"eateries" poems
Edinburgh, oh lovely Edinburgh
I visited you during a Scottish storm
But, it did not deter my fascination with your beautiful rich land,
which I had set out to soak up during my short welcoming stay
I saw castles and monuments
galleries and eateries
even little pubs and alleyways
that tickled my fascination
I took midnight strolls into the backstreets
and met lovely people who equally shared gratitude towards your wondrous land
And so, I leave temporarily at least
with a little something to say
"Thanks for the memories, I'll be back indefinitely,
with more love and awe to share than ever before!"
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 1:31 PM UTC
*Reflections of Paris this morning , for all the inhabitants of the world , especially those inspired by beautiful works of art and architecture ! Those fortunate enough to have dined in world class eateries on cuisine prepared by Master Chefs , marveled over the downtown skyline high atop prominent monuments ! Impassioned lovers perusing her avenues , window shopping store fronts , boutiques along famous boulevards ! Senior couples recalling their yesteryears with great joy , frolicking , happy children playing in parklands , feeding songbirds with euphoria and curiosity , strolling walkways along the riverbank at Dusk with great wonderment and personal reflection
The poet and poetess , musician and thespian , ballet dancer and street performer .. To lovers young and old , the continued hope of gaiety and splendor at every turn !
She is lovely indeed , the Queen of all that is beautiful on this Earth* ..
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
we rejoiced
when the sign on the parking meter said we could park for free.
your kind hand
in clumsy mind,
we strolled.
we were caught between the arts and business district,
so the shops and eateries weren't
sure if they should be cool or classy.
we strolled.
we passed an army of delis now abandoned.
a greek place,
a gelato,
a couple of hotel diners,
we rounded the block,
came back close to our start,
decided on the only restaurant
that was open.
as we were seated,
the already present patrons
stared ceaselessly, with no blinking.
people always stare at us.
i think they have trouble
categorizing us.
we aren't fat.
i don't wear affliction t-shirts,
you don't dress ******
we are caught somewhere
between the summer of '72 and indie rock brats.
our waiter was uneasy,
he had black hair, a beard,
a voice that squeaked and stuttered
as he boasted the organic and local support
the restaurant waved as their prideful flag.
order taken, people still throwing quick glances,
the music was right up our alley.
we took turns saying the names of the bands.
Cake, The Strokes, Spoon (the setlist's favorite), a deep cut from Bowie's Low, and a multitude of indie darlings that i can't remember.
i fell in love with you again.
i guess that makes the fifth or sixth time.
your child's eyes,
warm laughter,
and noble concern for the ****** state of the world.
it was good conversation,
it was good food,
it was a pleasant warm-up
for the remainder of our
getaway weekend.
Jul 27, 2010
Jul 27, 2010 at 10:10 AM UTC
when he was 84, he rarely recalled
the Great War, though he left a finger somewhere
in French soil, and on deep sleep nights,
few and far between, it would call him
a spectral image of gas dead faces
drifting through like sallow clouds
in the charcoal sky
his nephew was the only one left
to fish these green waters, to court the steady
trout that he too saw in his dreams--all the others,
even his own sons, marching in the concrete squares
of the cities, visiting now and then like peddlers
hawking wares he could not understand...
