Aloo poems on Hello Poetry

Sharina Saad May 2013

Mrs Sharma is looking busy
Walking back from her yoga class
In Her right hand a bag full of potatoes
In her left hand, 2 kilos of onions
Its a freaking hot day in Delhi,
She stopped a taxi and hurried home
Aloo paratha her family's menu for today.

At home she went straight to her kitchen
Peeled and boiled the Potatoes
finely chopped Onion, coriander, ginger and chillies
Now where is the garam masala?
Here you are Mrs Sharma,
Salt Red Chili powder, Garam masala and some butter
Aloo Paratha with lots of butter,YUM YUM
Lunching at Sharma's home is Splendid
better than Mahesh Lunch Home in Juhu, Andheri.

Let's get started says Mrs Sharma
Let's make the dough
Make two chapati
add the filling to one chapati
and cover it with the second one.
Now Mrs Sharma rolls it slightly and heats it in the oven...

Let's ask Mrs Sharma,
Is food the elixir of life?
Yes very much she said
She feels like she is living for it.
As she spreads butter over the paratha
She says her mantra twice,
Eat healthy but don’t over eat.

She serves aloo paratha hot to her smiling kids
adds yoghurt to Mr Sharma's plate
she is so proud when she says to her family
Eat in moderation and eat healthy..
Smile and let's eat Aloo paratha Mrs Sharma's way...

Aloo paratha is my late mom's favourite..

MdAsadullah Nov 2014

Effective Decision Making

Professor experienced was he.
Woke up in the morn asking tea.
Hurriedly bathed and brushed.
Towards steely almirah he rushed.

Couldn't decide which pant to wear.
Called wife to decide combing his hair.
Shirts were of different color and hue.
Mother came and chose color blue.

His father decided which tie he'll tie.
While he ate poori and aloo fry.
Couldn't decide which shoes were best.
Daughter chose brown and left the rest.

Couldn't decide 'tween bus and auto.
Son advised from auto he should go.
Entered class room briskly walking;
And taught 'Effective decision making.'

Geetanjali dogra May 2020

Maa teri yadein....

Maa teri meri yadein boht achi thi
Tu jo bhi kehti thi boht sachi thi,

Yaad hai mujhe aaj bhi wo pal maa
Bimaar mai hoti thi taklif tujhe hua karti thi,

Tu kabhi na bhuli mere khane ka samey maa...
Qki maa tu hi toh khane ki plate mere aggey piche ghumaya karti thi,

Wo teri aloo, pyaz wali khaniya maa
Jisko sunn k sach mai maan liya karti thi,

Kya khub sundarta thi tere bhole se chehre pay maa...
Jo meri saheliya bhi gunn tera hi gaya karti thi,
Maa ...qki teri meri yadein boht achi thi
Tu jo bhi kehti thi boht sachi thi,

Jab pehli baar un chote se hathon se chai bnayi thi maine
Yaad hai , tu sab rishtedaro mai yahi gaya karti thi,

Har baat k liye zidd bht ki Maine tujhse
Par aakhir mai meri khushi k liye haa tu hi bharrti thi,

Bht ladai ki sabne mere liye tujhse maa
Lekin har pal sath khadi tu hi mila karti thi,

Maa teri meri yadein boht achi thi
Tu jo bhi kehti thi boht sachi thi,

Bht si horror movies bhi dekhi tere sath maa aur tu kahani ka pehlu phele hi bta diya karti thi,

Bht hase bhi sath mai roye bhi sath mai
Aaj jab dekhti hu toh ansu apne aap nikal k beh jate hai,
Bachpana samjho ya nadaniya samjho
Par tere hi aggey hua karti thi,

Tu Maa thi ya meri dost thi
Qki tu bhi toh bacho jaise harketin kiya karti thi,

Aaj bhi wahi tera chehra dikhta hai mujhe maa , teri wahi awaaz sunayi deti hai,
Lekin bevas tu hai ya mai hu aisa mnn mera kehta hai maa,

Qki maa teri meri yadein bht achi thi
Sach mai Tu jo bhi kehti thi bht sachi thi.

