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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Blackeyed Peas and Fresh Carrots
Blackeyed peas and fresh carrots cooked,
Together...
Is a surprising combination that is delicious.
Boil a medium pot of water.
Add olive oil, salt, garlic and onion.
Soy sauce with a bit of lemon.
And butter too if you wish this to salivate.
Bring these ingredients together!
In at least a ten minute boil.
Add the blackeyed peas and carrots.
Lower the cooking heat.
And within fourty five minutes,
Enjoy as you eat!
Be careful.
You are going to want this everyday.
Over rice or mashed potatos.
Or perhaps...
With my,
Sweet and sour brown sugar baked steak.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'll Eat The Fish
I use to like it well done not rare.
Prepared tenderly as if one cared.
I had to have my steak well cooked and baked.
I use to slice it into pieces split,
With fried potatoes...
And some wine to slowly sip.
But when I changed my diet I got into fish.
And I discovered baked fish was quite delicious.
That was it.
And today there is no beef for me,
I'll eat the fish!
I use to slice my beef into tiny pieces split.
But when I changed my diet I got into the fish.
That was it.
That was it.
And today there is no beef for me I will eat the fish!
That is it for me...
Today I'm on the fish!
I use to like it well done not rare.
Prepared tenderly as if one cared.
I had to have my steak well cooked and baked.
I use to slice it into pieces split,
With fried potatoes...
And some wine to slowly sip.
But today there is no beef for me I will eat the fish!
That is it for me...
Today I'm on the fish!
Today there is no beef for me I will eat the fish!
That is it for me...
Today I'm on the fish!
Even fish sticks,
Will be eaten very quick.
I will handled eating up those fish sticks very quick.
Especially if they're deep fried and battered!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Before' The Beans
Take one turkey butt,
And put it in boiling water.
Make sure you had put in olive oil first.
With a little butter, oregano and basil leaves.
Then add two tablespoons of soy sauce.
A pinch or two of brown sugar, salt and red pepper.
20 minutes!
That's all you want to give it 'before' the beans!
Speckled Butter Beans.
With kidney and black eye peas.
Add them with sliced carrots and celery.
Turn down the heat,
To medium for approximately 45minutes.
And serve this with brown rice.
If you are into chicken...
Fried wings would be delicious.
For the better of the best tastes,
The 'smoked' turkey butt is great for that!
NOTE: 'Yes' this is my own original recipe.
Enjoy!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fussy About Food
I’ve always been really fussy about what I eat,
But I’ll tolerate most foods, if the cook cheats!
It really depends on how a food has been cooked,
Whether or not, it has a place in my good books.
Examples of my some of my most hated foods,
Are sliced roast beef and apples that are stewed.
I’ll eat beef that’s been minced up into a pie,
And apples diced into a crumble are also fine.
Fresh coriander leaves, I definitely will not touch,
But cooked in a curry, I don’t mind them so much.
On potatoes that have been boiled, I’m not that keen,
But eating mashed potato or chips, I can be often seen.
Egg and cress sandwiches, by me, are never approached,
But I love eggs that are hard boiled, fried or even poached.
I dislike the taste of carrots that have been picked fresh,
But with the taste of tinned carrots, I’m really impressed.
I’m not so keen on either petit pois or garden peas,
But with the taste of mushy peas, I’m very pleased.
In pies and pasties, I hate to have a filling of cheese,
But I’ll devour a slice of cheese on toast with ease.
I’ve been a fussy eater pretty much all of my life,
And, caused my mother much trouble and strife.
When I was small, I often left much of my dinner.
My mum often worried that I would get thinner.
Like many other children, my main course
Often ended up, smeared with tomato sauce.
The enjoyment of a meal, this often improved,
And frayed tempers were also often soothed.
If there was a certain food, which I did really hate,
My mum would still insist putting it upon my plate.
Even with it on my plate, I still didn’t like the taste,
So that particular food would inevitably go to waste.
As I’ve got older, I’ve acquired an improved appetite,
Much to my mother’s extreme relief, and total delight.
