First Nibbled to Munch
There is more!
Much much more,
Of this to come.
More than you may welcome.
More to deliver...
Than the total sum,
Of those who bring none!
And when you wish it to be done...
More of this awaits.
Either satisfy or deny your appetities.
Pile this upon your mental plates!
Some of it will be spicey to taste...
Leaving not a dropp of it to resist.
Or disappear with the infighting...
Over who gets the last crumb!
There is more!
Much much more,
Of this to come.
More of this is in the oven.
Prepared to dish...
For those who chanced,
To feast and sit!
Digesting it and not thinking at all...
Why they are not getting sick of it!
And the chef delights,
Observing what is being served...
First nibbled to munch,
To addict those who lick!
Those who sat,
Receiving in disbelief.
As each morsel of this is eaten...
And devoured undisturbed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I Want To Know That You Will Munch
If it is going to be from me stated,
Not a syllable connected...
Has been chosen in haste.
I do not intend to waste time.
Neither yours or mine.
Throwing anything together,
To satisfy a taste.
I don't want you just to nibble.
I want to know that you will munch.
If I find there is something important to say,
And I regard you as an important receiver?
I am not going to select anything quickly,
To pick and appease what I believe,
Will be acceptable to your taste.
I am not that kind of chef.
To deliver less than my best
If what I say is important enough to say to you,
That importance I show to you I wish to keep.
I want you to expect each time a feast from me.
And if that is not believed...
I have no other way to convince.
Other than to ignore you.
And I perceive you have been already,
Accustomed to that.
Or you wouldn't be so offended,
By the closeness of my approach.
Or my willingness to remain attached.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ode to a Meal of Life
I took in all I could
Flavors of what life offered
Taste that could turn your tongue around
Dissatisfying sensations like explosions
Starting each reaction around 7 in the morning
Ending every night randomly with dinner
Digesting as if I were reborn in my sleep
Dreams influenced by the senses felt before rest
Today I flew tomorrow I blew up
Into a million pieces of glass
Reflecting the fates I have devoured
Meals become endless hopes to try something new
Eventually my taste buds begin to expire
Dying and lying on the dry tongue
Saliva surfacing to fight past fleeting times
Oh how the good times pass by so quickly
The great moments forgotten so easily
Oh how the sad times bring us misery
The worst moments devastating our savory
The dish we lovingly pick at
Ode of the lovely homely delicacy
The positivity of creation of a cook
A chef so-called the creator
This ode to life
Its fresh warm smell attracts all
The lively breathing behavior emitted
Oh this ode to life
This plate full of experiences
But what is at the end of this dish?
The last bit of taste?
Is it sweet, bitter, sour?
It is to our hearts content
Personally though, it is bitter-sweet
It is spiced with the death of it all
Our tribute ends as the spoils rot
Sure the meal has been fine but the last crumb ended
With nothing more than a bitter spite
Leaving a lusting hunger for the past felt
Causing us to be grateful for life
Allowing us to cherish and live life
This life is more than a meal
Our gluttony may have spent it to the last
But we pay for it as we must
Ode to life we continue to its savoury last bite
poem by Han One Sail
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nibbles Abandoned On Picked Over Plates
Do people honestly care who initiated their ability,
To continue eating at a feast?
Since some who have come to munch,
Have desires to have their selections chosen...
By placing them out in front,
To 'try' to duplicate what others obviously appreciate.
The only time people express concern,
Is when it is believed...
Fewer people are eating up all the selected treats.
And it is assumed one chef has been favored...
Because it seems as if this one chef,
Has secret recipes that teases a choice for many to eat.
And it is suspected there is a cheating...
To make those unbeatable delicious treats,
The ones preferred by those who eat them.
No matter what the grade of taste the others are given.
Or the nibbles abandoned on picked over plates,
Given undeserved ratings for being great although mediocre.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remember And Enjoy The Experience
Take and taste the slice of cake when served.
Eat in nibbles and bits.
Slowly munch.
Do not let a crumb of it sit.
Savor the flavor.
Feel the love from which it was made.
