"dente" poems
A satisfied appetite is a simply joy
Overlooked and simplified
Like a growing urge, a salivating need
That is entrancing and glorified.
Everlasting for moments we call meals
Forgotten in time, lingering above
But the taste, the lonesome lover pushed aside
Gazes afar and near wanting to be enjoyed again
The young lady with a tongue of raspberry delight
And the matured widow with darkened cacao lips
Ripening nectar of a sliced peach center
Halved and topped with mascarpone crème
The man with a skin of caramel glaze
Caressing and savoring
With a fragrance and scent
Of hazelnut coffee indulgence and sin
In the pursuit of a brief love affair
What oral sensation did my taste buds want?
My odyssey of gustatory endeavors await
Through the seas of lined people and waiting staff
Generous portions and humble pies
Decadent desserts so rich you’ll die
Vine cherry tomatoes sliced and sauté
Over al dente rigatoni in a roasted cashew sauce
A robust aroma and savory appeal
Basil leaves with garlic strips
Olive oil to top the surreal
Hubristic meatball aborigine
Elysian cuisine or many dreams
Teasing the senses, warming the pit
Of flowing pleasures
And tingling fingertips
Without moral measures
And succulent wines
Rotisserie lamb falling of the bone
Seasoned with Sicilian herbs
And paired with broiled asparagus
Drizzled with lemon juice
And a glass of Merlot
Spices I hardly know
Lachrymose apologies beside a bottle of faded sorrows
With love there is pain, passion endured through the names
Thin soups, flavorless and dull, feeding street-thrown bums
Breathing hard against the delicatessen glass
Hickory smoked hams, pepper-seasoned pastrami
Vinegar cultured pickles and hard dried salami
Unpleasured, without measure, at one's leisure.
Forever my endeavor
Blackcurrant tea laced with slivers of gooping honey
Layers of cinnamon hair atop olive skin
red-painted doors with cedar trim
crushed almonds mixed with hazelnut butter cream spread
devilish rounds of crumbling rum-swirl bread
Smells and wonders, tastes so ...
oh god
Divine and sublime.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
Fake love, true love, red love, blue love,
***** love with cherries on top.
Love is a four letter word - like a curse.
**** **** **** **** love."
Go put your wishing-well penny in the swear jar.
Love is like pasta,
A flavor-holder for tomato gravy adjectives:
"unconditional", "passionate", and "infinite".
I'll take mine al dente.
You're not "in love", you're "on love",
Because cloud nine gets you higher than *******
But you fall harder when you come down.
Why write about love?
Why not write about socks?
I'm sure they're almost as universal.
They sure hurt less.
Except when one gets lost in the dryer
And you are left wondering
What you did to make your left sock hate you.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
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-Burn all your socks and mail us the ashes.
-Write to your state representative and senator.
-Make an artesian spaghetti sandwich using whole grain golden moon grown quinoa bread and cage free angel hair pasta noodles cooked al dente in a curry sauce with a whisper of coconut oil on each piece of bread and leave said sandwich out by your front door over night.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
Growing or shrinking
last star exit in mind
New trend
Is life the dead-end?
Star casting kiss
No exit to miss
A friend
Finding courage
Circles and stars breath
condolences
Feeling nameless no
picket white fences
Eyes adored last glances
Society- Supreme- be
Forget me not Garden- of- Eden
Wish upon a star hidden?