Now, as an adult, my dinner plate is often cleaned,
And, hardly ever is a single morsel left, to be seen.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Last Stop
We had a wonderful time
When we visited Wichita, Kansas
What a good idea it was
And what a perfect day for us
We stopped for Stroud’s chicken
And you really wouldn’t believe
The delicious food we ordered
And the great service we received
The salads were not only tasty
But beautiful for us to see
Fresh and so delicious
How ideal it was for me
Chicken brown and so crispy
And yet tender and juicy inside
Why, it just couldn’t have been better
With fresh green beans on the side
So, if you are hungry for food
That will definitely hit the spot
Just ask and I’ll give you directions
Directions that you’ll be glad you got!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nutritious
That banana cake taste,
Grandma use to bake.
And was loved?
Is gone with the deep dish apple pie.
That smothered blade steak.
Served with black eye peas,
Collard greens and candied yams.
Sometimes with peach cobbler,
With rich vanilla icecream.
That too,
Locks in memories.
Those golden brown biscuits,
Fresh from the oven.
Buttered.
And topped with homemade,
Strawberry jam.
Or that cornbread no one can resist.
That too...
Is gone with the deep dish apple pie.
And today...
As grateful as I am,
To witness the arrival...
Of another Thanksgiving Day to celebrate.
I've never seen so many butts and thighs so wide.
And none of us who ate at grandma's,
Waddled from the table.
No matter what we ate.
Or nibbled all day...
On the honeyed ham,
Turkey sandwiches, potato salad...
Turnips.
Or just to sit to sip on eggnog.
None of us who ate at grandma's,
Waddled from the table.
Or stretched spandex!
Maybe fast food is fast!
But it sure is not nutritious.
Forget delicious.
It's just addictive and quick.
That's it!
And when we ate at grandma's...
We knew something whipped up with love,
Was coming out of the kitchen.
And not to sit too long,
Waiting for a decision made to eat.
And none of us,
Who came to eat to leave...
Did a waddle from the table.
Or stretched spandex!
'Why didn't you mention,
My fried chicken? '
I didn't even get a piece, grandma!
'Next time,
Eat!
And stop running your mouth so much.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dr.Rosin
shoves my belly
gently
a stethoscope
harmlessly
a invisible golf club
in his hands
Dr.Rosin
just asks me how I feel
baked fish
carrots and peas
apple juice
boiled chicken
feeds me up
regularly
Dr.Rosin
just asks me how I feel
sends me a nurse
in midnight
to take my blood
in hindsight
to take my flood
like a vampire
Dr.Rosin
just asks me how I feel
chats with nurses
a cup in a hand
sipps on the cup
chats with nurses
chats with nurses
patts my arm
Dr.Rosin
just asks me how I feel
poem by Istrat Gato
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Even If I Had Them to Juice
You need not for me to dangle carrots.
I am not easily teased,
To believe my eyesight will clear...
Even if I had them to juice.
Or enticed to slice a piece,
After mixed and baked sweetened.
To lure my craving for a taste of your warm cake.
I am much too brave to be that seduced.
I will wait until it cools.
Only a fool is outdone by impatience.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Preparing Dinner
I watch the pot on the stove
Water is overspilling
The rice is cooking
With bubbles galore
I smother chicken in sauce
Sauce that is made up of green pepper, black pepper and onions
Accompanied with that is the All in one spice.