soccer games and mutual funds
gourmet feasts at eateries
with cryptic names
the lake was still the same
the loons chatting, the waves lapping
but without his Helen, the fish he caught
were usually granted reprieve, saved from
his sharp gutting blade, her sizzling skillet,
and without her beside him under her ancient quilts,
the nights were not longer, for grief, he knew,
did not stretch time, but only
made its circle smaller
was a sun sated Saturday
when the nephew had honey do's as good excuses
and the old man was left alone, sitting by a black rotary phone,
waiting for one of his old nine digits to dial the new nine and two ones,
it is what they all would have expected, a cry for help, a long mute ambulance ride, them seeing him helpless with hoses and wires, delaying the funeral pyres, as was the custom in this post teen century
instead, though he felt the anvil on his chest,
and sweat drenched his JC Penney work shirt,
he moved not his feeble fingers to the phone, but his fated feet
to the lake, once only a long a hop from the porch, now a mammoth journey, ten, twelve Sisyphus steps downhill--when he reached the waters edge, the fowl called him casually, their slow song on the currents,
and he sat in the fresh grass, watching the painted blue sky
he saw the fins of those he had set free, hoping
that would count for something
when he curled in fetal repose,
and closed his eyes
by this lonely lake
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
Folklorico serenades the street
from an open third floor window
a rhythmically refreshing sound
compared to the silence
the calming silence
of south 2nd street
in Brooklyn
hardly escaping the shadow
of the metropolitan center
this little pocket has escaped
the hustle and bustle
that traditionally defines New York
the chatter from the stoop
three gentlemen discussing
'stop and frisk' and 'being processed'
the corner store as old
as the neglected blue mailbox
that now serves as a canvas
for local taggers
new eateries and humming bars
full of new immigrants
out of staters, artists
from places not so welcoming
to their brand of queer
here on this quiet street
I watched the new grow
among the old
this place was a garden
of concrete, culture
and dreams
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 2:02 AM UTC
Down the hall, through the living room
and living daylights.
Through corner shops, spoon-eateries,
between rows of seats in adult theaters,
Beneath Roman spears
of crystal ice
ignoring the warning.
Same old, same old wicked agonizing cold. I freeze solid
and I escape once more.
Through Subways, through hotel lobbies.
Between invidious eyes, above the malady.
Down streets, down stairs, getting stuck, falling asleep, getting chased.
I refuse to affirm my negation with pity,
but rather with revolt and insurrection
I build this fortress not with iron and bricks, but with dust
and guilt
And off I go again...
An airport chapel is tonight's citadel.
From a hidden corner
a raspy cough emits from a familiar throat.
I sit down.
I sit like Plato's prisoner in my cave,
eyes fixed forward
on the wooden cross.
The familiar figure rises.
He walks through my vision,
but I refuse to see anything
but his silhouette
And off I go again...
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
Wander from Argyle Street towards the pyramid shaped monolith
past the oddly named Benny Hamish - Sicilian Couture Tailors -
through the automatic glass doors of persuasion
up the revolving stairs of many stairs
sail by the portly security guard
(who looks like he'd be out of breath after a 10 yard dash)
along the imitation marble airstrip
passed neon facades and signs for proactive self indulgence
toward the carousel of smoked-mirror lifts
that take the well heeled to their desired destinations
without having to worry about their Chanel leather clutch bag
and newly purchased Christian Louboutin shoes
and I sit people watching,
writing this poem on a borrowed napkin
with a discarded betting shop pen
amid a horde of timid stomachs and twitching wallets
faced with a thousand fast food offerings
and gaudy coloured tables and chairs
littered in the remnants of repugnant non-ecological eateries
and Styrofoam cups and re-composite cutlery
under Noah's grotesquely beautiful steel ark
lined in industrial tubing and chrysalis shaped netting
and giant Art Deco toothbrushes
and 30 foot wiggly mirrors
and stretched rhombus sails
acting as a blanket barrier
to the blue skies and arched sun of the outside world
somewhere between
KFC and Burger King.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC
The harried life of truck driver ..
An eye witness account of kinetic America
Of supercell thunderstorms , Winter blizzards
The lonely byways of Texas , Oklahoma
Blue ridge mountains of Kentucky and West Virginia
Cornfields of Ohio , Shores of North Carolina ,
the turnpikes of Florida and Pennsylvania ...
To roadside eateries , bob-tailing at six a.m. ..
To family gatherings , special occasions minus a hard working
provider in the picture , running hot , enroute to Baton Rouge and
all points west , trying to make a decent living ...
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 9:10 PM UTC
The sun slightly bleaches wood buildings
For California heat burns mild,
But the cheer it brings to folk of this street
Makes it worth the hills burning wild.
Dressed like an old man
At a bar of a dulcet past,
To find thoughts of silk shirts and drinks
That make expensive nights last.
