"feta" poems
only an idiot like me, the rain poured down, my socks were wetted, and i looked at the pavement for glory, instead i found a £10 note and imagined my right shoe on my left leg, and my left shoe on my right leg... just to prove the luck.
it came from listening to rotting christ's kata
ton daimona...
i wrote the poem on two tesco receipts
numbering them no. 1 - .4,
it made sense to just give it a narrative...
the naturally apparent lisp of greek is due to...
lies between theta (θ) and phi (φ)...
check feta cheese... it might be less morbidly fermented...
that's why the greeks have a natural lisp...
it's theta and it's phi...
in english it's like chinese.... w & r...
something's rolling something's waving,
something's trigonometric...
harrison fowd was almost jonathan woss if i care...
the chinese in english debate with chin-chin-wanker
scissors piece of paper stone good luck on the handshake:
lost the price of interest being gained for excavation
purposes of dinosaur bones and inflation via the
ptertodactyl of the extended mohawk shave...
english dicionary makes me confused...
it places theta alongside the, than... but then
it's therapy... thermometer...
too many unique examples i'd have said...
that's the lisp there... sidelined phew and engaged in phew
in byzantine...
english linguistics is filled with too many "unique" examples
of expression... coupled with the celebrity culture...
i farted and a person took hold of a *** squeeze...
how's that?! english language in summary?
pleasing on the eye... but the spelling? a burden on the tongue.
i know that slavic linguistics would make enlgish that's written
ugly...
it wouldn't be pharmacology but farmacology...
then it made sense, i stopped asking the english dicta
written down, the greek θ wasn't a couple of th & etc...
a few athenains in death metal said it like i said it... the 2nd f...
it was απηθανoν - because it was simply athens - fern fence...
and not d... defence, or anything easily acquired as a prescription
of zee wee point of german scottish.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
The perfect night,
Full of light, not flight--
With dreams of olives!
(And feta in our sights!)
The drinks,
The dancing,
Rock n' Roll--
Naked Munchkin fantasy
Stole my soul!
I miss you my sweets,
It's been too long a week.
I'm pining for Cookout,
Divergent, and Wednesdays wearing Pink.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
I'm a very cheesy fella
and i love a tasty platter
from stretchy mozzarella
through to cubes of feta
i like them very old
like Camembert and brie
i wait until they turn to mold
to be inside of me
i like them very smelly
crumbly soft or squeaking
at the supermarket deli
my lips already licking
then tasting can begin
with a few red wines
which release my cheesy grin
and cheesy pick up lines
Oct 12, 2019
Oct 12, 2019 at 2:03 AM UTC
When they came to my island, the
hero and his crew (more like
an invasive species
of uninvited animals)
The rot from their unwashed feet spilled everywhere--
infestations of foul--
They plucked grapes from my vines slowly, with pride,
as if they kept them themselves,
They came into my cave and stole sheep’s milk and cheese--
The blessed feta: vanished!!
And you wonder why I snacked on two--I had nothing else!
They disregarded emptied wine bottles in clusters in the sand,
Kept me awake in the evening with boisterous, hoglike squeals.
And when I let out a scream myself,
A cry to my native land, to my father,
I spotted my herds scurrying from the cave,
with little hands floating atop their fur,
Then came the electrifying pain
I see a staff, feel the hit, become
disabled.
They took everything and left me blinded
And he is still the hero?
He told me he was Nobody.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
Shards of sail staple sky to sea as fingernail-thin boats lean in to the horizon.
The surge of surf converses constantly with the silent shore, urging its message upon the oblivious beach.
My children scramble on the man-made groyne, a facsimile of wild rock, in which they find caves 'with a proper rock on top' (Bea) and 'a hundred miles deep' (Willem).
We are here on bikes, salt wind in our hair, and my *** slowly absorbing moisture from the almost-dry sand as they unburden their youth upon the rocky playground.
And then come the treasures.
A flat shell the size of my palm and worn pearlescent smooth.
A fossil pebble of concentric ingrained ripples.
'Something amazing Mummy,' comes the cry. 'You have to see this stone; the colour of Coca Cola,' shouts my boy.
More treasures emerge and are grafted on to the sandy pile.
Quartz-like lumps and a mussel entangled with tiny seaweed strands and miniature white shells, like micro leaves and hints of feta in a fancy restaurant.