Wapas se wahi samhe jeena chahti hu tere sath maa..
Par sochti hu tu yaha ayegi ya mai waha au maa,

Sach Drr lagta hai duniya se maa ab
Jee paungi ya tut jaungi mai ab,

Kitni bholi thi maa tu humesha se
Qki jhuti ya sachi sab maan liya karti thi,

Yaad hai mujhe aaj bhi jab scooty meri band hoti thi
Toh kick tu hi mara karti thi,

Wah kya paranthe aur rajma banati thi maa tu
Jo saheliya hi sabse phele khaya karti thi,

Itni sachi aur achi maa thi tu
Warna mujh jaise nalayak bache ko tu hi sambhala karti thi,

Maa dubara se wo maa sabd tere aggey tujhe bolna chahti hu fir se
Kya tu dubara janam legi milne k liye mujhse,

Ek baar toh ake gale lga le maa mujhko
Fir se wahi pyara bacha bnke dikhaungi tujhko,

Yaad hai maa mumma's lil girl ka tattoo maine bnwaya tha tere liye
Lekin jab ghar pauchi toh dekhte hi dil baith gya tha mere liye
Maa tu sda zinda rahegi dil mai mere
Qki Sach keh rahi hu mera wajood hi hai tere liye,

Maa bharosa kar mera
bharosa nahi todungi tera
Ab aa hi jana maa bacha hu tera.

Nat Lipstadt Nov 2013

Where in the world is Simrik?

In Lalitpur, a small city,
a poem in
and of itself,
near to the capital city,
Kathmandu,
in the magic
word-world of
Nepal.

Who in the world is Simrik?

Girl, 15, apologetic,
with the heart of a deer.
who unlike most
kindly requests your criticism.

Ok, here is my criticism.

Your writes are a shotgun blast.
It cannot be that fifteen years
has been granted
a simple eloquence
that writes and feeds
tastes of visions
of a spiced life
far away, but
close by.

winding roads
and the trees,
the train station,
train tracks,
jeeps for taxis.
the market at night.
a few bookstores i wanted
to enter but couldn't/didn't
benches at chowrasta,
aloo chat.
penang momo,
the "aum sweet aum" poster
they had there.
pretty girls in chowrasta.
so well-dressed.

at fifteen I could not
see so well, see so fine.
not I.

i have fallen for boys, and i have fallen for men.
i don't know if it'd still be falling if i only ever
fell for pieces of them. and as for you, you were no
exception. my eyes never knew the ridges on
your body as soft as icing on a cake, or the
veins in your arms and they've only read
your words, your tastes, in pixels, but i
fell anyway, briefly. the heart is a muscle
the size of a fist, an ***** that has nothing to
grow and fit into. you never really know where
exactly in your chest it really is or if it's the right size.
there'll be growing pains in your ventricles and
dislocation to your spine or your stomach to tell you
of that before the cardiologist, and when you find the
cure or place it back to where it was, you'll have
stories written like prescription notes.

One time, when I was fifteen,
(For I have been
fifteen
many times),
I knew that
I didn't know
how to express
the potpourri
of what
was inside
of me,
the desire was
compelling,
the skills lacking,
for I lived in amidst a
family of writers, critics, historians,
and saw the birthmark of my incapabilities
embarrassed rosy red on my face every morning.

my incapabilities.

not Simrik.
oh no.

here's blood clotting where i got bit by a leech at a
monastery, from after the day i told you we needed to drop
to being friends from lovers. deserved it, totally. you had
blisters on your knees, from the day i sent you back.

you said i still had your heart with me.
when i reach the sea in 12 days,
i'll return with the crevices on them
mended with the pieces of
toughest seashells i can find,
wrapped in a sheet of prayer flag
i tore from the monastery,
so that when you place it back
between your ribs,
you'll have prayers
and the sound of the sea
flowing in your veins.

At fifteen, I read Camus
and the sport pages.
At fifteen, I peeked
at my neighbor's *******
dreamt blonde dreams.
what I knew
was
what I did not know.

so here is my criticism.

you remind me now, this day,
of what
I still do not know
nor can ever hope
to capture as well
as you.

