"corned" poems
No sprouted wheat and soya shoots
And Brussels in a cake,
Carrot straw and spinach raw,
(Today, I need a steak).
Not thick brown rice and rice pilaw
Or mushrooms creamed on toast,
Turnips mashed and parsnips hashed,
(I'm dreaming of a roast).
Health-food folks around the world
Are thinned by anxious zeal,
They look for help in seafood kelp
(I count on breaded veal).
No smoking signs, raw mustard greens,
Zucchini by the ton,
Uncooked kale and bodies frail
Are sure to make me run
to
***** of pork and chicken thighs
And standing rib, so prime,
Pork chops brown and fresh ground round
(I crave them all the time).
Irish stews and boiled corned beef
and hot dogs by the scores,
or any place that saves a space
For smoking carnivores.
21.8k
I like hearing you talk about Mozart
Because it means you’re listening.
His piano keys are no different from mine.
I like hearing you talk about Mozart.
I used to play his pieces before I sleep.
His arpeggio is my lullaby;
His laughter, a sombre tune to which I tune
My keys.
There’s no denying that you like Mozart;
Never mind his spending habit.
I sometimes think you are Mozart.
I think Beethoven was fad gone true because
He was deaf to his laughter,
And Schubert was too old, too young to remember
How to step on the pedals
While he tried his many operas
On his baby grand piano.
I think of Mozart in my sleep, in my dreams,
On the toilet, while eating.
I think of Mozart and his young son
And the requiem he stood dying to finish.
Mozart became a
One night stand, and I am not proud of that.
I majored in advertising, God knows why, and maybe
Mozart had something to do with that.
I factored one and two equals the sign of what digit,
And maybe Mozart had something to do with that.
I wrote a story once,
About a starving artist;
Maybe he was the force behind that.
I filled my library with fiction,
And fiction became a running schedule for me.
Maybe Mozart had something to do with that.
I’ve grown roots and sprouted horns listening to Bach;
I don’t think Mozart knew that.
But it was the size of the shoe that never fit me in third grade,
And the roots run as deep as a well of Hope grown asunder.
I knew Mozart would not like that.
And it was holy.
We are holy.
He was holy.
Mozart was holy. Mozart was holy.
Mozart was holier than a cow gunned for meat turned to steak
And corned beef on my breakfast sandwich.
Mozart was holier than a dishwashing paste advertisement
That promises oil free, squeaky clean Experience.
Mozart was more than a religious façade played in the sala
Of some affluent geeky teenager’s house
Where no one bothers to eat the garnishing.
Mozart was holier than Bach, Chopin, Stravinsky, Wagner.
His flute promised a princess to remain priceless.
Mozart was holier than Salieri.
Mozart knew better than Salieri.
Mozart played better than Salieri,
And he got the better of Salieri when Antonio himself said,
**** that Austrian ****** who plays, lives and howls like a show monkey.
**** this court.
**** this Emperor who can hardly keep together his fingers to play.
**** Austria.
**** Vienna.
**** this era of opera played in German that hardly sells a ticket.
**** this requiem and this boy,
This mad man, pint sized and hardly put together like a china doll.
**** this piano, and to hell with his lovers.”
I saw Mozart once. He waved at me.
I turned and looked away because I was listening to you talk about Mozart.
And I like hearing you talk about Mozart
Than Mozart talking about
Himself.
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC
The things we say to one another:
we could
choose
to make them mean something.
I could tell you that I love you,
even though we've never
really met. You could
tell me that you're dying
and it scares you.
We could talk about the rise and fall
of injection-moulded empires,
the rise and fall of your
mother's chest, as she
took her last breath.
We could vow to behead tyrants together.
We could promise
that we'd never fall victim
to that same sickness. We could
compare our hurts and find a
connection
in our mutual pain. We
could try to share our loneliness,
and maybe the world
would be less lonely.
