Coked, Pineappled And Baked
I like ham cloved.
Then coked, pineappled and baked.
However...
I prefer my chicken fried.
And seasoned to taste.
'And...? '
And?
And what?
'That's it?
Nothing political to say?
Nothing racist to incite disdain?
What about relationships?
And the appalling disrespect?
Mediocrity and the rise of ignorance?
What about dumbdowning more dummies?
The lack of discipline? '
Who's
Poem...
Is this?
'It's yours.'
Thank you.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Showroom Dummies
1 2 3 4 [in german]
We are standing here
Exposing ourselves
We are showroom dummies
We are showroom dummies
Were being watched
And we feel our pulse
We are showroom dummies
We are showroom dummies
We look around
And change our pose
We are showroom dummies
We are showroom dummies
We start to move
And we break the glass
We are showroom dummies
We are showroom dummies
We step out
And take a walk through the city
We are showroom dummies
We are showroom dummies
We go into a club
And there we start to dance
We are showroom dummies
We are showroom dummies
[repeat to fade]
We are showroom dummies
song performed by by Kraftwerk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Economy Has Been Officially Saved
AND...
The winner is,
The winner IS...
Drumroll please!
The Winner...
IS,
The chicken.
'Whew.
That's a relief.
Sir?
There are a multiple array,
Of choice chicken.
Which chicken won,
As the best chicken to be served...
In the halls of our illustrious government.
Was it the fried? '
No.
But,
You are close.
'Oh?
So it was the baked.'
Nooo...
But you don't know how close you're getting.
'OH?
Well.
It just has to be the Bar-b-qued?
That's great news.
We were so afraid,
Our representatives would choose...'
The General TSO?
That's the one selected.
AND...
There will be free cooking lessons,
And recipes for all!
With immediate language lessons added,
To boot!
We are so tremendously happy,
To make this announcement.
Our economy,
Has been officially saved!
We've been blessed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Eerily In Need of More Rum and Cokers
Even though its been made clear,
The atmosphere stays eerily in need...
Of more rum,
And cokers.
Although others invited,
Join in to share their preferences.
Gin and tonic has been dropped.
And vodka with pitted olives...
Seem to have stopped,
Being the rage these days.
Beer with chasers of scotch,
Give peppermint schnapps new appeal.
When a numbing done to get drunk,
Gives some a reason to touch...
And feel beyond sober barriers.
'Harold...
Have you met my husband,
Keith? '
And the red wine with beef,
Satisfies over white...
Sipped with fish!
Depending on the 'dish' it is with!
*No I haven't...yet!
Should I?
Why?
What is he in to? *
'I had no idea this was 'pot luck'.
I would have baked a duck.
Or brought fried chicken wings.
May I taste that casserole?
Do you mind passing to me,
That delicious mix of carrots and peas...
Please? '
Even though its been made clear,
The atmosphere stays eerily in need...
Of more rum,
And cokers.
There are some 'cooler' folks...
Preferring sweetened munchies,
Socially!
Leaving rum and cokers,
A special breed of people when they meet.
'I had no idea this was 'pot luck'.
I would have baked a duck.
Or brought fried chicken wings.
May I taste that casserole?
Do you mind passing to me,
That delicious mix of carrots and peas...
Please?
These biscuits!
WHO did these biscuits?
They are wonderful! '
*Those are mine.*
~I am a cooker too, Harold.~
*That's good to know.
That's good to know,
Keith.*
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Chicken & chips
Chicken & chips
Often brought by fast food addicts
Who love the finger licking taste
Fried fatty food
Unhealthy but cheap
Eaten for hunger's sake
Shop owners
Laughing all the way to the bank
At the expense
Of junk food loving customers
Who just want to fill their belly
With a cheap box of fried chicken & chips.
poem by Sinclair Azubuike
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Boycott
All that there is to boycott.
And with a doing of it too.
People for some reason.
Refuse to boycott against ignorance.
Or their acceptance of disrespect,
Not to mention a lack of discipline.
Many feel would intrude,
Upon their rights of entitlement.
But truth as it is spoken.
Offends those who defend,
An anxiousness to censor anything.
That hints to remove them from delusion.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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For the Love of Swine
Breakfast without bacon,
Seems like no breakfast at all.
Without Italian sausage roasted or baked...
In spaghetti.
It would be like having a milkshake,
Without milk.
Or Easter without ham.
With leftover sandwiches to make.
And those porkchops are delicious.
Especially fried.