Watch out for the toilet paper
The spices start talking
The chicken gets fried
The smell of breyani echoes through the house
I chop the potatoes as well as the carrots
I open up McCain veggies
And distribute it with the food
I put more spices in and the McCain veggies
Gets assimilated into the food
The pot is filled with colours
The steam fills the house
The brown chicken starts talking to the yellow potatoes
So does the carrots
The rice is strained
It rises to the core
I use tastic rice
Because it is the best out of them all
I set the table with plates
And it is ready to be filled
One by one they get dished out
First the rice (centered) and then the potatoes and chicken
Ice cream is served as desert
Coca-Cola is poured into glasses
The sweet taste bubbles in my mouth
The hot food burns my mouth
While the cold drink soothes its pain
I smother tomatoes and onions with vinegar
And serve them next to the food
The sauce gives the tongue extra kick
And goes down with a good drink
poem by Lee John Siebritz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good Old Days
Oh some times I think back to when I was younger
Life was so much simpler then
Dad would be up at dawn
Hed be watering the lawn
Or maybe going fishing again
Oh and mom would be fixing up something in the kitchen
Fresh biscuits or hot apple pie
And Id spend all day long in the basement
Torturing rats with a hack-saw
And pulling the wings off of flies
Those were the good old days
Those were the good old days
The years go by but the memory stays
And those were the good old days
I can still remember good old mr. fender
Who ran the corner grocery store
Oh, hed strolled down the aisle with a big friendly smile
And hed say howdy when you walked in the door
Always treated me nice, gave me kindly advice
I dont know why I set fire to his place
Oh Ill never forget the day I bashed in his head
Well you shouldve seen the look on his face
Let me tell ya now
Those were the good old days
Those were the good old days
The years go by but the memory stays
And those were the good old days
Do you remember sweet michelle
She was my high school romance
She was fun to talk to and nice to smell
So I took her to the homecoming dance
Then I tied her to a chair and I shaved off all her hair
And I left her in the desert all alone
Well sometimes in my dreams
I can still hear the screams
Oh I wonder if she ever made it home
I tell ya
Those were the good old days
Those were the good old days
The years go by but the memory stays
And those were the good old days
Let me tell ya buddy
Those were the good old days
Those were the good old days
The years go by but the memory stays
And those were the good old days
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Risk Your Biscuits
Don't risk your biscuits.
Keep those biscuits mystic.
If they're found delicious,
Keep the people licking their lips.
Do not risk those biscuits,
For suggestions or tips.
From others who just want them to be,
Buttered and split!
When you took them out the oven,
You knew then the flavor would...
Bring joy to some.
Like no others had done.
And when they jellied up those biscuits,
With a favorite beverage...
A stirring had begun.
Making your biscuits their number one.
Do not risk those biscuits,
For suggestions or tips.
From others who just want them to be,
Buttered and split!
Eaten and enjoyed.
Making a habit of it!
You can choose and decide,
If you want them addicted!
But...
When you took them out the oven,
You knew then the flavor would...
Bring joy to some.
Like no others had done.
So...
Don't risk your biscuits.
Keep those biscuits mystic.
If they're found delicious,
Keep the people licking their lips.
Knowing only you,
Can do these biscuits like this!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dogtown
Okay.
The towns dawning, Im the only one awake.
The streets are whistling, I light my fourth cigarette.
I think of my friends, they were once not so dead.
What are they thinking now?
One day Ill be just a little stone,
Nobodyll know that the stone had such emotions.
Anyway, Im always on the run.
Someday Ill be remembered for the phone calls I never made,
Letters I never mailed,
And stories I never finished telling anyone.
The towns yawning, I let my dog walk me around.
He took a shoot and people smiled,
I tried the same and people frowned.
Yes, its a dog, dogtown.
One day lets be a pair of trees,
Nobodyll know that the trees had such a history.
Anyway, wed never be this lonely.
Someday Ill be remembered for the fine words I meant to keep,
A warm smile I meant to leave,
And a true song I meant to finish writing all my life.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Peas porridge luck, peas porridge stuck,
Peas porridge in the pot nine years old.
Some gets paid, some gets grades,
Some stays in the pot nine years old.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Peas porridge loved, peas porridge spoiled,
Peas porridge in the pot nine years old.
Some gets laid, some gets slayed,
Some stays in the pot nine years old.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Dogtown, dogtown, dogtown, dogtown,
Dogtown, dogtown, dogtown -.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dogtown
Okay.
The towns dawning, Im the only one awake.
The streets are whistling, I light my fourth cigarette.
I think of my friends, they were once not so dead.
What are they thinking now?
One day Ill be just a little stone,
Nobodyll know that the stone had such emotions.
Anyway, Im always on the run.
Someday Ill be remembered for the phone calls I never made,
Letters I never mailed,
And stories I never finished telling anyone.
The towns yawning, I let my dog walk me around.
He took a shoot and people smiled,
I tried the same and people frowned.
Yes, its a dog, dogtown.
One day lets be a pair of trees,
Nobodyll know that the trees had such a history.
