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R K Hodge Nov 2019
Come back to the stars my love
My chest is iced over
I can see your faded edges
You are seated and still
Sometimes the lines darken
A body part pierces the screen
An entire hand coming into view
Then it is snatched away
Retracting through space
More silent than ever before
Even the cells in your body are quieter
A supple fingertip presses into the greyed
It is like testing the firmness of steak
The gristle wrapped around my bones is injured
It is not yet repaired
Julie Grenness Aug 2019
Today I'm  cooking some steaks,
I do believe steak is great,
I don't care what vegans say,
Maybe they should all ******* today!
Just kidding, believe what you like, I say,
I am cooking great steaks today!
No need to fuss, hold the bus,
Signed, one of the 'carnivores are us'!
bit of fun. Feedback welcome.
Asominate Feb 2019
Let me pour my insides out for you
...
Now tell me what else you want me to do?

After all the years of bad experiences,

There's bound to be much damage.


You said you'll leave me never
You said your love's forever
You said things would get better

...As time goes by...

I'm cracking under pressure
I can't keep me together
My dead meat's so much fresher

Butcher, butcher,
Where's your knife?

Mind don't,
Won't you take a life?

It is time to cut the meat
The finites, they love their steak

Rare
They like me super fresh
Yes
They like my meat bare
Because I taste the best
When I do not get any rest.
Jeff S Jan 2018
how cordial the
way we hold doors
for heeled ladies
and the elderly

but never order them
a steak.
Paul Hansford Feb 2016
I  went into the kitchen and made sure to wash my hands,
then looked inside the cupboards and took out the pots and pans.
I sorted out my sharpest knives and laid them carefully
beside the wooden chopping-board I'd brought home from Capri,
a wine-glass, and a bottle of a cheeky Spanish red  
(another happy souvenir of my travels to the Med).
I thought I'd  better have some herbs to flavour up my lunch,  
so I went into the garden and picked myself a bunch
of parsley, sage and rosemary, then poured myself a drink
– a drop of wine should help me in my labours round the sink.
Then I peeled and chopped an onion, which I sautéed golden brown
in extra-****** olive oil.  There was no time to sit down
while I scrubbed some new potatoes and put them on to boil,
so I had another glass of wine to help me through my toil.
Some Italian vine tomatoes and some peppers, red and green,
I sliced up on my chopping-board – no need for a machine,  
and I always think that slicing veg is somehow that bit kinder –
then I sprinkled them with sea-salt and some pepper from the grinder.  
By now my glass was empty, so I poured another drop in
to replenish all that energy I'd used up in the chopping,
and started on the vegetables, some pak-choi and mangetout,
from the local Farmers' Market, though they cost a bob or two.
I got the steak out ready, a lovely bit of fillet,
and lit the gas to heat the pan, my well loved cast-iron skillet.
It wouldn't need that long to cook; I didn't need to think
too hard about it, so I poured another little drink.
“That's really rather good,” I thought, but noted, broken-hearted,
that I'd finished off the bottle – and I thought I'd hardly started.
Still, I laid the steak into the pan.  I left it there to fry
and uncorked a second bottle. “Here's to me. Mud in my eye.”
I don't know why at this stage I was feeling less than fine,
but the cure was very obvious – another glass of wine.
My attention must have wandered then, if only for a minute,
for I saw the pan was smoking, and the steak that I'd left in it
was going up in flames, and so, although I knew I'd rue it,
I emptied out the bottle – it grieved me sore to do it.
The potatoes were so overcooked they'd  boiled completely dry,
and were rather badly scorched; I wish I knew the reason why.
Still, I rescued what I could, and laid it sadly on my plate,
and I know you won't believe it, but I thought it tasted great.
So when relations come to dine, perhaps on Christmas day,
I'll serve my speciality – I call it …. Steak Brulé.

(Alternative last line, for American readers :
  I'll serve them up my specialty – I call it …. Steak Brulé.)
Gabriel K Sep 2015
She borrowed her dad's car
one time
a VW Golf
3 series
graphite
we drive along Marylebone
Great Something Street...Crescent you know by the Park
turned left
a couple times
right
parked
Hanover Square
at night.
Rain
breath condensed on glass
I didn't write:
I heart You
unfortunately
nothing like that
by the time I had the heart it was too late,
she didn't write Yasmin 4 Gubs 4eva with her finger
it wasn't forever
but she put her hand in my pants
which was nice
undid my flies;
I made
vague
encouraging sounds
she open her mouth
you know
wide;
the engine ticked as it cooled,
footsteps echoed outside...
I gave thanks in heavy breaths
she released her grip,
sipped
quite sparingly
from the Volvic
gazed
ambiguous
with hooded lids.

We exited the vehicle
took a walk round W1
Piccadilly
Quaglino's
table for two
she had news to tell
news.
I order a bottle of Malbec
Argentinian steak
rare
“Madam?”
the waiter waved away
she had news:
she was pregnant
“Is everything alright sir?”
the waiter stalls;
there was no scope for uncertainty
she'd done the test three times
we were with child.

She'd arranged a termination
that's what they
she
we call...'d it,
The Marie Stopes Centre
Whitfield Street,
she didn't canvass my opinion
view
it's her body
she was 19
I was 22,
she needed to take action
move
she could handle me
like a McDonald's milkshake
****** off
then break the news.
It may be maybe now maybe
occasionally
I might idly imagine the hypothetical child we missed:
an Anglo-Bengali girl
unruly
cute
sixteen,
but you know what you gonna do?
We didn't take dessert
coffee
walked back to the car
in the Square
drove around
Regent's
Haymarket
Carlton
you know the steps
down,
the statue
Churchill
never give in.
We park the car
the Volkswagen Golf
get in the back
rearrange clothes
she wanted to feel me inside her
she said
before we went home.

We drove to the station
in the rain
where I kissed her
hard
taste of Maybelline
***
and steak.
© Gabriel K
Ryan Unger Jun 2015
Sometimes I hate the whether.
I don’t know whether I should have a salad or eat a steak.
Where’s a meatierologist when you need one?
Just Melz Sep 2014
Lights flicker
      Blood drips
Brilliant mind
      At my finger tips
Don't look now
      Gotta think quick
What have I done?
      Oh! I know a trick
Slice it up thin
      Tiny little bits
So much mess
      Hmm, maybe a mince
Red and juicy
      Smells so devine
Mouth watering
      Just like last time
So heavenly
      It should be a crime
Down to the bone
      I carve a rhyme
My name etched like stone
      A deadly shrine
No where left to go
      But back into my mind
.
   .
      .
         .
            .
               .
                  .
                     .
                        .
                           Until next time....
Creativity or Insanity?
****** or a T-Bone?
You decide :)
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