Or at least we could
speak,
like you're a person
and I'm a person, like we're both
made of the same
beautiful, doomed matter,
only separated
by social convention and
accidental skin;
we could say something worth saying.
Instead: plastic bag tax, The Match,
weight loss and where to buy
the best factory-seconds shoes,
the televised finals of something or other,
the rising cost of corned beef, the
obligatory conversation piece
about the weather.
Can't we talk
just a little bit
bigger than this?
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
I've borne the heavy load.
I've worked all the day.
Got two children at the house to feed.
Husband's gone away.
I've a bunion on my toe,
But I've got a corn pad.
With a smile upon my face,
Swear, it don't hurt so bad.
Don't the moonlight look so grand,
Shining in the sky!
Walking home from second shift,
Clean cars are wizzing by.
There's a light mist in the air
That gives me some relief.
In the crock *** waits at home
Hash and good corned beef.
My fingers gnarl and seize,
The handle's hard to grip.
I hope the boss don't send me home.
The kids have a field trip.
When the kids get on the bus
To travel out of town,
I might take a few days off
To lay my tired head down.
Don't the moonlight look so grand,
Shining in the sky.
Walking home from second shift,
Clean cars are wizzing by.
There's a light mist in the air
That gives me some relief.
In the crock *** waits at home
Hash and good corned beef.
I am faithful to the work.
I don't call in sick.
I'm hardworking as a man.
The foreman calls me "chick."
I never complain about my back.
Lord, He knows, I need this job.
I can take the stripes they give.
Don't give my raise to Bob.
Don't the moonlight look so grand,
Shining in the sky.
Walking home from second shift,
Clean cars are wizzing by.
There's a light mist in the air
That gives me some relief.
In the crock *** waits at home
Hash and good corned beef.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
Parker-Based Show, endow your Godfather
Hitch your Strings where your Public Pews invest
With him in Tan; Rake the Stars thereafter
Concern these Words; Or stab the Heart at best
So unexpected these foot Personnel
Hoping to match what others mostly fear
Ignore the Metres; Then impress his Spell
And release the Sound which they want to hear
Most, in Respite, make habit planting Flags
When such Ritual will discredit the Prince
Yet Millions, by three's, twice-timed winning back
That pop-corned Scale; Then worshipped ever since.
Fleeting predict, this Show in five-legs run
Least to endeavour; But mostly for fun.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 2:57 AM UTC
I knew I was hungry,
But I didn't know satiation like you existed.
I was happy with what I was being served, before I'd tasted luxury.
You're corned beef hash across from a plain cheeseburger.
I've never had you before, but you're familiar.
I've searched for this flavor.
Now I've gotten a taste, I'm hungry again.
Don't let me starve.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
I
Am
An american
I take too much.
I take everything for granted.
I have more than enough food to feed a family of ten,
Why not waste a meal or two,
who am I really hurting?
I don’t see the scars I’ve dug down deep in the skin of others.
I don’t know the pain I’ve caused.
The wounds are oozing over but,
I don’t have to worry because
Momma says “shh, baby, it’s okay”
If only she knew that I’ve sent a 6 year old boy in a grown mens battlefield,
land mines and bullets surround him,
I’m corned by MTV re-runs and empty Pepsi cans.
I’ve never had to deal with the pain of watching my mother be beaten in front of my eyes
Just to instill my loyalty
I’ve never watch everything I love burn down to the ground,
I’m too busy chatting up the latest blockbuster movie.
The money won’t pay for the 9 kids walking the streets,
It’s not much of a game when theres actual lives on the line.
They’ve been bashed and bruised,
Claiming their okay,
Even they know Mona Lisa has a fake smile.
I wish I could show the demons I’ve sent out in the world
They’ve been torturing the souls of the weak and hopeless
I’m hopeful I’ll catch the next Jersey shore episode.
How can you expect me to understand my devastation
when I’m told it isn’t even my fault.
I’ll never be able to tell you all of the wrongs that I’ve done, because I don’t even know what they are.