The last digging dandelion
yellow ray
In the end no more suffering
until the day
Like poem book* open and end
Something stiff glued together her life
Paper- Mache
Making amends Sales man
Taking his last exit he picks desire
She's
The spitfire Rare- star sire
Computing- reliving- dying
dreaming
Don't settle for scheming
The last star exit
The last scripture
Vivid mixture
Mind storing like a cache
Rare Robin bird great
panache
Recherche last meal al -dente
Smell the last flower herbal- ritual
Petals open up new portal
Blue elf Viola sing like Mona Lisa
* * * *
Autumn red wine star bridge
Grenache field of mirage
Seeing stars you fell
Where's my falling angel
Strong words vocal
If its the last exit don't disconnect
Dots.. and dots.. connect
God casting
Its written stars for all in our name
Starry- end*
Jul 26, 2023
Jul 26, 2023 at 11:53 AM UTC
Chunks of meat
ground heated
on medium
until browned
strained then set aside.
tomatoes stewed
basil and oregano
onion first
then garlic sauteed
Water brought to boil
salt added then noodles
8 minutes to al dente.
combine all three
bring to simmer
Serve with bread and salad
dinner
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 7:16 AM UTC
It was October of 1966 and he was 9.
He walked proudly
through the scary Brooklyn streets,
searching for that one corner he saw-
on the ride home from PS 361,
back when he was 8.
An entire 3 blocks from home,
and he arrived at Mamma Rosa’s.
“World Famous Taste."
he would taste it soon enough.
(He didn’t know it, but Mamma’s was only famous
for the pizza grease layer over the checkered table cloths).
He mastered the menu with his 3rd grade reading skills.
The “marr-in-ay-ruh” sauce sounded tasty.
The steaming spaghetti came towards his window seat,
and Billboard’s Top 10 Singles played over his noodle noises.
“Mother’s Little Helper” by The Stones was new to him.
He twisted his pasta to the beat of the sitar.
The spicy guitar chords and zest of the marinara on his tongue. . .
The al dente string
swayed
from his stinging lips and to the beat of the bass.
He paid in three quarters he got from the landlord.
He swept the driveway every Sunday.
It was the best sauce he will have ever tasted.
“What a drag it is-
getting old.”
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
I’m taller than her now.
I joke and say I’m growing
Up and away from her but
She doesn’t laugh. Because
I am: horizontally.
Plants grow toward the
Light and my movement
Is matricidal as the womb,
The matrix. That’s what really
Makes me sick.
I’m taller than her now.
And smarter, and stronger.
And saner, if that, colder.
But still I’m smaller, or
When I say good night
And watch her
Watch me shut the door.
I feel my angles, rounded
Corners. But I really don’t
Know who I am.
I’m not a boy and yet I
Must be. Not a man though
I should be. What she sees,
Or what I think she sees,
Might take my breath away.
That’s why I thank god for
Making humans irreflective.
If I could see (She sees herself
In me, her father too.) I’d
Oedipus my eyes out.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 1:18 PM UTC
I picked the whitest lily boat and set it on the shore
I thought it held a diamond prince, going off to war
I kissed him and I set him free; he wasn’t back today
I guess it’s just like Mama says: some things aren’t meant to stay
My prince is on the river now, finding sea-glass sand
He’ll take the brightest jewel around to put on my left hand
That must be why his boat’s not docked! He just needs one more day
I’ll wait and whisper to the forest; it won’t sail away
The sky is weeping soft and slow like Mama’s lullabies
Mist tiptoes in from water’s edge; wind skims my hair and dies
I hug my knees and close my eyes; I listen to the rain
The red leaves are my castle roof, the lake: my windowpane
Dandelions are soaked through now; no wishes left for me
The branches quiver, twirling down some helicopter seeds
Someday soon my prince will bring white lilies to my door
His smile will light up the air and I’ll be at home once more
-Chloe S.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
Tantum tempus temporis
quoniam aliena femina in meo cubiculo dormivit;
ecce illi quantum dulce somnus est.
Quanta etiam libera somnia sunt.
In alia aetate mundum certe rexit
vel optimo regi in matrimonio fideliter ducta est
qui iuxtus flumen psalmos luce lunae scripsit.
**** me iri foras egressum et spatiatum
Nihil occurit hic, nihil umquam fit.
Praeterea si incedat iam volat me narrare;
habeo nihil, praecipue erga quicquid erat.
