En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Like None Other Can Produce

I've been both on top and on the bottom,
And have witnessed those mediocre...
Perform with pretentions to get attention.
Believing to get noticed,
Will aid in their feelings of self worth.

But if one truly is connected to self,
And appreciates the ownership of an identity...
It matters not,
Who decides who should deliver what to whom...
To have it expressed and rated.
It will still achieve a quality like none other can produce.

Regardless where in the kitchen it is placed,
It will still be sought after...
For the taste it satisfies.
And that is why the texture of the mix can not be replicated.
Only a knowing 'chef' not just a 'cook' does this!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Owe It First To Myself To Be Honest

I owe it first to myself to be honest.
I use to believe it did not matter,
If I kept the depth of my feelings hidden.
But then I realized I had a wish,
To have at least one person unafraid...
To escape and leave behind their pretentions.

And today after doing it to strip myself free,
My ability to recognize honesty in others...
Is a feeling I get that is non-verbally expressed.
And I could care less,
Who accepts expressed pretentions!
I owe it first to myself to be honest.

I had been the last to know I'd been tricked,
By the foolishness of believing others had arrived.
To find myself deluded in the midst,
Of those too comfortable with the telling of lies.
I can now detect with my ears and eyes.
To leave my honesty disguised if I must.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He Prefers Pears

Apples may be the fruit of choice.
But the chef says he prefers pears in his kitchen.

'Are you ready to order?
Or would you rather find a more suitable view?
The chef wouldn't mind at all!
Afterall...
How did you know we were here?
Someone made to you
Our menu clear!
If not by taste...
Certainly by a choice that was voiced?
Quality here is our adventure.
With a hint of heat to leave you moist! '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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~~~The Chef~~~

Saucy as the tang of Chili...
...Warmed as gingers heated groans-
Taste delight of Curry to the palate...
...Sweet as Honey Bees, to their drones...

Sirens scented journey-
Into aroma's of London Town...
Satisfied a billowing hunger...
Placed a smile and erased a frown...

Courted with Heavenly Manna-
Ushered in, by taste buds sweet...
Raised and baked in sheer splendour-
Temperature of ovens complete!

In the kitchen of attractions wonder-
Sizzles a Chef So Supreme...
Seasoned and hand crafted taste delight
He's todays: 'Cream De La Cream'

Ordinary cook, no never? !
Naturally adept at La Cuisine...
Evermore shall he create...
Succulent, saucy, dreams...

Watch: Take Home Chef
TLC, Weekdays
4: 00 P.M. Eastern
Dedicated to:
Chef: Curtis Stone

poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Check, Please!

Those who believe,
A quality obtained...
Can be kept and yet replace,
Those who initiated that quality to please...
In the first place.
With a keeping of the same taste expected,
Fool only themselves.

It takes much more than a replacement to restore,
That which has been established...
Patrons served came to adore.
And the ones who ignore this,
Know very little about 'their' business!
But a lesson learned that is earned...
Eventually teaches.

'Excuse me...
But,
Is your chef on vacation? '
The one we admired for his presentation? '

~No we've replaced that chef.
We could not meet his demands or expectations!
And frankly...
His arrogance we could no longer accept.
We paid him his worth.~

'I see.
May we have our checks, please? '

~Would you like to select something else from the menu? ~

'Why?
Would that change the ambiance?
You've already destroyed that,
By taking our preferences for granted.
Check, please! '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing Even Matters

Now the skies could fall
Not even if my boss should call
The world it seems so very small
'Cause nothing even matters at all

Nothing even matters
Nothing even matters at all
Nothing even matters
Nothing even matters at all

See I don't need no alcohol
Your love makes me feel ten feet tall
Without it I'd go through withdrawal
'Cause nothing even matters at all

Nothing even matters
Nothing even matters at all
Nothing even matters
Nothing even matters at all

These buildings could drift out to sea
Some natural catastrophe
Still there's no place I'd rather be
'Cause nothing even matters to me

Nothing even matters
Nothing even matters to me
Nothing even matters
Nothing even matters to me

You're part of my identity
I sometimes have the tendency
To look at you religiously
'Cause nothing even matters to me

Nothing even matters
Nothing even matters to me
Nothing even matters
Nothing even matters to me

Now you won't find me at no store
I have no time for manicures
With you it's never either or
'Cause nothing even matters no more

Nothing even matters
Nothing even matters no more
Nothing even matters
Nothing even matters no more

Now my team could score
And make it to the Final Four
Just repossess my 4x4
'Cause nothing even matters no more

Nothing even matters
Nothing even matters no more
Nothing even matters
Nothing even matters no more

song performed by by Lauryn Hill from The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lonely Spider

The lonely spider reaches out
For what, you might ask?
If not to spin his web then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...

The lonely spider calls out
For what, you might ask?
If not for his mate then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...

The lonely spider waits
For what, you might ask?
If not for his food then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...

'A spider doesn't have feelings! '
How should you know?

'A spider isn't that smart! '
That could be true.

'A spider can never have a real identity! '
And neither could you, or any of us
But we try to find one even if we're not looking
And thats our life... after which we die

What have we done with our life up until then?
Either we've thrown it away, gave it up, wrecked it, lived it up to the fullest, took it for granted, or got far in it.
We still had one.
It's up to us what we shall do with it
Just like the lonely spider
Who will probably just end up on the bottom of your shoe anyways

poem by Andreanna Atkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Uncleaned Plates

To entitle those with entitlements,
With a bestowing of titles...
That represents,
Nothing that comes to benefit...
The ones once believing,
They were prioritized constituents.
As if routines like this were forever cemented,
In a greatness felt without it being mentioned,
To remind those who now pay little or no attention.

And comprising without compromise,
Those wishes they would get fulfilled...
By a voting to have their requests recognized,
But offers no meat on a menu long replaced...
To capitvate with a teasing of only desserts,
To be served with patience as stated all deserve.
And with a waiting that never satisfies the taste...
Year after year until a quality remembered,
Becomes that which is waste on uncleaned plates.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cook Of The House

Ground rice, sugar, vinegar, seco salt, macaroni too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
The salads in the bowl,
The rice is on the stove.
Green beans in the colander and where the res is heaven only knows.
Cinnamon, garlic, salt, pepper, corn-bread, curry powder, coffee too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No, matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best.
cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
Where the rest is heaven only knows.
Matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house.
Cook of the house,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.

song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sharp With Added Spice

'Over seasoned! '
This came to spill,
From whispered lips.
Yet to those unacquainted...
The presentation and taste,
Was more than appreciated.
And in their eyes the show of this,
Did not hesitate to express it.

They did not mention an absence of skill.
They were too busy enjoying the delicious cake.
To pick crumbs from plates.

Until the cook appeared unexplained,
From the kitchen to gain attention.
Sharp with added spice,
Comes a lashing from an unexpected tongue.

It seems someone has said,
Whoever is doing the cooking with minimal flair...
Should learn more about baking,
To become more aware of what's required instead!

And serious was the cook who took all hostage!
With an eyebrow raised and quivering lips.
And outraged was the cook's posture...
No one dared to dismiss.

~Out with it!
WHO said 'over seasoned'?
I heard every word.
And it did not please.
WHO was it?
Who dared to say I over season?
When I sweated to perfect...
A guarantee your taste buds would be teased.
Out with it or no one leaves.
You ungrateful banana eating chimpanzees.
How dare you mock my expertise.
I'm not kidding.
Out with it or no one leaves! ~

And throats slowly swallowed.
People froze as they sat.
Wishing they remembered when,
Those comments were made in jest!

'I said that but I was just joking.'

~You provoked me with a whispered joke?
Do you know how close I came to choking a few throats?

I...
Am,
A CHEF.
And serious to the end of my very breath.
With...
And I must admit this,
With a flair for dramatics.

Please...
There is no need for applause.
I accept,
Only business references! ~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Already Had To Be Used

A quality achieve will not leave,
Because of how it is rated.
Or placed on a list.

Ratings and kept lists,
Does not prove one comprehends,
With either common sense or intelligence.

Some flavors that may or may not taste better,
Aren't given that opportunity...
Until folks get bored with familiarity.

To then welcome more variety and spice they do,
In their lives seeking something different...
That does not necessarily have to be good,
But chosen over something proven to be dependable.
And this is nothing new to those who have already had...
To be used,
Their fifteen minutes.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Surprise in Japan - Mosquitos in the Oil

not so oily to the ears
mosquitos and other insects
in the used cooking oil

cooking oil for reuse
mosquitos, and insects
at bottom of the can

restaurant special recipe
adding to the taste
used oil with mosquitos

Most books I read tell us about Japanese being very clean people but the chef of this this restaurant in Nishi Funabashi I found put his used cooking oil in a can and under the choppng table in the kitchen. It was meant for reuse. I found mosquitos, ants, and other insects at the bottom of the can. It was really a surprise.

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Identity Of I

Identity is not what I promise others
Identity is what I do when I am alone
Identity is what I think of others
Knowing all the hatred they've shown

Identity is what every wound reminds me
Identity is what I learn and what I pass by
Identity is what I see in the mirror
After giving my best try

Identity is what I make out of my given chance
Identity is what I accept and what I deny
No one else has control over me
Life is about me, and what I identify

poem by Abhiraj Rajadhyaksha
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As Genuine As Those Who Know It

Whether it becomes displayed,
Or laid in the shadows to dust...
Quality is eventually discovered.
And known to show what it is.
Quality dusted never ages to rust.
No matter what attempts are made,
By those unappreciative of its value.
A quality that remains to be quality,
Is as genuine as those who know it!
Regardless of what rating it gets.
Quality can not be rated against,
That which it has no peers.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fufu Momo and Kottu

Noises of different tongues
Occupying stoves in the kitchen
It is not belonged to any one
But belonged to a time

Spreading smells of continents
It is the global identity of art
Every one washes in same sink
Using the water in common

Asia Africa Arabia and Eastern Europe
People in the kitchen being refugees
Using material in same some extent
Make and cook the identity of own

Using flour and flour made
Decorate in an exhibition hall
Like amateur painters pain
Create noises and silence in mixture

Identity of meat flour and leaves
Transformed into their own
On and in the cooking pots
Steam becomes smells

Fufu in the vessel
Pasta in very common
To be well cooked
An African guy in a struggle

Momo like oysters
Made in art by a Tibetan woman
A Nepali prepares Chapatti
Burnt culture of secularity

Leeks, Carrots and green chilly
Cutting into pieces Rotti
In a war like their home
Making Kottu in loud
Everyone looking in surprise
Occupied Sri Lankans noise in kitchen

In two three hours war of kitchen
Gradually becomes calm
One of the oldest in the camp
In midnight begins to cook

Washing everything in psychiatric clean
Cooks Halal singing a song
He is called ex- mayor in his land
Midnight ghost of different rhythm

poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just To Keep The Critics Cranky

Why wont you let us see,
What is going on backstage?

'And let you witness what it takes,
To get this magic produced?
Are you kidding?
No way.

Any chef would say...
If I showed you what I do,
You'd try it and raise the price.
And I just want to leave you with just a taste.
Knowing that when you've become addicted,
You will come back...
To stand in line to nibble anything I present.

I am not trying to give away my stuff.
Do you know how long it took me,
To get you to even be interested?
Mesmerizing is an ability,
That requires time to deliver.
I have to keep masqueraded,
Just to keep the critics cranky.
But...
At my disposal.

Me...
Be,
No fool.
Not in preparation.'

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Artificial Flavoring

Well...
It has come down to this.
We would like your opinion.
And...
What it is you think.
We'd like for you to be candid with us.

'I'll do the best I can.
What do I think?
About what? '

About priorities.
And what others seem to have placed,
At the top of their lists.

'That's very difficult for me to respond.
You see...
I am accustomed to quality.
And not the artificial flavoring of anything,
Rated to give it popularity.
It is as it appears.
And what appears represents,
Where current mindsets feel...
They can accept as most comfortable.'

So you are not going to respond to our inquiry,
Legitimately?

'How can I do that responsibly?
When what has been selected,
To represent fine wine...
Clearly doesn't merit the taste,
Of a homemade beer.'

You 'sound' as if there are some sour grapes,
You wish to exchange...
To replace personal feelings.

'How is that going to make that beer taste,
Any better? '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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This Loneliness That Visits

Sometimes loneliness is a gift.
It allows our minds to reflect and drift.
To evaluate who it is we are.
What our wishes mean to us...
And the depth of our dreams,
When loneliness descends.

Our desire to be free of this 'entrapment'
Is encouraging!
Once it is realize 'why' we feel this way.
And 'what' the efforts are to deliver us,
From only seeing ourselves mirroring a sadness.
Knowing that a trust hidden,
Awaits to deliver gladness that arrives...
Eventually!
To inspire our hearts to thrive on new adventures!
This can not be who it is that we are.
A frowning face that takes a place,
Becoming too comfortable with a loneliness sitting.

It is unfamiliar,
When first viewed.
And expressed upon our faces.
Clearly not subdued.
That is why it draws all of our attention to it!
And others too.
This loneliness that visits.
Because it is allowed.
Until we walk away from it.
Freeing it from its welcome.
Leaving it as something seen...
Like a foe that pops up on the scene.
But not to be accepted with a warm embrace.
We can move away from it IF we so desire!
If we inspired a happiness within us to surface!
It can and should be replaced.
Erasing...
This loneliness,
We can dismiss.
To acquire a more sweetened taste...
From a life of bitterness,
An aloneness made can trace!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everyone Here Is Working Hard For You

Do you realize how many poems I've seen,
That you have written?

'No!
How many have you actually 'read'? '

Comeon...
You are not aware of this at all?
I read a few but not all.

'I am aware that I am a writer.
Not an accountant.
Nor someone who sets limits,
To achieve a final goal.
Or someone seeking to impress.

Each day presents its own personality.
I'm learnig to appreciate quality and not quantity.
There is something about life I more understand each day.
My personal awareness of 'that' is what I keep addressed.'

Oh...
So what is that?
If you don't mind me asking?

'I know I am not alone...
Even though I perceive I am on my own!
I hear voices clearly say to me,
Everyone here is working hard for you.
That you must believe.'

I see.
And that makes you produce quality you don't notice?
An involvement you keep distanced?

'I did not say I didn't notice the quality.
Painfully that's done.
I don't put my sights on 'quantity'.
I don't want to overwhelm.
As much as I choose to stun!
And that takes paying attention to everyone! '

Like the voices heard in your head?

'You see...
You're trying to take this somewhere else.
And what you are 'attempting' to imply...
I'm not wasting any more of my time to listen to!
Read more than you do.
And if there is any comprehension to communicate,
You need not announce that to me! '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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