The boy wears welly boots, no socks, and a plastic medal around his neck. 'Batman, Batman, Batman,' comes the cry, while Bea determinedly scans heaven and Earth for jewels to stud her imagination.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:03 AM UTC
taken up residence in all my areas and in these places
there is always a place for her
In my basement
when she rubs and soothes my toes to a numbing comfort
at opposite end her stretch lets my hands do the same to hers
Structure beams stand
and are why my calves and thighs continue to grow stronger
are incentive to be wrapped around her legs
and hers in a grip twist
throughout the curve of my hips to hold crossing
X made when I am wrapped
For entering the front porch
She knocks but not heard
for her tapping inquiries are irrelevant
So it turns, the doorknob turns
unlocking opening this abstract transition in my abdomen
Here is hers to warm her hands
and chest
when chills come over
and Level-Up in connect
with another’s rushes
through bloods chamber controller
In the hearth of my arms
is where she sleeps off stressful days
and absorbs deep breaths
given to her by the nighttime in comfort fire
that keep warm in clutching swarm
The crawl space of my mind is her cozy retreat
Where she writes to and
receives poetry like excessive pounding heartbeats
and sings and reads, is read to and strummed to
in this cave of only good thoughts drape over, outweigh
and extend
root outward
sprout upward
seeds are sewed
for and of future place
take place
This is where she speaks one line
“Millions of days,”
and falling feta paints rapid wetness across raised cheeks
grazing my chin upward, with her fingers
where we pace, follow, and race,
To more moments in place on our backs
in the yard
just to lay and stare ahead
at endless sects of aerospace
As if in bed, in their others head
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 1:19 PM UTC
Lost my air from a parting glance, a split second that haunts my
memories
The crunch of gravel beneath our bare feet, tired arms
around my neck
Dancing drunk in the morning, waiting for the dandelions to unfold dying
arms
Feta cheese and Greek olives, hummus on flat bread, a sip of
merlot
A kiss with dim eyes under live oak branches, a parting breath,
exhaled into open skies
I turn under the disc of the sun, chased by moon and clouds,
the clear quiet of night
I surrender my thoughts to the dead leaves, broken branches,
my holy totems
I lay my voice on wild grasses; let it float down, drip into
running water
I write my words on ***** walls, tomorrow scratched to illegible
nothings
Outlines of small hands on colored paper, hard to believe we were all
children, once
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 9:17 AM UTC
While Waiting For The Train #4
Sitting here, thinking about work
and the inherent contradictions
of housekeeping.
Or, should I say:
Sanitary Engineer,
Building Maintenance.
In reality, all it is
is an old fashioned janitor.
Or, as some of my friends say:
“Old **** janitor!”
Affectionately,
but also with an edge.
oo0oo
But this isn’t what I am thinking about.
No, it’s more the routine
and its mindless activity.
As we often say:
“It’s the same old, same old”;
or, “SSDD”;
same **** different day.”
Today for example,
it was a Thursday Monday.
It’s always a Monday of some kind.
And Monday kind of describes the job too.
oo0oo
This too, is not what I am thinking.
It’s more the executive decisions
a janitor must make.
Decisions that determine
the ‘smooth’ functioning of a factory,
office, or where ever.
You laugh!
But really, it’s true.
Ever go to the bathroom
and there is no toilet paper?
See, I exaggerate not.
Or what if there were no
forks, knives, or spoons
in the lunch room.
Then what?
Are you really going to eat that
crispy green salad
with mushrooms and feta cheese,
smothered in ranch
with your fingers? Please!
oo0oo
But, even these earth shaking decisions
are not what I am thinking.
It’s those ever present,
critical questions:
sweep, mop, then pull trash?
Or should I pull trash, sweep
and then mop?
This monotonous rotation
determines the rotation
of the earth around the sun;
the phases of the moon
and when will I clean the bathrooms,
causing the most inconvenience
to everyone.
This by the way, is most satisfying
and one of the few perks of the job.
Sweep,
mop,
pull trash;
sweep, mop, pull trash.
Or, pull trash,
sweep,
mop!
It can give you grey hairs,
all this responsibility
and decision making.
oo0oo
Sitting here, now on the train home,
a brilliant,
not to mention uplifting,
idea rampages through my tired mind.
Tomorrow
I am going to be rebellious-
an open radical!
A free thinker!
Tomorrow, I have decided
will be “Liberation Day”.
“Janitors of the world unite!”
Tomorrow there will be a revolution,
as I,
the **** Old Janitor will:
mop,
pull trash,
then sweep!!!
(written as~~redzone 5.14.09 - Aztec Warrior)
© 2014 redzone
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
Ciao baby, preggo
that means let's smooch under romantic balconies
and make lovely thick-haired multi-cultural children
I want a big ole belly of wine drinking zygotes
feta crumble eye *****
real live sculptures in my palace
jaggedy rocks with blood streams
trickling into the ocean
salty and brine like sewer sludge
let's go for a swim
could be amazing, or beautiful
most likely exciting at least
light bulb moment: I want to hear yours first
you're so dang brilliant like cerulean skies
fake but still pretty
tell me your story
teach me your lingo language
sil-vous plait?
