"entree" poems
Cake, the meat of culinary delights;
Icing, the sauce.
Cake, the main entree, the special of the night;
Icing, the decorative garnish.
Without Cake, Icing has no purpose
A clump, a blob, of meaningless goop.
1 spoonful of Icing alone and you're done.
Spread out amongst the firm surface of Cake though,
Icing becomes much more interesting, and much more fun.
I am the Cake.
You are the Icing.
Without me, the base, the entree, the meat
You, the sauce, the garnish and blob, don't matter
You can be the Icing to your own Cake or to another
But without me, you'll do nothing but rot teeth and smother
So, to enjoy you, Icing, to the absolute fullest
I must, first, combine the ingredients, stir and bake
Because it is vital, if one is to appreciate your sweet taste,
To properly prepare my foundation, the meat, your Cake.
- BPW
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
lesson #1: in the beginning, all poems on Earth were formless
on blended knee, the approaching, humility, raging, barely
tempered by a gale force need, the forthcoming yoga pose of compose
you have urgings, mostly in a blink of an eye,
then going, gone notions, the writing is so a losing effort,
you turn the paper’s aperture sideways hoping to get an
inside straight insight,
but the poem refuses to come, the creation ******
delayed is torturous and the poem birthing, even worse
so you revert to basics to give the formless a shape,
recalling a child’s learning that in the beginning:
“the earth was formless and void,
darkness was over the surface of the deep,
and the Spirit of God was hovering
over the surface of the waters.…”
so you insert a single sheet of 20Lb bond paper,
sliding the typewriters carriage smooth swift
over to the starting gate hell’s bell, typewriter machine smell erotically exciting creative fluids boiling,
typing, laughing out loud, forming entree to the hinted hallway
of a womb opening to a crafting with three words:
in the beginning
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 5:05 PM UTC
Have we all become mere automata
guided by the ring of pings and notifs?
The spray of lather from a sea of data
carrying with it wrung celebrity whiffs
have stung us with a certain aphasia...
The written thought was a lifetime ago
long abandoned by the times and all--
where once there was soundness to follow
nonsense amassed like a rising cymbal
whose crash sent reason to the gallows.
The news of the day presents a delectable entree
of a hodgepodge of this, that, and nothing much.
Wherefore we find our tongues compelled to say
something about the aftertaste or to prejudge
as if we were connoisseurs--it must've hid faraway.
Are we perhaps amusing ourselves to death?
I am by no means a Luddite to such a degree,
but I believe we have bombarded and blessed
ourselves a little too much to see...
only time will tell us reason's final breath.
Sep 19, 2023
Sep 19, 2023 at 10:38 PM UTC
Why can't I be as pretty as the little girl
that sits next to me at work, she seems
all long legs and golden skin,
20 long years younger
thin body poured into size 6 jeans
Why can't I be pretty like that?
I wish I was as pretty on the beach
next to the bikini clad lovelies
all long haired and impressive assets
Why can't I be like that?
I wish I was as pretty as my friend
sitting next to her on a barstool
crowded away from her, male backs
facing me, surrounding her, I'm a fool!
I wish I was pretty
or even attractive
or even winsome
or cute
or
or
or
I wish, I wish
Oh, how I wish
I could be an entree
even if I'm not
the main dish
or
or
The fish
caught on the hook
an acceptable catch
not to have the hook
ripped from my flesh
just to be thrown back
I wish I was pretty
I'm positive I was one day
Someone loved me once
and my children say
Mummy, you look so pretty
when I decide to make an effort
but no matter how hard I look
in the mirror
I just can't make their words fit!
I wish I was pretty
a beautiful disguise
I wish I was pretty
in my eyes
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC
A caveman discovering fire,
he can now stay warm in the cold and see light in the dark,
It feeds him and protects him, and he does likewise.
Electricity suddenly figured out,
the harnessing of lightening used to capture the suns impressive illumination,
Dark corners seen where shadows once resided.
Neil Armstrong's foot touching the surface of the moon,
as stars swirl around him,
and the Earth looks innocent, safe, and beautiful.
The first successful flight of an airplane,
finally feeling free like the birds,
and touching the once elusive clouds.
A heart surgeon looking at a sensitive beating *****
knowing that rhythmic pulsing is necessary to sustain the body,
and caution must be taken not to hurt it.
Like a free-falling with a parachute.
Like a delicious appetizer, entree, and dessert all at once.
Like puppy kisses, or kitten purrs.
Like looking down from the top of a mountain.
Like every single sunrise and sunset you've ever seen, combined.
Like tearing up when you see people reunite.
Like meeting up with an old friend.
Like laughing until your stomach hurts.
Like that refreshingly calm breath after crying real hard.
Like holding a *** for too long but then finding a bathroom.
Like your first cup of coffee in the morning.
Like snow, a fireplace, hot cocoa, and a blanket.
Like a flower blooming.
Like the sound of the ocean.
Like a cool breeze on a sweltering day.
Like a good, long embrace.
Like a shot of hard liquor that warms your insides.
Like getting promoted.
Like finishing a creative endeavor.
Like your favorite sports team winning.
Like a baby smiling at you.
Like finding a good book or a good series.
Like fixing something properly all by yourself.
Like finding blue or purple sea glass.
Like mail with your name on it that isn't bills.
It's probably not like any of these things,
*it's probably a whole lot ******* better.*
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
He taught them well
~for all the teachers here~
He cared enough,
So much so,
Reasoned with them.
Never diminishing their simplest prose,
Even if it rhymed with rose....
He loved them in his way,
Once his student,
This year, then forever.
Their woes he read,
In every submission,
No threat treated idly,
He knew but one grade,
Caring.
One rule strictly observed,
No touching,
In this sad age, a crime without
Any absolution.
Then came a day.
School arrived, pre-bell by ten minuets,
His customary arrival time.
This day different.
The long corridor to the classroom entree,
Lined like Noah's ark, two by two,
On each side,
His students past and present aligned,
They would not let him pass,
Till he hugged each and everyone.
Thus, they taught him well the meaning of
Just rewards
For they were his,
Yes, they were his,
Not for the taking,
But for the giving.
His subject,
Creative writing,
of course!
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 5:17 AM UTC
Golf clubs for fists
And hockey sticks for machetes
In this world, anything will print you for the records
And violence can be picked up at your local 99 cent store
And charged to a players club card
As cancer is an entree for your 6 course 5 star meal
And smoke stacks are sold in 20 and 25
Another toothpick lined up for check-up
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 5:14 PM UTC
intro:
teddy bear teddy bear turn around teddy bear teddy bear touch the skyyyyy....
chorus:
i sleep with my **** like its my teddy bear cuz its my teddy bear like it like it my teddy bear
i dream of those leaves they are everywhere they they are everywhere
V1:
i wake up and the smoke disapate
i was so high last nite but now its a different day
if i were ****** tested it would be to there dismay
i cant wait till the cash bounce back my way
order some more kush its mi main entree
now here bad ***** smoke some john deer
we dont gotta be hicks to take a couple hits
got tht **** burning like a wick oh **** i cant feel my face
drip....
chorus:
i sleep with my **** like its my teddy bear cuz its my teddy bear like it like it my teddy bear
i dream of those leaves they are everywhere they they are everywhere
V2:
my teddy bear alwas got me feelin safe
im in the air like will & grace
hahahahahaa ***** i spit in ur face
come here baby come get a taste
i never knew green was a flavor
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 1:27 PM UTC
A whisper from a shadow
Prickling at my ears
Anything you have to say
I find I long to hear
Standing still behind me
Enticing me with words
Hold my breath, close my eyes
For all that you infer
Good or bad it matters not
It's your presence that I crave
Whip me, beat me, bleed me
I promise to behave
Or at least I promise for a bit,
An undetermined time
Knowing well how much I like
Crossing over your line
Bind my hands in silken rope
And hook them to the ceiling
Leaving me on tipy-toes
For pains blessed healing
It's playful punishment
That I daringly seek
A red moment captured
Your hand print on my cheek
Or perhaps my inner thigh
A delicious smack or soft whack
Of fingertips sublime
To pull me to the present track
Help me now, you know how
To take the world away
Here I am just for you
A piquant entree
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 12:56 PM UTC
<>
“Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much?
Have you reckon’d the earth much?
Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?”
Song of Myself (1892 version) by Walt Whitman
§§§
*A night of reckoning, calculations repeated-checked, sums divided,
did I use too many, or not enough, words to be understood, verbiage eloquent,
did daytime reveal my poetic meanings, or double-occlude it’s essence?
I have reckon’d Manhattan Isle, circumnavigated its riverbed boundaries, a younger me, by kayak rounded it, from the Spuyten Duyvil Creek to the Battery, 14,500 acres give or take, a lifeatime to complete a dead reckoning, an unfinished full configuring.
but haven’t reckon’d that Earth and I will be entwined/entombed in each other’s arms, until such time, one of us or both, will be reduced to cosmic dust, our pride, our poems, will be equally unimportant and irrelevant, I reckon.
in retrospective rear view perspective, come to understand that we spend every moment of our lives, reckoning, determine the odds of which fork we will take, laugh out loud, for each moment, a poem is titled, the resultant, a poem - who needs a muse, you’ve got choices!
So, yes, Walt, the questing answers you’ve requested:
Aye, yes, yup, but no to pride, for pride and poetry in one sentence is
a death sentence at multiple levels, pride, poetry, ego, suicide,...sins,
so better no proud for it is the entree, the invitation to fall-fail...*
§§§§§
12:03AM Frieday
May 15th
my deadline missed,
but what is three minutes,
but empty pride...
Manhattan Island
May 15, 2020
May 15, 2020 at 8:51 AM UTC
North cornered near the glass ain't gonna' last
Cause the money is running out
It's running out fast
Nickel and dimed' burning money burning pride
With the liquor stores all closing and mother mary praying whispering
"Sarah, sarah, sarah..."
No names in these streets empty touched' defeat
The meat is getting angrier surlier burlier
The heat is getting heavier breathier and touchier
Blankets burn in the Connecticut sun mother mouths something
But I can't make it out
With these posters on these white walls falling for their own droll
Committed to the picnic that is not life at all
Putrid in these notes that sail through the air never fail
With the heart that once was held
By a women that I thought I'd take the time to know
But then the winds came with the side ways rain
All that pain that I couldn't bare or understand to stay
There was the window washing maniacs pinching pennies
Letting go of their soul for another side dish and entree of dough
Ploughing through their TV screens which falls through their skin like
Love used to do but in the blue hue there was nothing
They could bear to do
Bear man breaks open the skin flecked electro heart machine
Shocking every last one of us past the point of divinity
Already through the heart and mind and limb of man
Into the skin and the blood and the beating eye lids
Of a brother I never had, that man named CID
Jesus named me no name so I wander wherever my feet may carry
Never had no religion only long lesions through the seasons
Cut wound bleed break breakfast dinner bird
There was a glint in the sun
The way she gripped and held Her sword
Graining through pages of past history ***********
Seeing visions of kaleidoscope faker ***** with their blisters
Gripping their panoramic sisters
Beauty in the eye of the hair that twists
In the mid-west chilling winds of the whisp
Forests burning boringly gripping the last hope of
Mother murdering herself just to stay alive
In a stride of elegance tides of benevolence
Roaring rewind curb side b-lines
And a mix-tape that spins and spins and spins
But plays nothing
No nothing
At all
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 8:25 PM UTC
I briskly walk heel-to-toe in order to keep my surprise,
equipped and prepared with deadly ammunition from the wise.
I spot many targets running clearly in and out of plain sight,
as I methodically recite the magical words for entering the limelight.
Other hunters encircle and stalk the same prey,
each of their minds accelerating towards the main entree.
Encompassed and imprisoned by materialistic greed,
and it all started from a small seed, the creation of currency.
The few who control these jobs drink any ambrosia of their picking,
simultaneously tossing constituents bones about after tooth picking.
Too much is never enough, yet we all throw out the crust.
The world's insatiable thirst is much more than these agenda-based bluffs, it is all about making a job market for many...is that too tough?
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
I'll put a brick in my hood
I'll throw a brick to ya dome
I'll shove about anything
To get me through up my nose
And I still flatter them hoes
And get their ******* all wet
Until they drip, drip outta the dryer
I'm washed up they said
Yeah, I'm sauced up too bad
Sick as **** in the head
Don't give a **** about bread
I'm busy countin' my lead
I'm about as sick as they get
So I break up some nugs
Have a *** count my stacks
Line my crib with straight thugs
One, two, three, six, click
Clappin' these sixes while she's suckin' my ****
Leavin' my Deagle 'cause I'm wantin' to live
Givin' heaven the finger 'cause I'm lovin' to sin
No one gonna stop me
Yeah, nothin' that can top me
I'd wreck a fuckin' Bentley
Then suit up on a Harley
Take a trip to Muncie
And load up on some chronic
And smoke until I'm smellin'
Like a farm of hydroponic
**** I gotta get my mind right
But I can't 'cause I'm livin' in the high life
Not a cent gets spent on a dime, right?
Wrong, I spend it all the time
And time keeps tickin'
My watch looks broke 'cause I can't stop spinnin'
Run outta smoke so I tryna hit some resin
My lungs stuck up, but I just keep rippin'
Them souls apart, them hoes apart
Nothin' but the best for my bros so far
I am the number one in this
God-forsaken little blip
Midwestern farmer ****
No one here allowed to spit
But I do everyday
While all my fuckin' neighbors be balin' that hay
Hooray, we got another couple mouths fed
'Til I force-feed 'em an entree of straight lead
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 11:55 PM UTC
He eats me up like a dinner at a five star restaurant
Can’t deny that my taste is flavorful
No need to make reservations
When I’m all he’s craving for
Devouring this feast
Had to tell him to slow down
The plate in front of him wasn’t going anywhere
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 12:52 AM UTC
You just want me for my ***
and not my gender
what's between my legs
drives u more instead than my mind
you care about my head game right..
all the while playing head games with me...
right..
this one that one I'm confused
or is it that I feel used
Nah to strong a word
this b.s is for the birds..
I played the role
closed my mouth open my legs
that's what u liked but what was outta sight was the next chick
I didn't think quick or at all
I let my heart lead
when it shoulda took a backseat to my vision
cause my intuition told me you were playing
but like a fool I'm staying stuck
going in circles for a man
who wants cake ice cream the whole **** buffet
to my dismay I will never be his entree
he rather keep me long enough to satisfy his lust
but hey he said its love..he just wanted me for my ***
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 10:56 PM UTC
Ay yo waddup people, just a crazy teen
I'm tired as **** but nah ain't gonna phase me
Got my knife in my pocket, nah nobody knows
But I think theu will if they fuckin' **** me off
Speak of the devil, here comes an annoyin' *****
Whinin' about her problems
******* shut the **** up
I'll fuckin' stab her in the head, slowly take it down, make sure I can hear her ******* blood runnin' in town
Make her bones fuckin' shatter, her flesh melt off, her face fuckin' dismembered, betcha won't whine now, *****
Haha
All these *********** lookin' at me like I'm crazy
**** maybe I am
Come close and you'll see
The fuckin' hell in my eyes, the psychotic twitch
Why you backin' away, what's wrong, *****
Just bring ya neck a little bit closa, hell, how about ya body
Bet it tastes delicious on a plate right in front of me!
Come on, gimme a taste and no I don't mean your ***
Why you think I got this knife?
I wanna fuckin' eat ya, ****
Bet your guts'll taste good in mine
Oh come on, don't fuckin' scream
The red is drippin' from stomach, looks pretty fuckin' good
But I think I'll wait for the entree
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 11:23 PM UTC
A heated room,
sixteen seats beneath the phosphorous shell,
sixteen minds, exactly the same and yet unique.
Between bites of lobster
and the first entree,
one ***** discusses politics,
while the business has chains and crops
on his mind.
The religious fanatics
can't get his hand out of his pants,
and the proud pagan
pays him to keep them there.
We all have an inkling towards one--
our secret,
divulging desire--
what ailment do you prefer?
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
Whack rappers don't **** with the best
Creep up in your house with a black backpack
And a TAC vest, plant two knives in your chest
Leave you bleeding and unconscious, like the rest
My bars explode like hand grenades
Words more bitter than no-sugar Kool-Aid
These listeners press play, and it's end game
No money you could pay could bring you this fame
By the end of this verse, nobody will know your name
Another little faceless wannabe
go back to rappin with the Aint-Never-gonna-Be's
This for a fact I know,
that when I see you next, you'll be ringing me up at Cotsco
Or you could try and contend with me
Have you hangin' in a musty room,
Getting beaten with a broken broom
I won't tell you what your future entails
Short of it involving lots of blood spatter and entrails
Wrap you in a blanket, blacker than a flag a pirate sails
Send your family severed fingers in the mail
Take forever and a day to find you
Desecrated and punctured with a thousand nails
Buckets of your blood, fillin' up a hundred pails
Cut you into pieces, fit you in a babies cradle
Serve your brains as an entree, get the ladle
As you can see, I'm eliminating the competition
If you wish you could keep up with me, ****
Better keep wishin'.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
we are all side effects.
we are not the entree
we are the side salad.
we are all side effects.
we are not the universe
we are pluto.
we are all side effects
of a medicine
called humanity.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
I haven't been out to dinner for quite sometime
and an Asian tasting meal would have me happy of rhyme
this Saturday I shall dine at a Chinese eatery
and this is the meal which will be served to me
The First Course...
4 mini spring rolls will do nicely for the entree course
they shall be bought to the table with some dipping sauce
The Second Course...
steamed duck and mushrooms and soft noodles
this will be a perfect kit and caboodle
The Desert...
a fried ice cream ball with banana I'll savor
it will be jam packed with lots of flavor
To Top The Meal Off
piping hot green tea
garnished with a little honey
I've made a booking at the restaurant at last
twill be nice to partake of a delicious Chinese repast
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
Can't be like you,
No one can.
Distant star out of reach,
Not many even knew.
But I stand here an island,
Hoisting up your flag.
Saluting a man I never met,
Wanting to be in a band.
So many dreams I've seen,
They overflow my thoughts.
Imaging I am sitting alone in the dark,
Remembering my life as I scream.
But not wanting to take back,
A single moment gone through.
Running naked in the forest,
Adding more stories to my stack.
So many journeys accomplished,
And a thousand more to go.
Hungry for the entree,
Yet I only can have the side dish.
You inspire me much like a sun inspires a light bulb.
I shine bright in my room, but will never light...the world.
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 7:23 PM UTC
‘Twas a sultry night, when you solemnly inquired –
“Would you like to have a piece of meat?”
A conscientious vegan like myself, rarely required
such unwarranted delicacies to eat.
Startled as I was, to myself I reasoned:
” it’s not as if I indulge every day –
and if a prime rib beckons, so perfectly seasoned
then even I’m allowed to go astray ”
you proffered to me, a choicey cut
Yet I waited for the perfect buy-ins;
lean and trim, the steaks were high, but–
the deal was only for the tenderloins.
Alas dear reader, that is where I mistook
my desires for a saucy brisket,
for in truth it was that I fancied the cook
but such emotions to flourish – I couldn’t risk it.
To grill is a skill that must be honed –
To be well-done is indeed so rare!
the merriment came not from being T-boned
though it wasn’t half bad, to be rather fair.
And oh my dear you had me speared
upon your metaphorical spit,
and thus Impaled like kabobs I seared,
upon fires of desires that befit.
One such night, I denied myself a meal
thinking it to be fine and dandy
what did it matter, venison or veal
when in truth, I wasn’t really randy
To my shock, what I had thought was written-
as my appetite for fleshy delights,
was instead that I was undoubtedly smitten,
indulging my fancies in the chef’s invites.
Oh then I realized, I was in a stew
of a situation I never appraised
My untimely declaration sent your spits askew
When I said I want you preserved, not braised.
And of course, as I knew, you shook your head
said kinds words and went on ahead
But dearest, nigh a mo’ had I expected more
than being hastily pushed out of the door.
For cooks cook, but must not be mistook
for another entree to be had, for sure.
The dish is what the cook will cook
but the cook is not the dish d’jour.
Cured I was of such carnal an error
much wiser a decision I’d made I wish
for a recipe for disaster is every chef’s terror
when a patron, as I, butchers a perfect dish.
A lesson I learnt, one you taught so fast
’twas not a lesson in grilling —
but to choose a more delectable repast
one that thought that I was equally thrilling.
But to be fair, I give credit much deserved
to a palatable person as you
for Grade A and gourmet are commonly served
and yet only to you I succumbed without ado.
For as a vegan, I religiously abstain
from undue pleasures of the flesh
yet while the romps of meats were not in vain
I paid my compliments only to the chef…
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 2:19 PM UTC