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Feelings: Well Worth It
Feeling bad for
chocolate and sweets
and all things
nice, but curry?
not worth pain
for a taste mundane -
you wanted curry
it's not reasonable
to inflict it on me
knowing the sequel; I
can’t eat it, and now
the pills don’t work
I’m stuck in pain,
should you make curry
again, I’ll settle
for a big Chocolate cake
and then when I
die inside,
it will be
Well Worth It!
poem by Margaret Alice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mr Curry Delight
Yum, yummy
O! My tummy
Mr. Curry Delight
Now I fight
For my right
Mouthwatering tasty dishes
Incredible vegetable species
O! Mr. Chef
Mr. Curry Delight
Yum, Yummy
Hear my tummy
Common hurry!
Or be sorry
Hmmm, what’s cooking?
Aromatic spices stewing
Spinach & vegetable brewing
In bucolic style
Chopped onions & tomatoes
Anything edible goes
With the flow
Spicy chicken tandoori
Worth the calories
Yum, Yummy
O! My tummy
O! Mr Curry Delight
This curry sauce
Deserves an applause!
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Too much callaloo, mek peppa-pot stew bitter.
Bone Less
Bone less
Hen...
Making
For fast food
Shop...
Bone's are
Moving for
soup...
Taste with
Masala..
Nise for hen
Curry
Bite the teeth...
Tasted toung
Taste is fine...
The hen was
Hunted
Dead body
Of hen for
Bone less curry;
Tasted fast
Mani more
Its hen dead body...! !
But -
Bone less curry...? !
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red Hot Curry
'my pot of love for you, here it is, '
mom tells daughter, 'thick and savoury
as the suntan, reddish hot as chillies,
appetising as turmeric, jintan,
a million spices, ginger, garlic
and tangy as this piece of spring chicken'
she stirs the curry and daugher sees
a thick volcanic red fragrant oil
churns in the potpourri of wonders
'And that is my love for you. Come
storm, come shine, come rain, i will
be there to make sure you are
at your best.. a pot of irresistible
curry.'
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0011 'Living and dying, laughing and forgetting' - listening to Ferlinghetti
and you’ve read many poems like this,
on the printed page;
the big words thrown in like some hot curry
where you’re short of good solid meat
so rap a few more big words in and
another spoonful of curry powder
or sex, or some current buzz-word
denoting a lifetime of youthful intelligent
rebellion and independent thought…
but not this time.
This is a famous poet of a famous time
and he’s just written it, in his eighties
and he won’t live for ever and he’s here
and reading it with vigour; a husky voice, and
his face flushed with eternity;
eternity, and innocence;
he means every word; and each word
comes from the centre of his life
‘living and dying,
laughing and forgetting…’
and listening to him, you could feel
that poetry’s too good for the printed page –
it should be declaimed, to audiences
who’ve walked for dusty miles,
who’ve bathed in sacred springs,
who’ve brought their children,
who’ve been here all day
and who will sit silent by the fires at night,
who are on their knees
listening with their lives
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flaming Dragon Curry
On the menu, I spotted Flaming Dragon Curry,
But, to try this dish, I am in no particular hurry;
It has onions, red peppers, and chicken (diced) ,
Steeped in seasoning, herbs, and Indian spice.
I'd probably be sitting there with streaming eyes:
For me to try this dish, I think, would not be wise.
As well as watery eyes, my mouth would be on fire;
Neither of which is a sensation I particularly desire.
Five red chillies indicated it was the hottest dish there;
Certainly way too hot for my taste-buds to ever bear.
I consider that this curry is only for the very brave;
It is certainly not a dish that I would ever crave.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Said the Raj when he went to New Delhi:
Da curry's so good in my belhi.
Do I love it not 'arf
But oh when I larf
My belhi keeps shaking like jelhi.
quote by by Margaret Kollmer
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Cross Purposes Fried Rice
Poet spoke of forty poems
plus written in a month
a moment
of reflection
amazement
Fried Rice
That’s Fried Rice
Very Nice
Cucumber And Egg
From Aceh
i would like
to try it again
she said
we are at
cross purposes
Cross Purposes
Fried Rice
Cucumber And Egg
still life images
even these share place
together in life’s poem
Simple Revelation
Curry Seasoning
Makes It Famous
Also Curry Noodles
Famous Also In Aceh
Seasoning Is The Spice Of Life!
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Um, musicians are funnier you know, than actors on the whole.
quote by Tim Curry
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Point and Shoot
Matthew Vandyke
by Marshall Curry from Point and Shoot (2014)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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But we live in a modern world, you know, and, and also it does seem to me that if you - that whatever talents you have, it... I mean it may sound a bit absurd but I, I think it's your, absolutely your duty to resolve them, you know?
quote by Tim Curry
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Les Murray (The Australian Poet) - Clerihew
The poet Les Murray
Loves hot curry.
Always recites his sonnet
Wearing a bonnet.
poem by Khadim Hussain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Graduation
The night
before your graduation
making curry
with tears in my eyes
missing it
for the third time.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And apparently things like a Vindaloo curry are out for the rest of my life, or at least a long time.
quote by Lara St. John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our party cannot be all things to all people. It can't be. Our loudest opponents on the left are never going to like us so let's stop trying to curry favor with them.
quote by Rick Perry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rice
On table plateful cooked rice,
Still the steam emits.
On chair I did cling,
Waited my wife curry to bring.
Beyond the plate, I behold
The farm wet with solicitude
Where the peasants
Sow the seeds.
Hot rice brings to the mind,
The paddy plants pined,
And the debt cankered peasants,
Whose sweats the balm to welted awns.
Held the rusty scythes,
And bent like the scythes,
The darkened women sang throat opened,
And the folk song my core vibrated.
Cooked rice still steamy,
And white purely,
As the mind of farmer,
The climate and price fall boiled ever.
Born to toil in the soil,
Farmers return to the soil,
To feed the worms,
Hanging on a rope hopeless.
When my dear curry brought,
I painfully thought:
No life without rice,
And without the peasant no rice.
poem by Fabiyas M V
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One of the best things that ever happened to me was Rocky Horror being a total flop in New York as a play. I mean, it was a disaster, and it was the night of the long knives as far as the critics were concerned.