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Buttered Beans

If you don't want them,
Don't waste my buttered beans.
Roast peppers and the onions,
Makes them tasty.
Don't play with the food I prepare.
If you don't want to eat..
Get up from the table.
Don't stay there...
Staring into the plate like you don't care.

'The signs have been outrageously,
Flickering in neon.'

You could at least eat the salad.
Something to nourish you.
You are not going to save the world.
People will do,
What they do and choose.

'The signs have been outrageously,
Flickering in neon.
It's unbelievable they can not see,
What around them is going on! '

I have yet to see that movie 'Avatar'.
I've read the special effects are great.
That director, James Cameron...
Hits a homerun,
Everytime he's up to the plate.
To eat buttered beans,
With roasted peppers.
There is olives and corn in there too!

'I saw this homeless family,
Sitting on a bench right downtown.
You should have seen the looks,
Of the people who passed them.
Many disgusted.
Most with frowns.'

I baked the meatloaf with breadcrumbs.
And I added soysauce to the mix.
If I were you,
I'd remove those scenes right now.
Whatever you do,
People are not going to accept your point of view.

'What on Earth are you talking about? '

Buttered Beans!
I try to keep what's on my menu,
Simple!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Buttered Peas With Crushed Red Pepper

Don't take the peas up off my plate.
That irritates.
Don't even think about sneaking them.
They are there for me to eat.
And I want every pea,
Left for me to satiate.

I buttered them to taste.
With baby onions they taste great.
Fix your eyes in another place.
Back your nose up off my plate.

Buttered peas with crushed red pepper.
Fix your eyes in another place.
No other buttered bean or pea taste better.
Take your eyes up off my plate.

I buttered them to taste.
With baby onions they taste great.
Buttered peas with crushed red pepper.
Take your eyes up off my plate.

And don't your think about sneaking a pea!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Buttered Popcorn

My baby likes
(Buttered popcorn) Uh-huh!
(Buttered popcorn) Oh-hoh!
(Buttered popcorn) Oh yeah!
(Buttered popcorn) Oh!
He likes it greasy (buttered popcorn)
And sticky (buttered popcorn)
And gooey (buttered popcorn)
And salty (buttered popcorn)
I said

song performed by by Supremes from Meet the Supremes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thanksgiving

It’s getting close to thanksgiving day
When every ones table will be on display.
Tablecloths of different patterns and designs
Making the tables look just fine.

Where every mother or wife try to
Fill their hearts delight.
Food dishes and desserts passed down
From generation to generation
Leaving you with a tasty temptation.

On the table a butterball turkey
And a honey baked ham
Both sitting in their juices
In a large roasting pan.

Mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes
Green bean salad, and corn on the cob
It looks like someone was doing their job.
A pan of beans, and a large bowl of rice
Bottles of apple cider sitting on ice.

Everything to make a thanksgiving complete
Spending it with family and friends
What a beautiful treat.

But this holiday can not be celebrated
If it wasn’t for those pilgrims on that historic day
When they spent it with Indians
and learned different games to play.

This was the creation of this
Great country that we all know
And now macy’ s puts on its thanksgiving show.

You’ve got to love it!

poem by Louis Rams
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Jelly Beans

I love my jelly beans
I even love machines
That make my jelly beans

Red, pink, purple, and blue
I will all chew
If only you knew
I'd even eat them out of my shoe

One bean, two beans, three beans, a million
I'd even eat one hundred billion

I'd eat them non stop
I'd eat them right in the candy shop
I'd eat them until my tummy would pop

You can never have to many
I never heard of anyone that didn't have any
People always have plenty

Eat until I don't have anymore
Always wish I had some more...
...Back to my candy drawer

poem by Claude Davis III
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My Black Eye Pea Stew

Did I mention,
My black eye pea stew to you?
Well...
This is what you do.

Boil your water,
Add sliced smoked turkey butt.
With seasons you prefer.
I like to mix in olive oil with butter first.
Before adding apple vinegar...
With Old Bay and a bit of salt,
Then soy sauce...
To allow my taste buds to burst.

