponsored By Charles Messini.
Wildlife 13
An athletic young frog from Biarritz,
Could swim just as fast as Mark Spitz,
He would eat soup and stew,
But not Vindaloo,
For he found that it gave him the squits!!
Sometimes Dizzy feels kinda yearning in his heart. It's okay for him. Men like Dizzy are well acquainted with yearning. Sitting in the kitchen, scratching the head, drinking, drowning one cigarette after another in leftover vindaloo, talking to the Moon in the window. The Moon circles the Earth, the galaxy circles the Great Attractor and Dizzy as well circles his yearning’s center of mass. A Dizzy's dizzy. A funny joke. Alas, green Moon, you are a bad drinking partner unlike devils. Awkward shy albinos, with rosy eyes and cow-like colorless long lashes, they are always ready to keep you company when it comes to 55 proof alcohol. Lemmi pour you sommore, guys. Where are you off to? I don't care you're at work tomorrow. A dizzying drinking - that's your work now and ever and unto ages of ages. Poor Dizzy!
devils drink with him
till the sun comes up over
the poet's body
16/08/2019
Bring A Character To Life Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
See here what happens then: https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_four_bits_dizzy_1133346
Marmite, was somebody having a joke
And hot vindaloo is a pig in a poke
And serve me up soup that is runny and thin
It’s soup down the sink and the tin in the bin
I kinda like eggs gathered when newly laid
They're great in an omelette if properly made
But then there’s Welsh Rarebit, a dish sure to please
And these both explain the existence of cheese
But how did the tale of cheese ever unfold
Someone thought milk would taste good turned to mould
So they sat back and let the milk get warm and old
And presto, we’ve got ourselves food that is gold
There’s cheese that is mild and cheese that is strong
And cheese that will near knock you out with its pong
It’s devoured with gusto from Hull to Hong Kong
And seventeen trillion mice can’t be wrong
Lycra clad folk say you’ll get fat and ill
As they struggle to cycle their bikes up the hill
But cock a deaf ear as they preach their dislike
There’s more mice than people and none ride a bike
17 November 2018
Cheque please
You are better than me,
You are quicker than me,
You are more intelligent than me,
Or is it I? See?
I am worse than you at everything that I do.
I want a vindaloo, but it is three in the morning,
And when I should be snoring, I am wide awake.
Filling another book, look.
It’s twenty something or other;
Lost count now. Onto another.
Give this one away, can’t be bothered to write it.
Poetry is easy.
Life is in bits.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
THE ERRAND BOY
I'd love to wake up in an early morn
Out just to witness the dew.
Even in the sun,I'll prefer plucking a corn.
Errandery,oh! It drives all joy away.
Even in its minutae ,I'll rather die to face the scorn.
Now that the razzmatazz of nature feels like vindaloo.
Tossed around like a lost nylon,it gives no time to play.
And day to day this will pry.
No time to fish,no time to swim oh! It drives all joy away.
Oh! Mother give me a break.
Errandery has gotten me dry.
Am dripping sick,I lied
When she's out,I sneak out to lake.
Happiness is restored atleast in mild.
Your stand with your hand on your hip
I must presume, I will not get a tip
Yes, the soup is cold I know
But Gazpacho is meant to be so
The reason the curry is not “hot”
The four star Vindaloo it is not
I accept you don’t think us, first class
But you distinctly ordered Madras
The table looked like Vietnam
But you arrived early, Madam
Than the time that we have in our book
Here Madam, please take a look
It clearly states you are booked in at four
At half past three you walked through the door
So the table we failed to set
Do you comprehend our tete-a-tete
Miracles we do not create
It would have been ready, had you been late
So it leaves me to apologize
On behalf of the girls and the guys
Who are run off their feet in this sweat shop
Before your complaints get us all the "chop"
I devoured a really hot curry
Then I dashed to the loo in a hurry
I filled the loo bowl
With sheets of bog roll
Fiery vindaloo sure made me scurry!
Fictional write
08~06~16
Vindaloo:
Running to & fro the loo...
for Andrea's Food Memories contest
We English men are disciplined from birth
Our poker face with upper lips are stiff
We need not hug nor kiss to know our worth
God save the queen will often give us lift
Curries with chips, that is our national dish
We don’t eat rice and but love our family nan
In Birmingham we made the Balti fish
Vindaloo and larger maketh this man
For their green fields the Welsh we did attack
The Irish Sea it also lent a hand
Hadrian helped us keep the Scottish back
A United Kingdom on face we stand
Though beer with football sometimes make us fight
All English men by God are straight and right
i dont feel well at all today
i think ive got the flu
the sweat is pouring out of me
like ive had a vindaloo
its minus three degrees outside
the frost is on the ground
but i am burning up and now
my head is spinning round
the pins and needles in my arm
are shooting down my side
and now im going dizzy
like im on a fairground ride
a crushing pain is in my chest
my breathings getting slack
i cant beleive i chose today
to have a heart attack
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