PostScript:

Dear God,
Pray explain to this child, this, baby,
her blessing is that she has the spine of a poet, blood heated by
wisdom and composure.
Remind her daily that her gift is copper colored words that will rust well over time, as she soldiers on in this world, bringing the beauty of words into this world.
NML

John Edward Smallshaw Feb 2014

Teetering

I don't think I want to know no more
I've had enough of knowing stuff that filled my brain with grains of this and strands of that,stats and rats that chew the fur on ***** cats and bats no *****,Niagara falls and if it does why did it fell?,Tenses, tense that make me sick,Michael Miles and 'take your pick'
I can,not tin but aloo mini im or if you're Yankee alloo minum,oh what fun.I'm going round the twist,just spiraling not really ****** and reading down the list I see,
Her Majesty is having tea or as we say,a spot of tiffin,jolly good and splendid,spiffing,what a beezer that geezer is,Philip I mean and not the Queen,she's a lass I think and don't want to think no more.

matthew scott harris Mar 2018

Machinations of a Maniac

(no braggadocio! modest rodomontade scored triumphantly!)

Unbeknownst to me, a generic human ape,
an unpleasant surprise
     swished down like an ominous cape
awaited and near smothered me drape

ping that October morning, where no escape
presaged via frisky black cats
     chasing shadows on fire escape
crossed my path after walking under a ladder
     where ice **** ravens didst jape!
**********
Wheels of injustice applied via de
fender, sans Johnny Cochran forced ee
year splitting amidst general public fee
ver rush to absorb disbelief shell shock hee
ret tickle non guilty conviction from key

ping popular culture spell bountious lee
really exhausted viz three ring me
dee ya circus (June 1994 – October 1995) pre
vail ling obvious evidence irrelevant, thus re
deeming O.J. Simpson to strut guilt free

from emotionally charged trial. I awoke
as usual and performed customary bespoke
oblations vis a vis half-hour plus choke
hold asphyxiation meditation, okey doke
shuteye discipline followed daily to evoke

calm, cool, and collected trance zen dental
bliss before motoring on with gist of gentle
lee presented vignette, though me mental
state did not shift gears into a rental

modus operandi, but only partially new
trawl eyed , cuz the then fiancé (one mew
zing chic chick i.e. Abby Robin Zison), Jew
dish us lee spent the night
     at our transitional grew

some domicile) immediately nsync to report do
tuff lee (at the Goddard School)
     raced like a Chew
Bach ha's Dickensian protagonist back up Badoo
two flights of stairs. Like eponymous Aloo

men hum mushing spry feline woman out bitta bing
bitta bang (clanging like hells bells) ding
donging, she immediately flew back fling
all four feet eleven of her harried style jing

ling in an agitated state she set foot to go bob
bing out the door intent
   (as iterated) driving to her job,
and in combination pantomime
   and words crisis did lob

asper like a bot to me,
     she attempted to communicate rob
bing her unsuspecting fount of thespianism
   tub air gritty modicum
   of rationale from putrid slob

name of Leslie (the lunatic landlady)
     thine paramour conveyed clarity mouth ajar
after surmising urgent news
     required automatic action to un bar
driveway, where I parked car,

the previous night surreptitiously venal far
from rational rapscallion most definitely har
bored an axe to grind, and locked Ford Escort par
**** shinned within chain linked fence - war

fore suggestion got made
     (from future bride)
to confront landlady,
     and sternly insist and mildly chide
corrective action taken,

     yet this storyteller defied
said suggestion, and brainstormed
    with betrothed asthma guide
averting compromising neither of our pride

and prejudice respective, sans stevedore
managers would not let us slide
gnome hatter, how we could not
     escape deprecation
     no matter how much we tried.