Add your black eye peas.
Speckled butter lima beans.
Kidney and black beans too!
I also enjoy cooking with onions...
Green peppers, carrots and celery.
For a flavored taste,
You simply can not refuse!

Well...
You can 'try' making attempts.
But licking your lips,
Is not too convincing of a defense.

'May I get some more? '

You sure can!
After I get to taste it myself!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beans Taste Fine

Now a friend of mine, way back in Chicago
You know, he finally made his pile.
Well he got himself a mansion on Butler and Sheff
An' he was livin' in the latest style;
But I run into him, he was eatin' in a greasy spoon
While parkled in front was his big limousine.
I said, 'Buddy, you've got so much money
How come youre in here, eatin' beans?'
An' he said
'After you've been havin' steak for a long time,
Beans, beans taste fine.
An' after you've been drinkin' champagne and brandy
You gonna settle for wine.'
He said 'The world is funny, and people are strange,
And man is a creature of constant change, and
After you've been havin' steak for a long time
Beans, beans taste fine.'
Now, you know I ran into another friend of mine
In a rowdy old Clark Street Bar.
I said, 'Friend, is it true what I heard about you?
I heard you married a beautiful 18-year-old shapely movie star,
Yet here you sit, tryin' to make out with some barfly
Who's too old and ugly to be true.'
He said, 'Shelley, you're still a very young man
So sit down. I'll explain it all to you.
He said
'After you've been havin' steak for a long time
Beans, beans taste fine.
An' after you've been drinkin' champagne and Chivas Regal
You gonna settle for Thunderbird wine.'
He said 'The world is funny, and people are strange,
And man is a creature of constant change, and
After you've been havin' steak for a long time
Beans, beans taste fine.'

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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In A Can

sitting in my old chair
on the porch breaking
green beans... waiting
on the storm.

wind whips through the trees,
a streak of lightning, occasional
thunder... breaking beans.

thinking about my grandparents,
working down at the mill...
farming, grew four gardens...
cows, pigs, chickens, and
turkeys...

no one ever went hungry
there... no one around them
went hungry...

there was always food to eat,
and work to be done....
but that day has come and gone....

now we work on computers,
or dont work at all....
and most young people think
chickens come from the meat
section... and...

green beans come in a can....

no wonder we're hungry!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Represented By Observation

People do not listen with intent to comprehend.
People hear what they want to.
Even if the words they hear were never mentioned.

He specifically stated 'No acts of terror will be condoned'.
And those hearing what they wished heard him say this,
'What was done was an act of terror'.
Even with his taped remarks repeated...
Those who oppose his comments,
Still hear what they want to hear.
Because people do not listen to achieve clarity.
And this is represented by observation.

To describe and act not yet committed,
Is different than hearing those insisting...
There was something they heard,
But nothing of it was mentioned...
To fit their twisting of it.

~So what is it that you're saying? ~

'I like my pizza topped with onions, green peppers...
Roasted red peppers and saugage.'

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remembering Favourite Foods

last night we late cooked
an old time kiwi favourite
yes hot baked beans on
toast with a side of marmite

on toast to keep it company
sweet simple kiwi luxuary
can’t buy my favourite band
Watties Baked Beans legendary

settled for a can of Heinz yes
you guessed it baked beans
in hot tomato sauce with melted
cheese in hot baked beans mixed

I had Sanitarium kiwi Marmite
on toast another kiwi favourite
as my side dish winter dynamite
real kiwi boys palate to excite

it is simple home foods we miss
Sanitarium Weet-Bix favourite
New Zealand's No.1 breakfast
cereal loved by kiwi generations

milk over golden wheat biscuits
with a sprinkling of brown sugar
acquired taste Marmite spectacular
my beloved ETA salt and vinegar

potato chips can’t find here miss
Cadbury Crunchie Bar local star
milk chocolate over a honey comb
center a delicious treat by Cadbury

Brunswick Sardines in soybean
oil or spring water and Canadian
sockeye salmon other favourites
sacrifice living here I really miss

but for a real kiwi smile happy
Watties Baked Beans legendary
spaghetti or beloved baked beans
are my choice “it must be Watties”