Anyway, wed never be this lonely.
Someday Ill be remembered for the fine words I meant to keep,
A warm smile I meant to leave,
And a true song I meant to finish writing all my life.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Peas porridge luck, peas porridge stuck,
Peas porridge in the pot nine years old.
Some gets paid, some gets grades,
Some stays in the pot nine years old.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Peas porridge loved, peas porridge spoiled,
Peas porridge in the pot nine years old.
Some gets laid, some gets slayed,
Some stays in the pot nine years old.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Dogtown, dogtown, dogtown, dogtown,
Dogtown, dogtown, dogtown -.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My shoes and my duck
My shoes and I are quite good friends you see
Often they have chats with me
They tell me things doesn’t matter when
Day or night
They ask me please to lace right
Tell me how to wear them right
I have many pair but only one do I love
They are blue and white
Just like the morning and its dove
That flies around with all their might
My shoes fight in my closet in the black of night
Over which one I will ware on my bike
But I can never forget my duck
To which I can always turn to trust
My friend that is always there
Telling me no lies
And awaiting my return home
From my eight hour chore
My duck can’t swim
my duck can’t quake
My duck just sinks
with a rock on his back
My duck can’t cry
my duck can’t sing
my duck just cant do anything
My ducks no duck and I know why
my duck is stuffed
my duck can’t fly...
I love my duck
Can’t you see why
So in the end
I wouldn’t trade my shoes for any red bull
Or my duck for any frog
Even though one might give me wings
Or one might make noise now and again
I love my blue shoes and my stuffed duck
P.S. the Saint helped me write parts of this, so I owe him a thank you, and just so you all know not all mine.
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grateful for Traditions
Thick the gravy made did sit.
With turkey giblets tempting,
The licking of awaiting lips.
Dressing prepared,
Next to a glazed honeyed ham.
With collard greens smelling good,
As the potato salad nestled close
To chit'lins and delicious candied yams.
Pumpkin, apple and sweet potato pies...
Filled the air with anticipation,
As the black-eyed peas and rice
Were passed by!
Heads are bowed in prayer...
Giving thanks for blessings,
And grateful for traditions!
Feeding a heritage nurtured well,
When families gather...
For these feasting eating missions!
'Grandma...
Will you tell grandpa to stop talking,
And pass the fried chicken...please! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Supermarket Shopping
A pound in the slot and out comes the chain,
It's Saturday supermarket shopping again,
And so I've obtained my large wire trolley,
And when shopping, you certainly need loads of lolly!
The shelves will be stacked with goodies galore,
There are loads to be seen from ceiling to floor,
Things that we need and things for a treat,
Food to have cold and food you must heat.
Bright coloured fruit and vegetables are,
Good for your health and keep you up to par,
Bread, rolls and biscuits, crisps and savoury snacks,
On their own, or in multiple packs.
Cheeses and yogurts, cream, butter and milk,
Some with strong flavours and some smooth as silk,
Sauces and pickles, mustards and dips,
Bacon, eggs, sausages, mushrooms and chips.
What gorgeous thoughts the word 'food' conjures up,
Especially if you're hungry and you wish to sup,
The aromas and spices, and sweet things and sour,
Shortcrust and flaky pastries, both of which are made with flour.
All kinds of fish dishes like haddock and dab,
Sardine, pilchard, tuna, anchovy and crab,
Squid if you like, it is lovely when fried,
It's really delicious to eat, have you tried?
Salmon of course, is the best of the lot,
This is a fish you can serve cold or hot,
With a salad to garnish, the taste is divine,
It's really become a great favourite of mine.
Desserts are mouth watering, they just have to be bought,
From gateaux's with chocolate, or a raspberry torte,
Strawberry pavlovas, or nutty meringues.
Each and everyone of them will answer your pangs.
Bottles of wine, of red and of white,
Champagne to drink on that one special night,
Maybe a gin, a vodka or sherry,
But with all of this, you can soon become merry.
So reaching the 'cash out' you stand there and check,
On all that you've purchased, it's only a speck,
Of what was on offer, one could buy up the lot,
But most likely you're contented with what you have got.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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