Non?
Well fine, you're verbally redundant anyway
thoughts made of unsettling murky waters
no light can penetrate
and sweetie neither can you
not now
I'm 20,000 leagues too deep for your puddle of a conscience.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
I swear I'm not a Munster.
Don't leave me provolone.
When you asiago away I really Swiss you.
It makes me bleu to watch you leave.
People keep telling me it'll get cheddar.
I'm feta up with going to havarties.
Queso, maybe tomorrow will be Gouda.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 12:39 PM UTC
Another dinner tainted
by moistly cooing feta
and cracking of crutons
in his mouth.
A wrinkle plunges
his forehead into lines
mimicking the knives
meticulously hidden above door frames.
He picks the scab
caught in his leg hair
and it dangles-trapped
as he gets to the screaming tea.
Birds dart out the window
and freeze in the sky
in the picture of Samford Hall
hanging above the white-washed mantle.
Cookie cake icing
reads, “Happy 68 Pops”
and we sing to fogged glasses
as his face quivers.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 5:19 PM UTC
i told you, the most volatile substance,
auto-combustion:
let's see:
the (ν / v'eh point) - touch on elocution,
almost δ'eh point -
but then the oddity: thievery -
hence coupling θ and φ,
well s and z (hardly an ß)
might also make a hush sh sh sound
for the eyes to spot with a şiş kebab being served
(kebaab if you're talking africān - prolonged
on dentistry's dire inspection) -
no diacritics and many eccentricities -
many accents, and a bowler hat at the
royal Ascot - peacock feathers to a flutter
ooh! firewood for the comedy scene -
the / d or v? veering point or the deepened
point? thyme - now that's a solitary τ (tau),
well, many more examples! ha!
thighs and thievery - theta cheese -
thrombosis - that - now that's definitely armed
with δ - thermometer - thick -
in-between scotch fudge - thinking -
throw - viably also famished - invariably
also alphabetically accounted for as: thrice -
and phosphorescent - pucker up now dear,
no point calling jane austen right now,
it's too late: better watch the jane austen book club,
now that's a great romance movie -
serious though, ah, there you have it,
though rather thought - another eccentricity
to curse periodic examples to rule:
vogue in that though - feta cheese in that latter -
no one dared to say: i vote, deer fur i am -
imagine that said in Chelsea or Camden -
you'd never get rid of those crack ******* junkies
following you to Waterloo shouting:
'we've found Napoleon! we've found Napoleon!
Napoleon! Napoleon!'
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
Coffee with cream, ketchup on chips
Gravy poured over most everything
Coconut milk in the red hot curry
Hot dipping sauce laced on a chicken wing.
Mashed potato with butter and cheese
hot cheese dripping down the fork
Roasted crackling as crisp as can be
just sliding off the salt roast pork.
Onions braised in red wine sauce
Sausages with hot ******* and peas
A crusty bread roll to sandwich them
A refreshing Greek salad with feta cheese
Puddings galore in every possible way
Custard and every assorted ice creams
Strawberry jam plastered on the toast
My favourites and in my wildest dreams.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
I really want to dream tonight,
well dream of you to be precise,
what's good for dreaming?
What lets the sandman in with ease?
lots and lots of lovely cheese!
I gorged on Stilton, Feta, Cheddar and Brie
Wensleydale topped with Cheshire for my tea,
and i dreamt that night,
i dreamt of you,
and it was wonderful,
so i repeated, cheese consumption again for days.
I'm that fat now i can't get out of bed
but beds the place you dance every night in my head,
more cheese please!
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 10:51 AM UTC
We ate red beets with garlic roasted in olive oil and anise.
We ate onions sauteed in olive oil, mustard, and honey.
We ate green leaves with grapes, tomatoes, onions, and feta cheese.
We drank wine.
We drank water.
We talked social justice.
We talked poverty.
We talked blackness.
We talked education.
We talked about the years, that of which was left behind.
Trials I used to roam out west before I came back to the nest.
He said, "But, that is behind you?
I am still under the illusion doors don't close.
So plainly without a doubt they do.
"The debt will go away, do what makes you happy."
Why resist?
This is the necessary transition.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
I still wonder how to calm my thoughts.
They sprint the tightrope with closed eyes,
remind me of every note screamed,
and bring me back to size.
Her passive-aggressive nerve.
How did I never swerve
and fill the forest
with my blood and good intentions?