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Beans

Beans, beans, beans
Jessie had some beans
He was happy, happy, happy
And he ate some beans
Naked, naked, naked
Sitting cross-legged
Naked, naked, naked
And he was happy, happy, happy
And he ate some beans
Wine, wine, wine
Jessie had some wine
He was happy, happy, happy
And he ate some wine
Beans, beans, beans
Daddy ate some beans
And he drank some wine
And he was happy, happy, happy
As he drank some beans

song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Poem Shall Tinker With Mood And Meaning

silence silenced, and dreams dreamt,
and the speaker that listens upon the beatings of his heart
like a little drum inside his chest.
it is this resounding. this re-echoing
that like a spoon and knife to a porcelain plate
tinkers with the meat and beans,
segregating, and choosing little things
in colors and smell, and swallowing some and
throwing out the rest of what we
like to have inside us. sorrow and pain.
joy and bliss. yours and mine. you and i.

these are categories that we see and feel,
and care and care less and choose.
we tinker with mood. we like always to choose,
and discriminate, the spoon is a spoon and the fork is a fork.
and the knife that cuts,
we are careful enough. There is meaning now.
Blood drops out from your veins, and some beans
turn red. You cull out, what you want to believe.
you leave and carry with you
what is painless. That is as simple as that.

more or less, either/or. write the name of the person
that you love. Burn those that hurt you. Close the door.
Open the window. See the sun. And let always the moon
to kiss you by your window. It does not know what a door is.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pork-n-Beans

Pork-n-Beans, a favorite food of any renaissance man
Afterwards, you may want to turn on the exhaust fan
I like them hot as the capital of Sudan
I like them cold straight out of the can

Pork-n-Beans are a culinary delight
Give me great pleasure with each bite
If I could, I'd dine on them every night
Handy for the refrigerator raid at midnight

Pork-n Beans should be kept readily on hand
Nuclear fallout shelter...keep them canned
Zombie attack...snack while making a stand
In-laws visit...for a evening meal unplanned

poem by Charles Hancock
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The Screaming of The Corn

The summer was long
The summer was hot
The summer was dry

Days passed with
Not a cloud in the sky
And we had to water.

Everything that didn’t get water died.
The lawn dried up and blew away.

But the tomatoes grew and grew
And gave wave after wave
Of ruby red fruit.

We ate tomatoes until our gums were sore
Than gave the rest away
Only to find,
come morning yet more.

The pumpkin vines grew across the yard
When the cat walked by
The tendrils rose up
Like snakes and hissed menacingly.

We ate corn every day for a week
until the snap beans over powered
the corn stalks
breaking them down
Under the weight
Of fruit
And then we ate beans
And beans
And beans.

And the zucchini! ! !
The fruit grew right in front of our eyes
Not even waiting for the decency of night.
To veil it’s obscene, priapic swelling.

At night we prayed of the coming frost
And an end to this riotous fecundity.
But our dreams were filled with
feverish images of
Zucchini as big as zeppelins
Tomatoes the size of houses
And the screaming of the corn.

poem by Allan Thorne
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A Salad to Eat

Different hues...
Some not as bright but invites,
Those who come to eat eagerly
With an assorted presentation
That might satisfy an appetite.

With tomatoes and carrots,
Sliced apples and grapes...
Romaine lettuce sprinkled with chives
Topped with olive oil and vinegar,
Is a treat to see on a plate to delight...
And surprise.

Onions and green peppers,
Can please the eye with sensation.
When someone announces...
'I prefer a salad to eat! '
And they do without a moment's hesitation!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Echoes of Silence

In restless dreams I walked alone
narrow streets of cobble stone,
'Neath tha halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp,
When my eyes stabbed by the flash of neon light
that split the night and touched
The Echoes of Silence.

And in the naked light I saw
ten thousand people maybe more
People talking without speaking,
people hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
and no one dares to disturb
The Echoes of Silence.