Viam cepi aviam
qua celeres non superant;
dignis praemia sunt
qui verbum veritatis distinguere possunt.
Hospes solus me docere potuit
praeclaram orem iustitiae contemplari
et videre oculum pro oculo, et dentem pro dente.
Nisi duo homines in mansionem,
Est nullus in viso; verem exspectant,
proinde quasi ver plaustro accederet.
Mundus deleretur ea nocte
sed meae amicae aequum esset;
illa meo cubiculo dormiret *** revenirem.
Meridiano me promoveo
adhuc in obscura parte viae;
in angustos corruere
et constans manere non possum.
Alius mea ore dicit
sed solum meo animo audit,
calcas omnibus etiam tibi feci
quibus tamen careo.
Ego et ego
In creatione quo ingenium alicuius
nec alicui ignoscit nec excolit.
Ego et ego
unus alteri dicit nullus et videre
imaginem meum et vivere possit.
From "Bird's Nest In Your Hair" by Brian Jobe
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
Charred Chicken and broth
steamed in a ***
Pies are for dessert.
Sweet no savor to save her
Lustful froth.
Papered Pastries and jam
cooked together in al/
Dente is for pasta.
Crunch no chew a choice of his
friendly madams
Sweetened Sodas and pork
grilled on char
coal is for trains.
Thinned out thoughts lost
in transit to New York
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
+chicken! & fried in butter!
friday, in england? usually a take-away, fish and chips.
today was the same... my guardian said:
the fish is warm and so are the chips, and they're waiting.
i just replied...
last time i ate this fish and chip...
i spent three ******* hours on the *******
someone in the take-away, clearly didn't wash
their hands thoroughly...
that's the last time i'm eating a take-away...
thank you, i rather wash my hands, and prepare the food
myself... i'm not playing a lottery, on some turk, who might,
just might, wash his hands when preparing a meal.
so i took to the kitchen, once again, like a mongol...
but i knew what i was doing this time...
again the asparagus, and again the pepper...
the rice was cooked, onion garlic and the above stated fried...
some paprika was added...
and then two eggs added...
then the search for chinese five spice...
none to be found... but i still needed a hug...
something to feel warm... what replaced chinese five spice?
cumin!
oddly enough...
then the al dente rice was flipped into
the pan... and fried... after which, sweet chili sauce and soya sauce
were added to taste...
then to garnish? freshly squeezed lemon juice.
i still can't believe i could have replaced chinese five spice
with merely cumin, for that hug on the palette.
then i washed up the cooking utenstils,
after eating the dish...
and at least i knew: that my hands were clean.
why is this eating out such a pointless luxury?
i know i washed my hands, and i know what ingredients
i used, having inspected them...
as i already said: i'm not going to risk eating
this fish & chips, and then spending 3 hours on the *******
agonising, with a burning **** no thank you,
i rather make my own grub.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 7:18 PM UTC
Only by a stroke of pure luck
Did we end up talking to each other that summer day
When I was being me and having gleaned a clue
something was going on in your life with you
That I find out later not even your friend knew
I wasn't sure what was that right things that I should do
so I tossed it in the Wind left it all the Fate telling her to reach out to you
All this while we stood in front of that haunted house she posted
With a question as to whether anyone would stay there for a night
l believe I said something to the effect that it's better than my place
So I would without hesitation or any reservation
And then there you were laughing and saying to me
You must be friends with ..? which I said yeah for about 5 minutes now
which started off a round of laughter and character assassination
then a friend request from you without hesitation
And character assassination good wishes and appreciative laughter
Has allowed our friendship to be as natural and your birthday suit
(by the way ...any pictures ) never
mind the point is moot
( not Moot chu all )
So thank you for this almost a whole year now
Knowing somebody who also does realize
That to listen and hear takes more than just ears
And seeing is done with more than just eyes
Just as thinking requires more than just the mind
So cool and you always seem to find
The humor meant and not the offense
For the zings I slings like al dente pasta
Some that sticks while others are at best valient attempts
So I hope you have a wonderful day
That you barely remember tomorrow
And a whole year to come of laughter joy and happiness Sans any sorrow
But if you sit there now wondering about a line I said earlier on.... character assassination
Trying to pretend innocence and confusion
Forget it that won't make the cut
Because I can show you a message just two nights ago from you to me that says I quote....