They’ve been melted and creamed in a blender
Take a sip from the cup of destruction
Genghis Kong
would be proud.
I guess I’ve taken too many steps in the wrong direction,
make an exception
because the expectation, is that
I can’t be the one to blame.
My pride is set before the fall of ours,
I’ll never get to see where they land.
Maybe they can find their way to a place where they can hurt people freely.
They’ll take too much.
Take everything for granted.
They’ll waste a meal or two
But,
Who aren’t they really hurting?
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 7:44 PM UTC
Went to the General Store today
it was named
FAST & EASY
Must have been tongue in cheek
I went in and the general manager
was eating corned beef from the can
Went in to buy a pack of cigs
for a friend
Was assaulted by
Bob's Country Made Molasses
Dried Baby Alligator Heads
A Candy Counter
Antique ? Furniture
no judgement, just not sure
A ***** bathroom
blowjob offering on the wall, nice
Walked out of the general store today
FA -T & EASY
looks like the neon turned on
What a place, I like it a lot
Or maybe it's just the warm Florida air
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
We sit in a circle after
In my living room
I am talking
How my ex who
I can not help but
love
was ***** during this last Halloween
How another girl
who met another night
was corned
One kept watch
blocked off the section of the house
She was ***** by a window
She could look out
See the other partiers
Why was this happening
I cry
I tell them how
I feel helpless
I cannot protect the women I love
While I’m talking about this
He is handling his ****
with sick pleasure
right ******* next to me
I don’t know it
but he is
thinking about
the girl
last night
and
the ones before
their screams and their blood
how he had gotten away with all five
It had happened to the victims before
they say reporting
Does
Not
Mean
****
I don’t know it
but he is thinking of his next victim
My mom
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
Kids, like glass, aren't indestructible.
As much as the boy who smokes stolen cigarettes on empty train tracks,
going through them like cheap candy,
says that he's not broken, he's cracked a long time ago.
The drug addict who plays with fire as if it's his pet, running fingers along soft orange and reds, burns littering his arm, knows that he's shattered beyond recognition, but he doesn't care.
The abused boy, curling up into a ball under his bed to avoid the beatings, his face covered in blood, glass from a broken bottle thrown at him studded in his arms. Glass from a broken soul studded in every aspect of himself
The bad boy, who gets into fights and does graffiti on the walls, says that he isn't glass. That someone who has gone through as much as he did shouldn't be something so fragile. He shatters too one day, when he finds himself corned by 5 men in an alley. He doesn't come back out.
The insomniac who's plagued by nightmares when he's awake, find that they only get worse when he sleeps. So he takes pills, pils, pills, until the glass gives out, and crumbles into powder.
The depressed boy, who thinks his existence is a burden, holds an empty wine glass in his shaking hand. As he sinks lower into the bathtub, he lets go of the fragile glass, and it
breaks into a million pieces
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The schizophrenic who sees his dead friends in the train tracks, the fireplace, the bed, the empty alleys, the pills he takes, and the glasses of water he washed them down with. He sees his friends in the oceans of their home, in the lights that lit up streets they roamed. He sees them in the 24/7 convenience store they’d hang out at, until the owner kicked them out. He know that they aren't real, that it's just a way he deals with his grief. That his mind has created these ghosts because he refuses to accept his friends are gone, the doctors tell him so anyway. But if his ghosts leave then he's got nothing left. So he holds on to his broken pieces of glass, long after they've left him, the memories cutting into his skin. Because he can't have nothing.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 7:49 PM UTC
The morning that relaxes my strained tongue and eye
is secondarily consumed by corned beef hash,
marijuana and electronics
It wanes to afternoon and night
all without the choking and doubt
that might as well have left itself in her place in bed
or in either of the two kinds of tissue
all too often left on my nightstand
by (or in the wake of) her
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
Auntie's friend
gave me
a cheese sandwich
I sat on
an old settee with it
her daughter Elsie
sat at the other end
of the settee
as far from me
as she could get
nibbling at a sandwich
why are you sitting
so far way from Benny?
her mum said
don't want
to sit next to him
Elsie said
you'll sit near Benny
and like it
her mum said
Elsie shifted
nearer to me
with a ******* lemons
sort of face
and nibbled her sandwich
not looking at me
her mum walked back
to the kitchen where
she was talking
to my aunt
what sort of sandwich
have you got?