'Fools! ' said I, 'You do not know
silence like a cancer grows
'Hear my words that I might teach you
take my arm that I might reach you.'
But my words like silent raindrops fell
and echoed in the wells of silence,
And people bowed and prayed
to the neon gods they made
And the signs flash out its warning
in the words that it was forming
And the signs said, 'The words of the prophets
are written on the subway walls
and the tenement halls' and whispered...
The Echoes of Silence.

poem by InNer WhisPers
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You Better Spice This With Brown Sugar

Last night...
I whipped up something,
To quench my appetite.

I diced onions and green peppers.
With tomatoes,
Broccoli and carrots too!
Knowing this would be liked.

I added red cabbage, potatos...
Dashed with salt and red pepper.
And other ingredients like curry...
To stimulate the brew.

'Something' said,
'You better spice this with brown sugar.'
So this I did do.

Then I next heated a frying pan.
From slow to medium.
But not hot!
With vegetable oil, butter and a bit of soy.
And all of it simmered in an aromatic splender.
And I ate it.
EVERY drop.
It was great!
And,
I must admit this...
I did lick the plate.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Prefer 'Butter' Beans

What do I contribute to my being tenacious?
A dislike for lima beans.
It seems as if my sister, Mimmie, and I...
Ate them everyday.
And my mother would say to us...
'Be thankful for what you've got.
Some people aren't even eating that.'
To say to us...
Times then were 'meager'.
'So eat and shut up.'

Well,
That was many years ago.
Long before my younger sisters, Tammy and Lisa...
Acquired a craving for those weekly 'Grinder' sandwiches,
Our dad would buy for them.
And they would cling onto them as if they possessed,
Fort Knox.
And Tammy would look at me,
As 'if' I had better not...
Ask for a piece to taste.
She's the one most opionated.

To this very day,
My sister, Mim and I can not stand lima beans!
But...
For some reason,
We prefer 'butter' beans.
And...
You can not tell us,
They are the same thing as those 'limas'.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Don't Recommend Sardines

I use to love my cabbage with potatos,
Buttered and baked.
And with fired pork chops!
Crispy too!
And that's what I ate.

Until I rediscovered,
A fresh salad with tomatos.
And...
With a slice of pound cake.
To me this was great.

But I don't recommend sardines,
For certain people.
Or acquiring a taste for rare steak...
Served to drip,
With a bleeding done on paper plates.

No...
I don't recommend sardines,
For certain people.
Or acquiring a taste for rare steak...
Served to drip,
With a bleeding done on paper plates.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Women's harvest song

I am waving a ripe sunflower,
I am scattering sunflower pollen to the four world-quarters.
I am joyful because of my melons,
I am joyful because of my beans,
I am joyful because of my squashes.

The sunflower waves.
So did the corn wave
When the wind blew against it,
So did my white corn bend
When the red lightning descended upon it,
It trembled as the sunflower
When the rain beat down its leaves.

Great is a ripe sunflower,
And great was the sun above my corn-fields.
His fingers lifted up the corn-ears,
His hands fashioned my melons,
And set my beans full in the pods.
Therefore my heart is happy
And I will lay many blue prayer-sticks at the shrine of Ta-wa.
I will give corn to Ta-wa,
Yellow corn, blue corn, black corn.
I wave the sunflower,
The sunflower heavy with pollen.
I wave it, I turn it, I sing,
Because I am happy.

poem by Amy Lowell
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My Love (2)

I love to undress it,
but sometimes I can't wait,
and have it from the oven,
on a steaming hot plate.

It likes to be soaked
with butter, beans, or peas.
Oh, the scrumptious potato,
it does like to please.

But it also plays it cool
in front of the salad.
It knows how I like it
when she teases my palate.

But to be honest I prefer it
when it's wallowing in gravy,
Mmm, those tasty hot potatoes
will drive anyone crazy.

Doesn't it smell voluptuous
with salt and vinegar
when dressed in an open
newspaper wrapper.

And when it's fluffy and soft,
with milk and butter,
it's so seductively adorable,
there's nothing better.

poem by Orlando Belo
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