"boyardee" poems
some people were made
to do great things
a wife, children,
a 401k and
a built in pool
and some people were made for
drinking, ******
***** jeans and
Chef Boyardee
to be happy
you just have to
realize that
not everyone
will live that
seemingly perfect life
some lives are made for
nothing more than
being wasted
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC
Smirked at, ****** on, pushed around, beat down
The ***** street corner is Tipsy Trixie's sin city playground.
She charges cheap,
because the black asphalt radiates the smoldering mid-July heat.
She hums "Hey Jude" as she struts up and down 9th Street.
She can't wear layers in the winter, because nobody can see the goods
underneath leg warmers , gloves, furs, and hoods.
Now Trixie is pregnant, 4 months...she's starting to show.
The days are getting longer but the business is slow.
"The Man" doesn't know.
He won't know...he can never know.
Trixie's been warned about the man.
He'll beat her up, and slice her open,
like a Chef Boyardee ravioli can.
Then he''ll sew her up and throw her back on 9th street,
to meet supply and demand.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
I went to put on my shoes this morning
To find that I had put yours on
Last I had checked,
You were still learning to walk
You could barely say my name
As we played in cardboard castles
Sitting behind the couch
Quietly eating our chef boyardee
Mom didn't know it, but she was playing Hid n' Seek
She was losing
My brother is growing older
Still on the beginning of his path
Going out of his way to point out the three hairs he nurtures under his arm
He's about to learn about love
Broken hearts
Success
Failure
But he has one thing no one else does
He's equipped with a heart
The composition is no longer organic
His heart is a composition of Steel and Gold
Beating for all those around him
He's a better person that I can ever wish to be
Ten times the kindness
Ten times the humor
Ten times the ********
You're still learning to walk your path
You may fall
Don't be afraid to reach out
I'll be here to catch you
Always
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
I keep getting this urge
To tell strangers
How you used to bring a can of Chef Boyardee
To school for lunch everyday.
Or how I used to collect
Plastic Hello Kitty cupcake rings
And give them to you
Just to see you smile.
I would laugh as you ate it cold,
plastic fork suspended
straight from the can.
I would smile with you,
and hope you didn't realize
I ate all those cupcakes
by myself.
I want to share you with the world
Take your memory with me in my pockets
Spill it out with my tongue
I want to share you with the world,
Introduce you to people you will never meet
Tell people about you
Because they will never get the chance
To get to know you like I did
Like we all did.
But when you took your life,
You did the world a disservice
You took away the world's chance to find you
So you could find yourself
You took away your opportunities
To change
To get better
To grow
To love
And be loved
How we loved
You.
Your smile
Your eyes
Your soul
All so bright
Like stars in sky
Stars that you snuffed out
Stars that we can't gaze at anymore.
Your constellation is lost
Just a fairytale now
But a favorite amongst us all
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
I'm trying not to get overly excited
I'm on just this side of freak
I've finally gotten the call I've been waiting for
The one that for years has eluded me
There aren't to many farmers out there
That take as much pride in what they grow
That's why Chef Boyardee selected me
To join their team on SpaghettiO's
I've been raising spaghetti for years
Spaghetti straight and long and lean
So I really see no problem
In SpaghettiO transitioning
From the natural growth of spaghetti
To the famed shape of the SpaghettiO
I just need to learn the secret
Of how to roll the perfect hole
As day one arrives in all it's glory
I head out into the fields
Stopping during the day only long enough
For a delicious Italian canned meal
Where I enjoy only the finest ingredients
Straight from the heart of this multicolored can
From the sweet little O's to the...What color is this sauce?! "Orange?!" "Red?!"
And isn't the taste a bit overly bland...
Oh well...
When the day of harvest arrives
I bring in the Italians cause everyone knows
For generations they have perfected
The delicate picking of SpaghettiO's
Who ever thought the growing of spaghetti
Would bring this farmer so much fame
I just received a call from a little known farming cult
Who'd like me to try my hand at the growing of Spam
After my successful go at SpaghettiO's
I'm pretty sure I'm just the man who can
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
Eva comes home from work to where there are many flies
and slaps my brother side-headed because he left the back
door open, she is bovine heavy and limps to close it. We eat
Chef Boyardee Spaghetti and it is soothing like peanut butter
fudge or Pepsi-Cola. Eva says do the dishes up boys, goes
to bed and cries. Me and brother go to sleep and I dream
of a burning house.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC
this is not a poem.
this is an idea next to a blank canvas
it is up to you to make it your own
think about it -
maybe you could write about
the relation between the faded white hues of chef boyardee's hat and the color of the used car?
or maybe about Mr. Boyardee negotiating with the Jeep salesman, bribing him with Chef Boyardee © branded ravioli?
think about the different scenarios
make this idea happen
freeverse, limerick, haiku
whatever you wish to do
YOU are the chosen one
good luck.
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 1:42 AM UTC