I asked
bread
she said coldly
but what
is in it?
I said
corned beef
she said
do you like corned beef?
I said
why do you
talk to me
you're worse
than Billy the bird
she said
I like talking to you
I said
I don't like you
talking to me
she said
I ate my sandwich
in silence
for a few moments
what year
were you born?
I said
after swallowing
a bit of sandwich
1946
she said
that is why
I am 5
I nodded
and looked at her
I was born in 1947
in London
I said
that is why
you are 4
she said
she nibbled
more sandwich
Mum said
kids from London
got fleas
she said
a few minutes after
I haven't
I said
you smell of dog
she said
just then Elise’s mum
came in and slapped
Elise’s leg
with her hand
don't be horrible to Benny
I heard you
I nibbled my sandwich
say sorry
her mum said angrily
Elsie looked at her shoes
and mumbled a sorry
her mum walked back
to the kitchen
Elsie rubbed her leg
with her small hand
and looked at the sandwich
in her other hand
didn't mean it
Elsie said
her leg getting red.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 2:47 AM UTC
breath, you seem to be running away
mind, you seem to be lost
time, oh time you've never cared
life, you seem to have forgotten me
I'm trapped, trapped in a four corned room
a empty blank walled cell
an abyss of black nothingness
a prison
my limbs are heavy but
my eyes won't close
my double-minded heart is a stone
so I'm sinking and I'm drowning
drowning with my eyes wide open
drowning with an anchor tired to my foot
drowning with my eyes wide open
for all who are wondering what it feels like to drown
well it feels like nothing
it's empty
I want to move but I have forgotten how
I want to scream but my lips are locked shut
so I let myself fall
I let myself drown,
and Maybe I deserve it
infact I know I deserve it
I was living as a shadow of a shadow of myself
not knowing if I was ever going to live beyond this shadow of a person
I've lived like this for so long it seems so endless.
This is my state of mind.
Fight they say but
fighting isn't that easy
but then again no-one ever said it was
And honestly I'm tired of fighting and being strong
why do we fight
why should we fight
why do I fight
if everything I do is worth nothing
If all of it means less than that of the life of a goldfish
then why should I,
tell me why and maybe I'll listen
maybe I'll change
stop me from breaking before I stop breathing
don't let me keep falling
grab my hand and pull me to the surface
but
you never listened, did you?
you never noticed that my heart stopped beating
never saw that I was burning
and I was drowning
And I know it makes no sense to you
but it does to me
I asked and I cried but you still let me fall
You still let me drown
breath you never came back
mind you were never found
time you never waited
life you never remembered me
no one did
even after all I've said I can't really explain to you my pain
I'm waiting for the day when I can
I'll wait to be saved
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 10:03 AM UTC
Mon Père, ce grand Chêne,
Je le croyais indéracinable, en ses terres,
Comme ce chêne Corse, sur la roche, poussé.
Il nous semblait si grand, il paraissait si fort,
Si longtemps résistant aux grands vents de la vie,
Sous les châtaigneraies et parmi les bruyères,
Il marchait, puis rêvait.
Parfois, il m'amenait, dans son refuge,
y faisait provision de «corned-beef» et de lait
en boite "gloria", et aussi de «bastelles»,
et ces repas hâtifs me semblaient un festin.
Mais plus que tout, je goûtais si belle liberté.
Disparues les contraintes.
D'un pas de montagnard, il nous menait, souvent,
En ces lieux de granit, qui semblaient son domaine.