And if it is good to you,
Remember and enjoy the experience.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With A Looking Back
It took fifty years for them to face,
An increasing blight they put in place.
With a concentration centered,
On an infighting sighted more embraced.
Eaten as served on exquisite plates.
And delivered to those with name dropping status.
And overnight the infighting once tasting great.
With an appetite deemed a reason to celebrate.
And so appropriate for those feeding on this as a diet.
Is now witnessed as sickness for them that began.
But limited were complaints to minimize among diners.
Since the presentation impressed and found divine.
Now there are those who ignited a stirring of division,
With a making of attempts to erase their tracks.
The ones that lead them to a deadend they began.
With a looking back!
To proclaim others are to blame for their heightend disgust,
For not bringing a meal that appealed to all that led them to lust.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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A Dish (cuisine) that talks
I am a dish that talks
and usually i want the chef
to do his stuff my way
wishing this, wishing that
hoping to be the next best dish
to top the restaurant list
as the chef sprinkles
his spices and salt onto me
i diffident would complain of
the excesses, the overindulgent
use of veggies and mutton
or mollusks, mustard
vinegar and pepper
and even the overheating,
charbroiled, stir fried
steam cooked or stewed
i want it my way giving
little regard to the chef's expertise
for fear of becoming an
offensive blandness on
the tongues of the masters
over enthusiastic over
what would turn out of me
only when my fragrance
spreads over the table
to trigger that salivating
nerves in mouths that
the buddha himself would
jump over the wall to
have me in his belly that
i realise the chef is correct
he is cooking me and he knows
how best i should be served
that exquisiteness that could only
result from an original recipe
the chef himself knows best
how he should turn out his creation
i take the opportunity to ask him
what he finds most in the way
as he tries to realise his dream of me
and he says 'Your load of bland ego
with the toughness of a three year old chicken.'
'It takes such a long time to just
boil them down to edible portions.'
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Chicken With a Twist of Deliciousness
I bought thin breasts of sliced chicken.
Thinking I would make a chicken soup.
So I then cut the breasts,
Preparing to create a meal...
I believed would be the best.
When I had this thought...
Season and sauté the breast.
Simmer them quickly,
In olive oil next.
Add I did...
Broccoli, onions and green peppers.
With carrots and celery...
Thinking perhaps some cauliflower,
And Soy sauce too...
Was needed in this aromatic stew.
This I did.
Before I lowered the heat,
And covered this with the frying pan lid.
I said to myself...
This needed a touch of brown sugar.
A splash of apple vinegar,
And a dash of lemon for taste.
Mine,
Of course!
I'm suggesting this,
Before it is ready to plate.
I think this took twenty minutes to cook.
But the smell of it increased my appetite.
And I couldn't wait,
To devour each morsel.
Knowing I had cooked up something,
Bonafide to get me hooked!
Oh yes!
I've already named it,
Chicken With a Twist of Deliciousness!
If you want some,
You will have to make your own.
None of this I am eating,
Will a dropp of it you get!
Oh,
Before I forget.
Add some basil, dill, oregano and garlic too.
I like to use red pepper as well.
You can try that,
If you wish to lick the dish!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of the Seven Deadly Sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back--in many ways it is a feast fit for a king. The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself. The skeleton at the feast is you.
Frederick Buechner in Wishful Thinking (1973)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mmm...I Like Those Low Things!
I like those low things!
Those distractions that attract.
The ones glimpsed when passed...
That capture and grasp,
When looking back.
With a smacking of the lips,
And receiving a tease for 'that'.
I like those low things...
That satisfy as a snack.
Those things one gives up,
To stay on a diet.
The ones that puts pounds,
On one's back.
Those things when eaten...
Convinces until I'm trapped!
Telling my mind...
Just a taste will not make me,
Or anyone
Notice an inch of sweated fat.
Sneaking pieces to munch,
I do alone at home!
While telling others they should avoid,
Going near that crap.
As a satisfaction inside me moans.
Although with a bit of guilt...
I secretly condone!
I like those low things...
To nibble before I nap!