Prior to heading off to bed
     the prior night, I deigned
to express likelihood to landlord/owner
     thyself and pseudo spouse needed to find

another place to live. The major reasons
for vacating premises? Her grind
ding cigarette no ifs, ands
     or buts smoking mind
less ness ranked (on par
     with chimney didst wind

     burning wood smoke
at full blast) as primary source
     of revulsion did provoke,
and aye came across with homespun folksy
sensitive mien, as a simple country bloke
I expressed honest sentiment at being
extremely averse (where hacking awoke

     the future wife)
     from second hand carcinogen(s)
     extant within cancer sticks. Asphyxiation deafen
knit lee found me choking half to death even
putting towel under the door, or

     additionally keeping
     bedroom window wide open,
the malodorous nicotine wisps ambled - pen
     knit trait ting, wending, curly cued,
     and filtered thru fabric with mischievous yen.

No matter, the twisting tendrils of tobacco found
their way into ole factory nasal cavity ground
zero, sans health conscious holistic being hound
did, what constituted one deranged dame
     the SPCA ought to impound.

Another factor fueling foul accommodations yin
     wanna know offset fine tuned win
Dixie yang,
     which odoriferous torture constituted

     nauseating odor of cat *****
and litter boxes smelt worse than sin,
cuz, they never got cleaned of feline ***** matter
     near visible as a unsightly dangerous shark fin.

Upon summoning effort
     and energy to communicate
bona fide concerns, she responded
     and didst denigrate

with contempt fiery madness irate
psychotic malicious venomous vile
     as dead body snatcher mate
and then insidious wheels

     of malice with tongue flames
crackling, popping, and snapping
     from out her reptilian pate
     began to turn more sharply

     amidst ghoulish clatter and path
     of destruction on her tabula rosa slate
with more danger than
     along axis of evil tete a tete.

She madly paced back and forth
     across maligned envisioned aisle
a small patch of uncluttered space in main foyer
     witnessed seething rage wherein

     carpeted floor boards,
     an imperfect circle shod feet didst dial
no doubt internally
     plotting vengeful strategic guile.

Castigations, fulminations, and insinuations ague
gulled out her mouth
     noxious fumes left exit pronto flew
ludicrous lacerations
     from fiery dragon lady did spew

while yours truly soundly slept
     and without incident dreamt edenic view
she unwittingly trappings to annihilate  Xandu
some personal vendetta. After I washed, dressed as a zoo

keeper headed downstairs,
     the malicious scheme she did hatch
out back became a living reality,
     an empty house doors hooked with latch

(Samir, the other occupant) left hours earlier no match
to tangle with wicked witch absented premises natch
eerily echoed every footstep trod one patch,
after another
     patent leather slippers paused to scratch

an niche 'pon second landing
     (to confirm a strong hunch)
that nary a soul heard nor seen,
     probably out to lunch,

no raving ranting banshee
     demented drunk as punch
No zombie like entity appeared from the “DO
NOT DISTURB” sign affixed
     outside sleeping area, aye did scrunch

brow to compress insight,
     where mangy catatonic felines
     shared coterie holograms suddenly jumped out
     from virtual reality cat n' app cradle
     swishing tails shorn like cat o' nines

mewing obscenities (within/ out
     computer screen, ominous signs,
sans phantasmagoric phantom) lurking
     like a lunatic swing from vines.

Nonetheless, I continued to tread
     down dimly lit said
lower level with glimmer
     of optimism to bolster lead

din heavy mood crossing fingers
     spare set of skeleton keys
     (with cross bones and skull head)
nearly always left tantalizingly
     dangling in unused door latch, twas cred

double wish, thus spirit within me soared
and just as quickly sank to abyss of psyche moored
     sensation felt like poured molten lava oh Lord
Guess what? No such luck. Oh,
     she definitely would not a ford

carelessness, and took precautions okay
hiding temptation to make a getaway
Well…I stepped outside
     to assess situation. Blimey cray
zee myopic eyes forced to glean deadbolt
     found gate shut tight, thence a feeble bray

escaped parched lips, when lo...vix
teased and cross myopic eyes,
     no doubt played tricks
holy glory. Ah, a handsaw
     carelessly got left and altered mix
matched tool chest in plain view, a sudden fix

but prior to acting on the plan, quite do able
I made a few telephone calls
     first telephonically cable
hub rate, and firstly contacted employer

     told tale more unbelievable than a fable
thence to local police
     in order to file complaint against
     goon bonkers malicious monstrous label

quick as the brown fox
     jumps over the lazy dog
escape attempted perilous hell grog
ghee nightmare commenced after placing

     phone back on cradle, whence nog
     'gin set fingers to twitch busily
     sawing into one steel link,
    (an effort aye did slog)

thru to break at one linkedin steel segment
barricading trusty Ford Escort
     so this fellow could hightail with pent
up adrenaline out of nefarious
     steely web and test a mint...,

     whence surge of adrenaline
coursed from head to toe,
     my heart pounded not so gent
lee ready to burst from chest,
     and palms perspired profusely
with unexpected accursed of evil incarnate
     vis a vis hell bent agent

provocateur ready to pounce
     and deliver violent
retribution, which blows
     from blunt heavy object,
   would invariably render me unconscious
   courtesy of cerebral rent.

For better than worse, a kind face
of destiny smiled from countenance grace
sing unseen karma
     smiled smooth as sateen or lace
upon my essence as shaking hands

     furiosly moved saw handle
     back and forth dozens of times until…
THE CHAIN BROKE AND SET ME FREE
     now fickle finger of fate
     got me ought ta this place!

#no #need #to #reed #every #last #word

Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017

favourite cycling route / flintstone settlement / my devil is older than yours

while contemplating tomorrow's dinner: an aloo gobi (potato + cauliflower) curry, and a chicken korma - wishing it was a little bit more of a "cultural appropriation": seems i can't get a turban for the love of god, or becoming a transvestite in a sari.

could have been an employable chemist,
working on esters in a dolce & gabbana
perfumery; the cardamon pods got me,
what can i say, other than:
      other than - they call themselves
storytellers, artists, these modern chefs,
i'd prefer to call them the understudy of
chemists;
  and **** i was good at organic chemistry...
the other two branches:
  dead, inanimate often, inorganic (geological)
and the physical... too dead for me,
not enough perfumes, enough colours,
just digits, chemistry for the autistic.
beside the point,
you want to know my favourite cycling
route?
  when in one summer i lost almost 20kg
and then "faked" putting them back on,
oink, bloated from alcohol?
              that french braid in school didn't
help steer away the jealous eye either...
about a 50+ km route...
  let's just say the following:

1. radwańska (route 754)
2. down the 754 through:
       sudół, krzemionki opatowskie,
      magonie, maksilimilanów,
    ruda bałtowska, reaching
                                         bałtów
3. heading into the masovian voivodeship,
  and then a mix of
4. wółka bałtowska /
         borcuchy /
          eugeniów /
              stara dębowa wola /
         sarnówek duży /
        adamów /
           leśniczówka /
      wółwka trzemecka /
  wółkwa bałtowska /
        nowy olechów /
              and then into the home straight
on
5. siennieńska back into ostrowiec
         świętokrzyski...

of all the places i cite, i'm pretty sure no
google car ventured into...
i'm not going to check, i'm just going
to assume...

yes, i lived in a city, where you could
see timber structures from
the krzemień period in human history...
krzemień? flint!
                         a flintstone settlement
lies about 10km from where i was born...
looks kinda cosy...
     a wooden wall and all...
   sure, the english can boast about their
stonehenge,
but i was born near a very, very old
flintstone settlement...
                i never realised how
potent its existence is to revel in...
that's older than the iron age, the bronze age...
that ******* old, i'm telling you...
     and look at me, still defiant with
the darwinistic **** of studying history,
how we have managed to jump so far back
and leave a massive grey area in between..
i was born next to the flintstones,
          where were you born?

p.s. and as i can remember, along the route,
i used to buy goat milk from one of
the ladies in the villages i passed;
+ badass of a bike too,
   dubbed the "terminator", crimson red,
hard frame,
        a mountain bike, heavy tires,
i can tell you i beat a guy on
a *kolarzówka (tour de france type bikes)
one time...
    they don't make 'em as they used
to.

Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017

8 lives left

so much of the intellectual property debate is summarised in the cartesian res extensa concept, and so much of that translates back into a theory of schizophrenia... after all, i have taken it to heart to go back to the conceptualisation of the diagnosis prior to the muddles of existentialism, after all, the schizophrenic symptom is like a pish-poor version of prof. xavier, who was modelled on a schizophrenic, and all that tele- fruit wagon, -pathy, -kinesis, whatever you want to equate with the veg wagon of the god "almighty".

and it is just so, the upper tier of the cartesian model
invokes the *res extensa: or the spiderweb of
the actual spider, who isn't a spider,
but a thinking "spider"...
         auditory hallucinations have to be scarier
than visual ones, given that visual hallucinations
are sometimes conjured up recreationally...
safe to say: hard to fear something you can see,
much harder to keep a nerve hearing something:
but not seeing it!
         and once again, the deciphering of biblical
phrasing, that "supposed"
   peccatus archetypus / "original sin" -
the joke is that it was never: original -
   expilo ignarus esse
   (plagiarise being ignorant) -
               funny how a complex mental disorder
can feed the canvas of intellectual property
theft,
          which is why people even joke
about it, because it's not even considered a "theft",
but i really thought that in the "real" world
we moved away from the classroom antics of
getting the easy ride?
   the so-called "real" life is as real as
             a bridge, and a troll living under it...
oh, that aloo gobi curry went down as a treat,
better than the korma,
   it was the madras curry spice,
  and some kashmiri chili powder that did
miracles to the tatties and ol' albino brain
that's the cauliflower... served with chapatis...
nonetheless, there's a strange link with modern
talk of intellectual theft, and schizophrenia,
you have to admit, premature dementia is
probably more a staggering curiosity than
cancer in children...
                     primarily because it is less and less
(year upon year) a physical problem,
rather the antithesis of what some old people
say: i feel 16, in an 86 year olds body...
   in some cases sure: dumb as log of wood,
but in other instance: a hypersensitive acquisition
of language, and hyped awareness of
one's surrounding: the "paranoia" part of
a diagnostic compound: as william burroughs
already said:
    yep, because i knew the name of our
current president;
   but it all coincides (once again, to me being
diagnoses as such, when in fact i was only
bilingual...) - with the nexus being arrived upon
    the cartesian res extensa, i.e. the extended thing...
intellectual property sits along with
  schizophrenic symptoms as: coordinate extensions -
although for the former the extension
takes place in other people is regarded as
the most petty of forms of theft -
     if thieves think burglars are losers,
then burglars know that plagiarists are the ****
of the earth...
    the difference is that, in terms of symptomatology
of a schizophrenic... interruptions -
or as i like to call it: heckling...
why do i have such a niche interest?
     so this ex calls me up at work while
i'm on the 16th floor roofing...
  and she's panicking... she says she's hearing
voices...
  i later learn she ****** my former
school friend with whom i sat arm to arm in
english class, and she tells me: voices! voices!
i'm hearing voices!
                 after i left edinburgh she spiralled
from mere **** into m.d.m.a., acid...
     and she didn't tell me to use the rubbers again
after, on the whim, she read a cosmopolitan
article that probably read: how to trap a guy
by getting yourself pregnant secretely...
me? alimony? does alimony transcend borders?
so can a russian chic ask for alimony from
a former pole now, a brit?
    well, she calls me up, and then the cat in
me became curious, i was a ****** prior to this
medical condition, or should i say,
prior to the whole idea of mental health...
it was prior to then an ****** cousin stuck in
the attic of a surgeon's house,
  bound by the chains of what translated from
philosophical dualism of descartes,
  into the medical dichotomy of post-descartes
of clear distinction: between mind & body...
suddenly, all of a sudden... a convergence
project began, with more and more english kids
exposing the reality of the two, being, seemingly,
non-parallel.
   well... perhaps the curiosity killed the cat,
but i still have 8 lives left.

— The End —