And if they are seasoned just right to eat...
Some can be cooked to bring tears to eyes.
Smoked shoulder, and pickled pigfeet.
Neckbones and hamhocks.
With hotsauce on pork rinds.
A meal with neither of these,
On many Southern tables...
Is worse than committing the most horrendous crime.
For the love of swine,
People the world over can not resist.
Some relationships have ended...
Over spareribs and chitterlings,
If they were not properly fixed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Increase Of Its Popularity
The one thing about ignorance,
That is beginning to make sense...
To those advocating their prinicples,
And beliefs with enforced implementation...
Is the acceptance of ignorance everywhere.
Spreading to eliminate the thought of its existence.
Leaving the many who had perceived ignorance to be,
As appalling and offensive to become today outnumbered.
Making the appearance of ignorance the choice preferred.
That satisfies both purpose and taste,
Without need for debate to question.
With few left to argue the increase of its popularity.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Stocked Full of Clues
Before an egg is cracked...
A chicken is hatched from that.
To peck around until its feathers are plucked.
Then baked or fried,
Or perhaps made into soup.
That is stocked full of clues,
To cure most ills.
Put that noodle in your noggin and sip on it!
And don't dropp this if it's hot!
It is just that valuable.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Raised To Praise Ignorance
If mediocrity is selected as a favorite flavor,
Of the majority of people raised to praise ignorance.
Then mediocrity it will be,
To smother the influence of those most capable.
Although the ones more intelligent,
Have always been those in the so called minority!
And the evidence of that,
Is as clear as someone mistaking...
A mama grizzly bear for seasoned and trained rats!
Ideas are stolen,
To enhance the ones that have no competitive chance.
And that is not a rumor,
That is based upon identifiable facts!
'Show them how a wheel is made,
And they will run you down in a car they've built.
Show them the positive usage for making a fire,
And everything around you will be burned.
Show them the advantages of keeping a weapon,
And they will kill themselves.
But not until they do that to others first! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Choices
i prefer smooth peanut butter
to crunchy
mind you
crunchy is all right
but i prefer smooth.
i prefer strawberry jam
to raspberry
mind you
raspberry is tasty
but it's got all those seeds
and i prefer strawberry.
i prefer mustard
to mayonaisse
mind you mayonaisse has it's place
amongst condiments
but is likely to go bad
if left out to long
and poison everyone
so on the whole i prefer mustard.
i prefer cooked meat
to raw meat
for much the same reason
as i prefer mustard to mayonaisse
although it also has to do
with the fact that i don't
like my meat to bleat
or moo or make chicken noises (BAGOCK!)
when i eat
so i tend to avoid the raw
though mind you
the meat that i prefer
may at some time have been raw.
i prefer not to say
why i think so
but i do
and i suppose it's all
just a matter of taste
so if you'd prefer to think so
then crunchy is better
than smooth
even if it does interfere
with the texture of the
peanut butter
and jelly (strawberry) sandwich
which ought to be somewhat
devoid of substance
merely a sticky sweet something
to fill your stomach
put mayonaisse on it
if you like
i'd prefer not to think about it.
poem by Laura Sewell
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Self Inflicted Issues
When an environment of people,
Are taught and conditioned...
To accept ignorance and disrespect themselves,
With a freedom to do this and integrity they lack.
The expectations of them healing from their ailments,
And self inflicted issues...
Is not going to happen with a waving of a magic wand.
When minds are noticed to be hypnotized and absent,
Of nonexistent identites...
Those people look at themselves as the enemy.
When an environment of people,
Are taught and conditioned...
To accept ignorance and disrespect themselves,
Those people look at one another as the enemy.
When an environment of people,
Are taught and conditioned...
To accept ignorance and disrespect themselves,
Those people look at one another as the enemy.
When minds are noticed to be hypnotized and absent,
Of nonexistent identites...
Those people look at themselves as the enemy.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Committed to Ignorance
The dumbing further down,
Of a dumbdowning done...
Only validates a stupidity,
Observed.
And not needing to be mentioned,
Intellectually...
By anyone!
Lines drawn in the sand,
On the same land shared.
Only depict those as fools doing it.
Dividing to conquer...
Over what no one has ownership.
The dumbing further down,
Of a dumbdowning done...
Only validates a stupidity,
Observed.
And not needing to be mentioned,
Intellectually...
By anyone!
Awakening from trivia,
Is a difficult task...
For those petty of consciousness,
And minds behind and glued...