And at the early crack of dawn,
I make sure I'm not seen,
Exercising off my temptations.
Struggling with attempts, I do
To keep myself lean!
Feeling a self condemnation.
Oh...
How I like those low things!
What is she doing?
'Good Morning, Ms Barclay.
No thank you.
No breakfast for me.
I am on a very strict regimen.
Have a good day! '
My goodness!
Why is she cooking those...
Virginia sausages!
OUTSIDE?
And at this hour?
Mmm...
I like those low things!
And the fulfillment,
Those low things bring.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sound Bites
Bitten and spit.
To get a morsel...
Not all of it.
And the folks getting it,
Eat it up!
Not a moment of it wasted,
On providing facts.
Not complete...
For a comprehension to receive it.
Sound bites bitten to scoop the news.
To dropp a little bit to confuse.
Just to extend the taste of what is chewed.
And that's what sound bites bitten done,
Do!
A buffet that's meager,
For a taste to choose.
With a tease that's given.
And a hope what's nibbled makes good news.
Just to extend the taste of what is chewed.
And that's what sound bites bitten done,
Do!
Not a moment of it wasted,
On providing facts.
Not complete...
For a comprehension to receive it.
Bitten and spit.
To get a morsel...
Not all of it.
And the folks getting it,
Eat it up!
And that's what sound bites bitten,
Done...
Do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pelican Restaurant
Pelican Restaurant is run by Tara Sami who is sweet,
she makes her restaurant cute and upbeat.
A cozy decor that has a quaint beach town feel,
the Pelican Restaurant makes great delicious meals.
For breakfast is the Lamb Keema which has a flavorful taste,
it comes with home fries that taste great.
Have a spinach omelet made by Chef Brian Stone,
tastes hearty like cooked fresh in the kitchen at your home.
Pelican is open 7am to 12 noon, bring a friend or two.
Even open 6 to 10 on Friday nights with Indian plates to satisfy your appetite.
Indian dishes which is out of sight, like the Lentil fritters for price of $7.95,
served with cilantro & jalapeno sauce, making your tastes buds come alive.
Try the slowly roasted marinated cilantro and ginger on the Nihan beef shank.
cooked on the bone with spicy savory curry to make it taste great.
Vegetarian and meat dishes served with yogurt, naan, and basmati rice,
this adds to your dinner to make it extra nice.
Also your dog is welcome, sit with them at a table outside,
you can enjoy your meal with them in the sunshine.
Remember the Pelican restaurant only accepts cash,
it's a great eating experience when visiting on Lake Ave.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on October 13,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pelican Restaurant
Pelican Restaurant is run by Tara Sami who is sweet,
she makes her restaurant cute and upbeat.
A cozy decor that has a quaint beach town feel,
the Pelican Restaurant makes great delicious meals.
For breakfast is the Lamb Keema which has a flavorful taste,
it comes with home fries that taste great.
Have a spinach omelet made by Chef Brian Stone,
tastes hearty like cooked fresh in the kitchen at your home.
Pelican is open 7am to 12 noon, bring a friend or two.
Even open 6 to 10 on Friday nights with Indian plates to satisfy your appetite.
Indian dishes which is out of sight, like the Lentil fritters for price of $7.95,
served with cilantro & jalapeno sauce, making your tastes buds come alive.
Try the slowly roasted marinated cilantro and ginger on the Nihan beef shank.
cooked on the bone with spicy savory curry to make it taste great.
Vegetarian and meat dishes served with yogurt, naan, and basmati rice,
this adds to your dinner to make it extra nice.
Also your dog is welcome, sit with them at a table outside,
you can enjoy your meal with them in the sunshine.
Remember the Pelican restaurant only accepts cash,
it's a great eating experience when visiting on Lake Ave.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on October 13,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Deep In That Socket
Lipstick thick on lips delicious.
And I wanna lick 'em...
Then sick 'em in that pocket.
And I don't think I'll deny her,
A reason...
To try it.
Since I know...
How I got it to rocket.
And she dosen't seem as greedy...
As those greedy in a 'need'.
She's not like that!