I walked along the bay shore
Lined with tiny shops and eateries,
To look through cracks between buildings
And see riches of wealthy free.
Each shop and wood wall café
That lined the bulbous-rocked beach
Has little more than caviar and wine
For the affluent that saunter the streets.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
Pile clouds push the north ridge
liquid blue lines at dead man’s point
cane garden pool for industrious folk
verdant green tuck from the upper deck
Waterfalls heavy and head winds calm
sea deep clear at the pit cove
pusser *** pints (for the pain ****
eateries pop and glow in port
Oleander clips and elephant ears
scuppernong grape from the jester
tannia stock on dipping day
calypso calls from an improvised spot
Hammocks hung at coral beach
funjie band in bamboshay time
ficus, gallows and *** runners
flying fish on the catamaran row
Metallic crab and swordfish
soggy holes for the sage and musk
sinkers, skiffs and rollers
white squalls gust on the north bay
Skeleton art at charlie t's
powder white and breezy
shells and driftwood for the artisan heart
geckos short of the cabana
Butterflies float on violet caps
fingers cross the hummingbird bath
anglers steady under canopy layer
lighthouse sails are bending
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 11:01 AM UTC
Why does it seem that men are scared of intelligent women.
of course this is a generalization.
She was going to work in the private sector, or maybe in state politics.
she was five two and everyone of those sixty two inches were gorgeous, she grew up dangerously close to the plaza and to Brookside and to all the quaint coffee houses and local eateries. men much more beautiful than myself had spent a pretty dollar showing her a good Saturday night.
I am sure the dinner was just as exciting as the movie, but antiquated action films and overpriced Italian food makes me uneasy. always will.
our hill was perfect and her dress moved in every way in which I pictured it would. I moved frail bits of hair away from her cheek and I kissed her mid sentence, we made moderately decent love and she left a blanket in my backseat.
Poor plaza boys can never seem to keep their books out of the red.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC
Cordoba is home to the largest mosque in the world,
The Mezquita's architectural splendour is a stunning monument to behold,
It is a confluence of Jewish, Islamic and Christian trinity,
Whose influence through the ages will stretch to eternity
Swarming with tourists be it individuals or groups,
Who throng the roads through which they incessantly troop,
The multi-cultural mix is what makes the sight so appealing,
One cannot but experience the inescapable joyful feeling
As one saunters through the must- visit touristic Jewish Quarter,
The innumerable winding lanes and by-lanes really do not matter,
Rows and rows of shops have a wide range of offerings,
All that one needs to do is spend without bothering
It's a gourmet's delight at restaurants when it comes to variety,
One needs to go through the menu card in it's entirety,
The trick is to experiment with different types of food,
Hopping in and out of eateries makes you feel so good
The sweltering heat does little to dampen the enthusiasm,
People go about their work with no less dynamism,
The famed Spanish siesta can still be seen at play,
With shuttering of shops and offices just past mid-day
With tourism a major factor contributing to the economy,
It is important to underscore the need to live in harmony,
This trait among people is so blatantly on display,
An ingrained culture preserved till this very day
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 8:18 PM UTC
Wine?
You ask.
Cork or
Twist top?
Bag or Box?
Can I have a beer?
An army of frogs looked on,
Their tongues darting, throats bulging.
Belching out frog speak, they were
Wishing for kisses or at least a licking.
When you do the right thing,
You always do wrong by someone.
Not an insect in sight you see,
Frogs are their plight.
And I, well, I sell their legs
To dozens of eateries.
My fine mesh net scoops up the officers,
Their eyes, tearing up, their troops follow suit.
I'm counting my way back to town.
I got a **** load of frogs.. a **** load of legs.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
.
*Heavens celebrate
With
Silver gates,
Silver flowers,
Silver crowns,
Silver tiaras,
everywhere.
Silver curtains,
Silver gowns,
Silver capes,
Silver drapes,
everywhere.
Shining blossoms,
Fragrance filled,
Echoing smiles,
Pearly clouds,
everywhere.
Angels clad in
brightest silver,
Fairies dancing around,
Harp with it's
silver strands,
Playing it's tune and sound.
Flute echoing from
far behind,
The ambience full
of cheer.
Stars assembled to bedazzle each and
every turn,
Moon brightens the nook and corner of the big heaven,
You are running around in the pristine silver attire.
Today's your 16th birthday,
And
Celebrations are planned in heaven, my dear!
All the Gods and Goddesses are invited,
Cakes are bigger than the tallest tree,
Trees are laden with chocolates and truffles,
Eateries bright and silvery too.
Making the atmosphere prestine and pure.
It's your birthday
dear son,
And
Celebrations are planned in Heavens!
Mom & Dad sends you love, hugs and kisses,
They wish you the
best of today
And
Lots of love travels your way down here from,
The Earth.
As,
Celebrations are planned for your birthday in Heavens.
*
Sparkle In Wisdom
19/11/2020
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 3:14 AM UTC
The snobbish din of clinking cut-glass and a murmured ambient sound,
Of fine dining the Foie gras that seems so profound.
Seems like such a class divide from yesterday’s soiree,
Of the taste of fried chicken and chips that street food provided me, amidst its mad melee.
Tomorrow will be the oriental chimes to my ears and my palette of taste,
As I rate the **** of their culinary, taking my time and never in haste.
Never minding my late last night, quaffing exoticness in cocktails and dreams,
Amidst psychedelic lights, thumping music and frenzied screams.
For I am to decide the best of the best,
Of gastronomical delights that the nation offers, without a rest.
So awaken your senses and make ado,
For the show that’s a Tell All of the Top 10 in eateries and breweries, old and new.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
Emptiness fills my attitude
Passiveness consumes my mind
It's not hatred, it's not rude
My behavior just is not aligned
Standards say I shouldn't care
And shouldn't have any respect
And if I were more an *******
I'd be less dry, and much more wet
I might be thirsty, but exchanging fluids
Takes a pretty strong connection
I stare down a mellow cup of tea
And for tonight, this is affection
The weather's nice, so I survive
When the sun is shining bright
Then, when I am so alone,
The vitamins and sights feel alright
It's only when behind closed doors
And out in streets or eateries
The moon comes out, the groups come out
And I'm alone, respectively
From my perspective, there are two.
The pursuers and the pursued
I beg for love, beg for time,
But who even are you?
Who are you to control me?
Why is there no other choice?
What events led you to have
Complete power over my rejoice?
I wasn't taught that I am nothing
And that no one would seek me out
But yet, from one night to the other
I have my time, and then my doubts
It's clearly all my own **** fault
This isolation, my one undoing
Should I disrespect women more?
For men who do seem never pursuing
But yes, it's true, I must confess
There is a wall that cuts me out
I must love all and give respect
And that, I could really do without
For if this wall would tumble down,
Oh, how much more I could relate!
What if I was much more like you?
What if I finally learned to hate?
And just add in conformity
And then castrate my eager parts
I'd become a social butterfly
And master this illusive art.
But **** I love myself so much.
I should have put that off, and asked,
"Yeah, sure Nick, you're pretty cool,
But do you want to face the task
Of being alone for being too eager
And being too prideful to change?
Do you want some lonely nights?
Do you want to come off as strange?
Do you want to come off as deranged?
A fool who loves people he just met?
Can you bear the isolation,
Can you bear the empty bed?"
...must be that I took this deal
Without reading all the fine print
Must be great to be repealed
But I am not, so I lament
And yes, I'm blessed, and I hate myself
For wanting what I do not have
And taking what I have for granted
And granting myself the right to be sad
Because I'm so lucky to be here
I'm so lucky to have this life
But there's connections all around me
And my lack causes only strife
Sorry me, I can't just change
I can't devolve to fit the role
I wish I could, I'd love to do it
To accomplish this social goal
But shut up!
You have yourself.
People die before 20 a lot.
Please shut up, please go to bed
And just forget and be forgotten.
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 9:49 PM UTC