To their past.
And nothing is going to change,
Those committed to ignorance!
Especially those who perceive themselves,
Creators of life!
And all that exists.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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New poem
I was just thinking of white trash things
Eat chicken wings or deep fried dings.
Chittilings or hog jowels
To season your greens.
I am the reason to season your food
Or your chicken may taste like wood.
Never say never to black pepper and salt
What you end up with is not my fault.
Eat at joes is the mistake you make
Soul food will make your booty shake. Pup
Lunch Is Ready
you must have read before
that when a man is made to choose
between lunch
and poetry
he must choose lunch
it is 12: 20 noon
and if you wish
please finish this poem for me
make it say something
about hunger
the pinch in the stomach
the lack of guts
the impatience about life
for the meantime
i'll take what is offered on the table
i still have to chew
another idea that is fed in my mind
another poem
shaped like a fried chicken
scents of lumpia shanghai
images of white rice
exuding some fumes in
the light to the ceiling
clinking sounds of silver spoon and fork
and flowing clear drinking water
in the glass
in a whoosh
and the usual conversations
of sweet nothings
displayed on the table
like a soup
of bird's nest
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With Frosting On It
The taste of the pudding,
Is usually reserved...
For those who enjoy it.
Those who prefer cake,
With frosting on it after it is baked...
Will await patiently to be satisfied.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Are the Results of Our Seductions
Dieting on erotic products,
Induces an hypnotic feeling started.
And like a narcotic,
We are quick to become hooked.
Baited with temptations...
Seasoned to fry,
Or baked like a fish cooked.
And this mainlining,
Done to us without the prick of needles.
Afflicted with addictions done...
Without the prick of needles.
Dieting to get a fix,
Without the prick of needles to assist it.
Baited with temptations...
Seasoned to fry,
Or baked like a fish cooked.
Hooked!
We are the results of our seductions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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There's Milk Beneath This Poem
there's milk beneath this poem, and blood
aswirl, like a marble cake of moments half-baked;
there's blood beneath this poem, and tears
unmixed like oil in a rain barrel of thoughts;
there's tears beneath this poem, and come
awash with a million squirming attempts to awaken;
there's come beneath this poem, and the sea
unforgiving, with its undertow of fears, unknown and unsought.
there's milk beneath this poem, and silent screams
unheard for years and moments, draping the hallways;
there's silent screams beneath this poem, and mad laughter
adrift in the corrridors of the family myth, undone;
there's mad laughter beneath this poem, and choking sobs
unmoving in my throat, like a chicken bone, unloved, always;
there's choking sobs beneath this poem, and gnashing teeth
awash with the bitter taste of sweet defeat, like bile, or yesterday's onions.
there's milk beneath this poem, and time
like the blank white page before me;
there's time beneath this poem, and space
where the emptiness is reborn as room to move;
there's space beneath this poem, and thought
rumbling like the very voice of god himself, imploring that
there's thought beneath this poem, and all
is like nothing else, so much as the need to love;
there's milk beneath this poem, and all
the death on earth can't change that.
© Copyright 2010 christo (UN: christo13 at Writing.Com) . All rights reserved.
poem by Christo Andrus
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Which is preferable?
Law has no allowance for ignorance.
Discipline has no room for mercy.
Perfection has no hole for tolerance.
Loyalty has no place for honesty.
Which groups does the God prefer?
11.06.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Wilma's Welcome
He sat the table, fresh kid,
waiting for his dinner,
pushing back the war
now so far away.
His big brother smiled
glad to see him safe,
when she walked in,
carrying a steaming plate
of the best fried chicken
either had ever seen.
The aroma awoke in his memory
soft Ohio nights,
God's righteous thunder rumbling
gentle rains cooling the hot August sky,
when Mom carried in our dinner,
fried chicken and mashed potatoes,
safety and love.
And looking at his brother's new wife,
he smiled and at last said,
'welcome to the family! '
poem by Steven Federle
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Sliced Bread
Sliced bread...
Whole wheat and toasted.
Buttered with jam,
And munched.
Either with tea, punch...
Or just plain water for lunch!
Sliced bread...
With cheddar cheese and tomato.
Add Romaine lettuce,
Topped with fried strips of bacon.
This too will certainly do.
Sliced bread...
Oatmeal raisin,
Oven baked and fed.
Sliced bread...
Crumbed to stuff a turkey.
And seasoned to gobble...
With an aftertaste on the tongue,
Deliciously nutmeged!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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