Il me mit dans les mains, sa fine carabine,
dont j'aimais le canon à l’acier effilé ;
mais avant que je presse, le geai était parti.
Il ne me gronda pas.
Le soir, si peu dormeurs, avec Régis, mon frère,
dans la chambre aux obus, des tués de quatorze,
dont un panier d'osier exhalait tant les truites,
Nous le savions dormir dans la chambre à côté,
nous ne cherchions pas trop, sommeil prompt à venir.
Je lisais de vieux livre.
Et puis nous descendions, furtifs vers la rivière,
encaissé dans les roches le «Fiume grosso» grondait.
Mon père nous racontait qu'il y avait dormi
avec quelques amis, à la flambée des feux.
Et le bruit lancinant était une musique
qui malgré le soleil nous tenait éveillé.
Magie des eaux profondes.
Quand un jour de détresse, je perdis «Nils le prince»
ressentant mon chagrin, il me facilita
L’achat d'un jeune chien, je l'ai encore au cœur,
ce cadeau si exquis, qui fut baume sur plaie
Merci de m'avoir fait, ce présent plein d'amour.
La tendresse d'un père.
Il vécut si longtemps, que je ne prêtais guère,
attention au torrent qui se faisait ruisseau,
aux blancs cheveux venus, au dos un peu voûté,
tant les fils ont besoin de croire invincible
Le père qui fut grand à l’aube de leurs vies.
Besoin de protection.
Un père est une force qui paraît infinie
pour le jeune enfant qui en a tant besoin
peut être imaginaire, qui soutient et le guide.
Alors devenu homme, il découvre un soir
que le chêne vacille, s'appuie sur une canne.
Il est désormais seul.
Paul d'Aubin – Toulouse,
«Poésie élégiaque»,
En l'honneur de son père André Dominique,
dit, Candria », décédé le 29 novembre 2010.»
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
I got hummus and pretzels,
but I wanted a bag of chips.
I got creamer and cheesecake,
but ate corned beef hash with a pepsi.
I don't quite think I'm lying about
who I am to myself, but
on the other hand I'm feeling
like there's something behind
those curtains. Friends I don't
give a **** about, and an increasing
incentive to just start walking
and never turn around. There's
a diner somewhere out there
with a meat and potatoes dish
just as good as mom's, I bet.
I'd sincerely like to give a ****
Sometimes I wonder if life seems
easier for people who feel gung-ho
about dying in military slavery
and ********** to FOX news.
If you're reading this,
hey, maybe we're not so different;
You play a zealot's game of
love and peace, but pull the trigger
right in their children's faces,
and I tip-toe around people
I couldn't care less about.
We nourish each other in the way
that chairs aid discussion
in an episode of Jerry Springer.
Doesn't have to be comedy,
but I wasn't going to cry about it.
I'd probably just fib and say
everything's aces.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
My corned beef tasted like
Chateaubriand today
and the sun wasn't yellow,
it was golden
& I am not myself,
these feelings.
Oh these ******** feelings.
Nothing is the same
since I met you,
I want more.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
Each annual August
I wonder if some ocean or pool
caught off guard in the sun's shine
as a fleeting mirage
nonetheless God's natural will
for that fleeting moment of perfection
seen out of the corned of your eye
that dazzled your soul
and peaked your curiosity
before accepting the unexplained
and retreating with a quick shrug
to a life of ease & understanding
and the paradise water
Reminds you of my
blue-eyed gleam.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC
Life Is A Corned Beef Hash
(A metaphor)
Life is a corned beef hash -
Or chicken, pork or any stash
Of edibles you have at hand.
If you are clever
You will use the cleaver
To make dishes
So delicious
Guests will never understand
With formulaic words
How to make the bouquet of accolades
Big enough.
(Wow! That was pufferific!)*
All you have to do is focus,
Be a tiny bit courageous,
Use a quantity of hocus pocus
So your genius
Can shine,
Your mine of treasure
The impromptu measure
of the moment.