'That's a fatal attraction! '
I don't like knocking my rocks,
All alone!
Lipstick thick on lips delicious.
And I wanna lick 'em...
Them sick 'em in the pocket.
And she got it to rocket.
Lipstick thick on lips delicious.
And I wanna lick 'em...
Then sick 'em in that pocket.
And if those lips are kissin' right...
We'll get good to satisfy a moan!
Deep in that socket...
To knock, bend and bop it!
But,
She ain't like that!
But,
She ain't like that!
But,
She ain't like that!
'That's a fatal attraction! '
But,
She ain't like that!
But,
She ain't like that!
But,
She ain't like that!
'That's a fatal attraction! '
But,
She ain't like that!
But,
She ain't like that!
But,
She ain't like that!
'That's a fatal attraction! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sautéed In Fiasco
Simmering and sautéed in fiasco,
This chef finds himself...
Blending a mix the patrons have nixed!
Overheated in a kitchen,
With a haste that loses taste.
And a flair that has been wasted,
On those baited to sip!
They split in droves...
And leave him this tip:
'This feast you prepared,
For us to eat...
Continues to sour
The air on the streets!
The menu was fabulous.
One we all thought we would like!
But you have shown you're a flapjack king...
With promises of pheasant to delight!
You offered us substance,
And we have waited too long for that!
Your skills are based on delusion...
Infusing hors d'oeuvres served in crap!
We can no longer wait for more,
We are sealing your doors...
With you entrapped!
Nothing you have done has pleased anyone.
We want our money back,
Before the others come...
And burn down your shack! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Needn't Switch Your Cookies
You needn't switch your cookies.
To offer them to someone else...
With a giving to me of a preferred substitute.
Your cookies are good...
But they have not seduced.
I was the first to taste the flavor to savor them.
Now you believe the chocolate in your cookies,
You can addict somebody else with to lick...
As you sit back to enjoy the doing.
Who came to turn up the heat in your oven?
My sensitive tongue is unlike any other!
And this you will discover...
When you realize this and come to your senses.
Only I supplied the ingredients you used,
To make your cookies taste as good as they do.
You needn't switch your cookies on me,
To offer them to someone else.
The whipping done on these you give,
With the added spice has been overdone.
And not as good to my tongue as the other ones.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Animal Rights (A Restaurant Sold Fried Fish Cruelly)
In Taiwan, there was a restaurant,
sale promotion gimmick of which was very abhorrent.
It was a smoky fried fish,
a spicy and good -smelled dish.
There was a glass fish pond,
swimming in it were fish...big, fat and long.
Beside it was a fish net,
by which the chef would catch.
Then he quickly removed the scale with a knife,
and on the body he cut and sprinkled with salt and spice,
while the fish was still alive.
Then with wet towel he grabbed the fish head,
while the gill huffing and puffing to catch the breath.
Into the sizzling hot oil, the body was slowly dipped,
which in painful agony, flapped and flipped.
The fish struggled in a desperate attempt,
causing the hot oil to splash,
onto the chef's hand,
making him cry in pain as if the world was going to end.
Before the fried fish was going to be served,
he put into the mouth of it the lighted cigarette,
an act so sickening,
horrifying and disgusting.
Then the Animal Rights Group lodged a strong protest.
The chef was afraid his business got into the red.
removed that dish from the list of menu.
He was almost legally sued,
making his mood get into the blue.
The chef sells the fish in a way so cruel and selfish,
to the animals he shows pity, not a little bit.
Spreading Haddock
First pre-heat the oven at 350degrees.
Take approximately 3lbs of fresh haddock,
Season it..
With a compound seasoning of salt
Oregano, pepper/red pepper, garlic powder,
Onion powder, and celery salt.
Gently rub these ingredients into the awaiting haddock!
One baking dish is needed.
Pour one full cup of water/maybe more into dish.
Sprinkle Basil onto the water. YES...B-A-S-I-L.!
Lay that haddock down.
If you have bread crumbs...
Now is the opportunity to crumb this haddock!
Get a stick of butter.
Slice thin butter slices...