I'd come home with a red rose,
or maybe a few.
The only sentence she could compose
was how my hands smelt
of feta and bleach.
There was no closure,
but I had no composure.
The secret is that I still don't.
I have no regrets.
But I still wonder pensively
why I haven't wrapped myself
around that alluring oak tree.
It's around 2:30 now
and a few years have passed,
but I still reek of feta and bleach.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 3:29 AM UTC
My heart is like a fatty
red vegetable,
shuddering against
my celery ribs
making aches,
making sore echoes
in the apple core of my chest,
and your fingers resemble
chocolate buttons
when I tell you where it hurts.
---------------
I take a gulp of water,
its cool clear slither
as it slips down
my pasta throat,
scurrying around
with a chilled whisper
to my meaty beige stomach
where the cold vanishes
as quickly as it came,
wedged in the side
of a potato kidney.
---------------
With a twist
my ankle made of feta
jolts just a touch,
a blast of warmth
rocketing through my foot,
blossoming in the broccoli
florets that are my toes
and then up to the knee,
a lumpy lime
that jangles anxiously
in its socket.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
This is a poem about hip hop, a rap about rap, I’m getting meta while you eat your wrap with feta because these poets free their words from paper, caped crusaders spitting flows from their domes and putting it to music, evoking emotion and causing commotion by amplifying their words, meditation through creation, showing their wit by going *** for tat in a rap battle, a freestyle of thought, craft a verse and drop it like it’s hot, they refuse to throw away their shot as they create a mixtape of melody and meaning, it doesn’t have to be demeaning, braggadocio is part of the show, part of the culture, we all flee from the vulture of death and if words give you armor then rap harder, better, faster, stronger, flex on em with mental might and fight until you shine bright, when the words strike like lightning, frightening and enlightening, you feel alive, driving fast, the words are at the wheel, tires squeal as you peal off the street, smile on your face as you blast into outer space.
My words trapped on paper, musically handicapped, but I wish I could adapt so I could convert these rhymes to rap but for now you have to fill in the gaps with the music of your mind, the sound of your soul, the rhythm at the root of being alive.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 9:22 AM UTC
when did you get so picky?
I grilled you a ribeye rare
olive oil baked brussel sprouts
but you chewed them up
and spit them out
you need your greens
Greek salad with olives
and feta cheese
stop tripping Nicky
your jeans are too tight
but they come off easy
your requests are so confusing
buy me a ring
but it won't mean a thing
I can't get into specifics
but i'm questioning
what i've become
and you are a major part
of the problem
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 1:59 AM UTC
When she comes over for dinner
I grill some t bones medium rare
she inhales the flesh
licks the fork
and then comes up for air
She looks at me and smiles
she knows what lies beneath
before next course here please take this toothpick
there's something caught between your teeth
penne pasta with my home made sauce
salad with olives and feta cheese
chocolate chip ice cream for those who lick their plates clean
she's always one of these
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
She was a connoisseur
of the finer things in life
& a true lover of culture.
Ethnic foods,
in particular,
was her main interest.
She was always
experimenting in the kitchen
& in the bedroom,
with texture
& taste,
played to accentuate
her sweet tasting
physical attributes.
So it was no surprise
when I saw the Feta cheese
on the nightstand,
it was her favorite appetizer.
And the look in her eyes said it all,
tonight we were going to have a ball,
a full course meal.
She loved me fishing for olives,
and the kolbassa,
let's just say,
my baby's
one lip-smacking
hot date.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
Portobello mushrooms, I use them all the time
No matter how topped they always taste just fine
From cream cheese and crab to chicken fajita
No matter what you just want to eat ‘em
Philly beef cheesesteak, they’ve also been topped
So many possibilities, I’ll never stop
Bleu cheese and steak makes a hell of a filling
Portobello themed restaurant, I’d make a killing
Chicken Alfredo, or coconut shrimp
How about spinach artichoke dip
Turkey and dressing or how about pulled pork
You’d want to eat those with your fingers or fork
Taco, or nacho, or enchilada
How it gets better, I got zip, zilch, and nada
Or I don’t know how about spinach frittata
You could go Greek, lamb, feta, and Kalamata
Mediterranean, flavored quinoa or couscous
So many options, man just turn me loose
Lemon pepper, scallops, or Oyster Rockefeller
Or Chicken Rice saffron, it would be yeller
At this point, I feel like Bubba from Forrest Gump
Going on about toppings, oh well over the ****
Buffalo Chicken or Asparagus turkey parm
Just about anything you can get at the farm
Goes great on a mushroom I think you can see
Most people wouldn’t, but, hey they’re just not me
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC