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
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Brutal
I don't sauté what I say,
With puffed up fluff!
When I 've had enough...
I get brutal.
I don't offer apple strudel.
Or beat around the bush.
I'm not into fuzzy wuzzy stuff.
Or get cuddly to patch things up!
I don't sauté what I have to say,
With puffed up fluff for you!
When I've had enough...
And the going gets tough,
I get brutal.
I don't offer apple strudel.
I get brutal.
Or chicken soup with noodle.
I get brutal.
When games are lame.
And the aim is the same.
Putting my name to shame.
And wanting me to take the blame.
For something I know,
From the start I didn't do?
Because you think it's cute...
To use me as a substitute!
I don't bite my lip...
And pretend I'm not pissed!
You try to do me in...
And then you turn around and grin?
Thinking I wont do,
What now you know I can and will...
To you!
Yes...
Your looks could kill,
But I wont be a pig in swill.
I will get brutal.
I don't offer apple strudel.
I get brutal.
Or chicken soup with noodle.
I get brutal.
When games are lame.
And the aim is the same.
Putting my name to shame.
And wanting me to take the blame.
For something I know,
From the start I didn't do?
You think I'm a wimp in a pink tutu?
With a tutti fruiti tattoo on my booty too?
I wont sauté what I say,
With puffed up fluff for you.
When I've had enough...
I get brutal.
I don't offer apple strudel.
I get brutal.
Or chicken soup with noodle.
I get brutal.
I don't sauté what I say,
Or look away...
With my dignity played!
Not me.
Oh no!
You see...
I don't offer fantasy!
I'll give you brutal.
That's all I offer to you,
Is the brutal.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Panacea
Panacea for the worlds ills.
Chicken soup in America.
'Mr President, the twin-towers
were destroyed by el caida terrorists.'
The President replies:
'You wouldn't have any chicken soup
on you, would you? '
A cup of tea in England.
'Prime Minister, the nazis have bombed
the shyte out of London.'
Prime Minister replies:
'Bastards, we'd better have a cup of tea
and think about this.'
poem by Jerry Hughes
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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
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Sit Around the House to Sing a Blues or Two
All you think about is apple strudel.
And sit around the house to sing a blues or two.
With thoughts to stroll the 'hood' with a poodle.
As you sit reminiscing eating noodle soup!
All you think about is apple strudel.
And sit around the house to sing a blues or two.
With thoughts to stroll the 'hood' with a poodle.
As you sit reminiscing eating noodle soup!
Your wish upon a star ain't going to far.
Getting 'drunked up' and sitting at a bar.
The happy hour came to come to a close.
And there you are with a snotty nose.
Thinking you're attractive with a wobble in your pose.
All you think about is apple strudel.
Ooo...
And sit around the house to sing a blues or two.
With thoughts to stroll the 'hood' with a poodle.
Ooo...
As you sit reminiscing eating noodle soup!
All you think about is apple strudel.
Ooo...
And sit around the house to sing a blues or two.
With thoughts to stroll the 'hood' with a poodle.
Ooo...
As you sit reminiscing eating noodle soup!
Believing there is no one who is made for you.
Hoping that a knock will prove that untrue.
All you think about is apple strudel.
Ooo...
And sit around the house to sing a blues or two.
Believing there is no one who is made for you.
Hoping that a knock will prove that untrue.
Hoping that a knock will prove that untrue.
Hoping that a knock will prove that untrue.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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To A Neighbor
hot noodle soup that's newly cooked
outside the night is cold
as stars begin to twinkle, the moon to hover
on top of the banana palms
the sound of bamboo leaves shall serve as music
to a choir of cicadas singing
can you share your time for a cup of noodle with me?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Urban
the old crone
slurping up
essence of chicken
soup
as though
it were chicken soup
itself, mis
taking the hum in
her veins
for the ima
gined chicken’s part
ing gift
while
I know it to be
no more
than hot
water’s mo
mentary warming,
and how mo
mentary when even naked
flame would howl
and wiggle
an in
jured fing
er, frost
bitten, coming
too close
to the
waft of de
parting chill.
[From: How Do You Withstand, Body; Publisher: Clearing House, Mumbai, 1976]
poem by Gieve Patel
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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
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Following The Sickness
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
Fighting our own shadows, fooled by our enemies.
They are the ones you just can't see.
The unaccepted theory is rejected yet again.
But still the chorus plays.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
To whom it may concern.
A poetic letter, dressed in feathers.
Does it make it any prettier?
A distraction from the purpose.
Delivering the simplest of messages.
And still they are not heard.
Oh no they are never heard.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
And man is yet to learn.
And man is yet to learn.
Foolish know it alls.
A change in circumstances will cause a sudden fall.
A broken bone, or ego?
A laceration or a severed artery?
Is it serious or superficial?
An inflamation that just won't go down.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
And it has brought me here.
A million passersby's.
An angelic looking sky.
Prying the heavens for just one peek.
I wonder if it has what I seek.
A cure
A cure
For this world.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
If you are ever lost just follow the sickness.
Its everywhere.
Just go from there.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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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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A Peace They'd Find
I threw pennies out to the pigeons,
This morning.
They did not know what to do!
Had I flew the 'coop' with scorning?
I had always come to toss
To them popcorn or chips...
Something they ate I would leave them with!
They usually would peck and be on their way.
But this morning they sat as if to say:
'There's not a thing we can do with these!
Of that all of us pigeons have come to agree!
We expected at least a twig or stick thrown
A chicken bone or something sniffed and left alone!
Something to huddle around over...
To peck and pick!
Is this some kind of joke?
We protest this different shit!
Hey? Are you listening?
Do we have to fight over this? '
And as I began to leave this scene behind...
I pulled from my pocket a new minted dime.
I threw it and watched them trying to lift it together.
Believing the sparkling would bring them a peace,
They would find even better!
Bringing them with curiousity,
And touching each others' feathers!
It worked!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Chicken Lips And Lizard Hips
When i was a little kid
I never liked to eat
Mom would put things on my plate
And i'd dump 'em on her feet
But then one day she made this soup
I ate it all in bed
I asked her what she put in it
And this is what she said:
"oh, chicken lips and lizard hips
And alligator eyes
Monkey legs and buzzard eggs
And salamander thighs
Rabbit ears and camel rears
And tasty toenail pies
Stir 'em all together
And it's mama's soup surprise"
I went into the bathroom
And i stood beside the sink
I said, "i'm feeling slightly ill
And i think i'd like a drink"
Mama said, "i've just the thing
I'll get it in a wink
It's full of lots of protein
And vitamins, i think"
"oh, chicken lips and lizard hips
And alligator eyes
Monkey legs and buzzard eggs
And salamander thighs
Rabbit ears and camel rears
And tasty toenail pies
Stir 'em all together
And it's mama's soup surprise
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Chase Away Those Ills
You've clawed your way up to the top,
To dropp the jaws of foolish people.
Although this climb you have not stopped,
Already you've prepared a sequel.
There are mouth and lips,
You wish to permanently seal.
And this,
Would...
Give you a lift to thrill.
And this,
Would...
Cure every ill you feel.
Those obstacles you've conquered,
Have been crushed into tiny rocks.
Those obstacles you've conquered,
Have got you heated to sizzle hot!
And this,
Has...
Produced a peace of mind so real.
You've clawed your way up to the top,
To dropp the jaws of foolish people.
Although this climb you have not stopped,
Already you've prepared a sequel.
And this,
Has...
Produced a peace of mind so real.
And this,
Has...
Come to chase away those ills.
Of any kind on a mind.
And this,
Has...
Come to chase away those ills.
Of any kind on a mind.
And this,
Has...
Come to chase away those ills.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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The Quiet World
In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn't respond,
I know she's used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.
poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
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Think of the fox too
Stealing chicken to survive
Snout full of feathers
quote by by Oskar Hansen
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A Chicken's Life
we watch it from the beginning
an egg, plus days
hatching into a chick
seeing the first light
of the bulb
and the hen pushes
each chick into
the ground to feed
by themselves
until some feathers grow
beaks and claws
now we view a full grown
chicken,
at least, i am not talking
about a coward, do you understand?
do not, please,
chicken out from life's bitter days
we were babies
not chicks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When There Is Nothing More To Be Done...
got a call and she is dying,
whatever that means
dying to see me
or dying to die
it does not matter to me anymore
now that i have burned all the bridges
and made holes of those wooden boats
and broke all the paddles
what then is going to be done
as a matter of
last resort to save what she thinks
is still valuable
inside our hearts
we are like those burned houses
early dawn with nothing saved
we see all the ashes and some smoke
still clinging on the charred pieces
of furniture and beams
of the past
'there is nothing anymore'
and i have not opted for those memorized prayers
those usual offerings of
chicken blood and pork
or the newly hatched egg with a squeaking chick
hoping that perhaps someday
the root cause shall be known
how the tree falls off and how the worms
begin their feasts
on our own stupidities.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Priests and doctors are privileged.
There is a tag to wipe your sin.
There is a tag to earn you bliss.
There is a tag to cure your ills.
There is a tag to keep off ills.
Priests and doctors get their fees.
You pay them without guarantees.
12.10.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Junk The Magic Dragon
Mellow yellow acid kiss
Warhol painted callio-trips
Spining, spining, spin again
Coke, tar, crystal methane thrill
Cash in dime for a ride
My brain like eggs is cracked and fried
Cash in dime for a ride
My brain like eggs is cracked and fried
Junk the magic dragon
Lives, in my pain
Junk the magic dragon, yeah
Love will always end, it ends in pain
(?)
Bones are pulled so tight on skin
Like canvas tent poles or something
I need smiles on my lips
Oh, but it gives incentives
Cash in dime for a ride
My brain like eggs is cracked and fried
Cash in dime for a ride
My stone black jeans look just real fine
Junk the magic dragon
Lives, in my pain
Junk the magic dragon, yeah
Love will always end, it ends in pain
(?)
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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