And place them on that haddock.
Final touch before slipping this into the oven...
Toss some parsley...on the haddock!
Cover with aluminum foil.
Place this dish into the over for about 30mins!
Next!
Romaine makes the beginnings of a good salad!
Get some fresh Romaine. Wash it.
Get a platter and chop this thing up!
Tomatoes? Fresh? Get 'em! Dice 'em if you wanna!
One large Vadalia Onion. One Green Pepper.
And one jar of Roasted Peppers.
Slice this mess up into a mix.
Yes...
Of course,
Put it on the platter. Remember? Presentation!
There's never been a time for haddock,
As it's time for haddock now!
It should be caressing the kitchen...
And your taste buds by now!
Take it out of the oven.
Let it cool for about 10-15 minutes!
Look at that platter!
Now look at that haddock!
Put that haddock on top of those lucious vegetables!
Take some virgin oil! Yes...make it 'virgin'.
At this point you just want a hint of oil.
NOW...
If you really are serious about your taste buds...
A mix of vinegar/white zinfandel/olive oil,
Is a nice topping!
When you want to do something for yourself...
Spreading Haddock is recommended!
There's nothing like it!
'How many does it feed? '
Why? You're not getting none of this!
That's why I went through the trouble
Of telling you how to make it!
How many does it feed?
One!
Me...Sorry 'bout that!
But this is a meal for the 'survivors! '
LOL...just joking! Have some!
Note: This is my own creation! 'Yes. You have my permission
to use it and treat yourself. You're gonna love it! '
Spreading Haddock...LOL
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On the Avenue of Bliss
It's overcooked too much.
Spicey to the taste and way too hot.
Whatever that is in that old crock pot...
Whether it is good to you or not,
The smell of it sours...
And creates not a wish for me to salivate.
I'd rather have just a glass of water, please.
Forgive me if I seem to be rude...
But none of that I'll have served on a plate.
And on the Avenue of Bliss,
No one wants to take a risk...
With old stirred up 'gumbo-ed' remedies.
At least those not appetizing to the eyes.
Bring some onions and potatos...
I'll make some homefries.
And on the Avenue of Bliss,
No one wants to take a risk...
With old stirred up 'gumbo-ed' remedies.
I apologize,
But you wont know me to lie!
Or stretch my imagination!
It's overcooked too much.
Spicey to the taste and way too hot.
Whatever that is in that old crock pot...
Whether it is good to you or not,
The smell of it sours...
And creates not a wish for me to salivate.
Oh-oh-oh...
Oh-oh-no!
I'm on the Avenue of Bliss,
And I choose not to take risks...
For free.
Oh-oh-oh...
Oh-oh-no!
I'm on the Avenue of Bliss,
And I choose not to take risks...
For free.
No more am I meeting repeated sweets teased.
Or walking down streets to fulfill empty cravings.
My desires have been raised not to throw away!
Oh-oh-oh...
Oh-oh-no!
I'm on the Avenue of Bliss,
And I choose not to take risks...
For free.
Oh-oh-oh...
Oh-oh-no!
I'm on the Avenue of Bliss,
And tired remedies don't work for me!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wasting It On Wishes
Never again will I view my disappointments as man made.
I use to believe my wishes had to meet someone's approval.
Before I could express my happiness.
Now it is so clear...
My happiness has to be expressed.
Whatever the outcome and throughout the process.
How can I rely on someone giving to me,
What inside of me I am not feeding?
Or digesting as that which belongs.
I want what I deserve served to stay.
I've learned to nibble each spice of life I like.
It prolongs the taste.
And wasting it on wishes for someone else...
To define,
Was an awakening I found...
Left me impatiently waiting.
With preferences.
Picked and selected.
For me?
And I had my own menu right in my hands.
All of it prepared to my specifications....
If I noticed?
Finally,
In time I did.
Once I maintained my focus.
And relied on choices I made.
Whether some pleased or not.
And if something I was to eat,
Came to meet my satisfaction...
Indecisiveness of doubts,
Would have to dropp and be stopped.
And finally...
In time,
'They' did!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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