Life Is A Corned Beef Hash 8.12.2017
A Sense Of the Ridiculous II;
Arlene Corwin
*puffery – in case you didn’t know: exaggerated praise; hyperbole.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 6:05 AM UTC
corned beef on rye!
lots a mustard!
cole slaw and a dill pickle!
the jewish delicatesen on 2nd ave
and then there's israeli foreign policy
--------------
"HURRAY FOR THE RED WHITE AND BLUE!
HURRAY FOR THE RED WHITE AND BLUE!
HURRAY FOR THE RED WHITE AND BLUE!"
ok
i'm done sayin that
-------------
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 12:22 PM UTC
Tony Carothers had no brothers
Tony Carothers was free
If Tony Carothers had no brothers
then who the hell is he
Tony Carothers new some others
With the same name as him
Tony Carothers and the others new
That he couldn't swim
Tony Carothers Died with the others
And now they are free of sin
Tony Carothers along with the others
Went to heaven in a corned beef tin
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 8:08 AM UTC
i don't quite know
how possible it
is to psychoanalyze yourself
to figure out the tender reasons
why you place people so
delicately on your plate
making sure the mashed potato
man and baby corned tooth
woman don't touch
like sticking a fork in
yourself trying to
pull out how she
made you feel
in 6 words or less
the language gettting
muddled like word salad
that only you can understand
eating and loving
becoming synonymous
like you asking me if
i (still) love you
and drowning my
chicken in the fiercest
bbq sauce
it's fleshy white
skin
crying out like
a blemish
on history with
no take-backs
like using
every condiment
and coping mechanism
trying to cleanse
my pallete of
you
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 11:13 PM UTC
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
two bones and two bowls
legs like twigs
and the only thing that
makes it feel like
Saint Paddy's Day
is my corned beef sandwich
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 12:30 AM UTC
The moon was well hid
Darkness was like covered with a lid
There was this strange house that stood all alone
The short pause in being shown
Standing at the front gate
The clock stopped precisely at midnight and it was getting late
As I opened the gate, I heard sequel’s in sound
My own footsteps seemed to be the only one bound
Yet I pressed on in making my house maneuvering round
I continued to walk up the front house stairs, but something inside of me told me to beware
Suddenly jumped out and it was nothing more than a mouse
The stairs began to stubble as my one foot after the other
The night is going to be different than anyone can ponder
The Raven’s flew overhead in sound in search of an eerie prey
I am determined I won’t be their flesh for today
As I entered the house
The walls seem too close me in
Should my run begin?
Adventurous in being I am
It was my mind thinking on a moment of then
A Miller’s haunted house having its own promise
The evilness and deceit with deleted of honest
I attempted to close the door
But the house refused totally to ignore
I was ****** into the house for eternity for sure
I became trapped in the house corned just like a mouse.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
Woke up today felt a limb missing
Found out I was just slipping
My mind off things that be
There can never be more than three
Got screws unscrewed
I went dipping,
Didn’t realise that I may be tipping
Off the course ever so slightly
My matches lit up ever so brightly
But no fire lasted within me for that long
Done once, twice and now it’s a shabby form
Needed me a pick me up, got a coffee
Didn’t think it’ll help the cough up or a drop key
I wanted an out but stayed in,
Didn’t find work that played easy
Did all the courses but then I was greasing
My elbows for a fit form
Didn’t know better just hit random
Trying something to work in my day
Change the phase and blow me away
But nothing stood still when my screws went missing,
I was zooming then I was tripping,
Needed a steady shoulder to cry on
My shoulders stayed broken and corned off
Didn’t have anyone to half it up.
I laid waiting for the endless to be ending
The clock strikes half past seven
And I still stayed there laying for the clouds changing.
Aug 20, 2022
Aug 20, 2022 at 10:17 AM UTC