......"YOU NUT !!"
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
ah, but the atheistic scissors bound
to expressing ęglish...
i.e. english - in: glee & eesh.
also another word example:
dusz & duś
hence the necessary scissors
of inherent atheism in english...
the first?
in article terms
the former: an indirect article
(a) - dusz
and the latter?
a direct article
(the),
again, encompassing prompt,
a commanding expression,
duś is a word, that encompasses
the prompt.
dusz? a word that encompasses
the verb-inside-a-verb,
a consciousness...
suddenly being aware of the
hedious act...
being performed...
and realising, that you're aware
of social norms, but are unable
to transcend toward a plataeu morality
that allows you to stop the act
you're performing.
and the word for soul?
dusza....
then there's the word, uduś,
i.e. strangle / smother...
the element of: voyeurism,
in that uduś has someone looking
at you performing the act,
and duś... has you claustrophoic
inside your own head,
performing the act...
unless of course you address yourself
in third person, with no ******
which is a, presupposition?
i can't take to enlisting too many nouns
to explain the situation...
i love the fact that in english
there's only talk of trans-gender,
or bi-sexuality,
elsewhere? bilingualism,
and trans-etymology...
i find the latter the more
interesting category
of debate...
by no english is so pop
and so lingau franca that it has become,
slightly tedious...
well... that's cute, but the true description
of this language is: ******* annoying!
trannies with daddy mummies
pushing prammies with
penguin babies waving 'ello;
i miss the classical circus acts,
never mind, let's just watch this mature,
call it burgundy, circa 1998... full palette,
vintage, red... mmm... fry that beef
al dente... shimmy shimmy wee,
shimmy shimmy,
pink on the inside;
oh yeah... and that word:
******* plonkers... and that ain't cockney...
that's peckhamsprechen...
hen hen... not shed
light o mighty, spré...
spray chechnyan with a: shir connery
convenience at the bar -
shishtematic, not saken;
south london is as much a mystery for
someone living north of the thames,
as someone living
north of the terms heading
to newcastle...
and the foul gob,
told the most bitter-sweet joke.
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 7:25 PM UTC
Skimming the surface of your sweetness
Creamy rich creme brulee
with a je ne said quois kick
Skin of sprinkled seasonings
Looks like art
In all sensory scintillation
Delicate dashes
Deliberate divinity finds
A splash of savior savory
Boil up smiles
Bubble over in rounds
Popping sizzle
Of a new recipe spark
Invite chance to the table
And me without manners
Fumbled elbows atop a table
Unrefined as an innocent palette
Fear finds fruitful fools as I
Always want another taste
Insatiable sensations
Shake me
Never the same
A want to swish you in my mouth
So you know my words stir smoother sound space
Than my mind lets on
Imagine a ticking timer
For me or you
Cant just swelter in the smell
Saliva sweat on hot stovetop
Tease your texture between teeth
I find gritted in a past
Of al dente pasta
Not quite my liking
But always filling
How hard to be full
Of a hearth of health
When i've been so long
Waited on by baited service
Couldn't help but take a bite
I got hooked
Reeled in line to choke on breathing
Luck lifeline
To see release
Catch a nibble
Insist I taste
Your full flavor
Ever evolving buds
Dissolve new resolve
From tongue
Of trepidation
Swirled in soufflee one day
Tiramisu on through
To courses I never knew
In glistening garnishes
Playful plating
Dining halls of hope
Glazed eyes
Fancy this feast
Mixed anew
Set you a place
Its fit for two
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 8:12 AM UTC