"fettuccine" poems
t'is a seasonal custom of us,
**(you did notice that us
is the centerpiece of c-us-tom?)**
that in December, not November
when turkey precedes...
I take my slip of a gal
for a big bowl of pasta
and white truffles from France.
the eyetalian waiter knows
he made the sale when her eyes,
crinkle wrinkle when I ask,
upon which pasta
does the ristorante serve the
white truffles from France?
fettuccine, naturalmente!
in ritual grandiose,
the mushroom grated before our eyes,
shavings and specks scattered and disbursed,
part one of the us in c-us-tom done.
me, I grew up lower middle cheap,
Ronzoni rigatoni and Heinz Ketchup,
not just good enough, but a treat,
and I did not from truffle oil eat
nor speak.
two thirds of the way,
part two, I say, hey!
you know you don't have to eat the whole thing.
with eyes adoring,
she fesses up her tiny tummy was full
about half way through.
but she knows
me, I grew up lower middle cheap,
hate to waste the money,
that comes so hard.
part two is the part of the c-us-tom
she forgets about, but the part that
she really loves me for,
so who cares how much truffles cost,
as far her eyes are concerned,
they crinkle wrinkle at the taste,
of my remembering part two.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
******* neon-green or bright red and pink
with polka dots yellow,
makes me one happy fellow.
She has bottoms so tight
that all of her *** hangs out with
just the crack out of sight.
Bikinis, bikinis---
what a way to spend
eating pasta fettuccine
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
Succulent, meaty, ribs falling off the bone and drenched in a velvety, thick, sauce.
“Check please.”
Tender chunks of lobster tail bathed in sweet, drawn, butter.
“Thank you. That will be all.
Heavy, cream-coated, strands of fettuccine accompanied by fresh peas, Speck, and shaved Parmesan.
“I wish I could stay but I can’t.”
Filet. Rare. A veil of Roquefort and sautéed wild mushrooms in a Sauternes reduction.
“It's just not the right time.”
Perfectly seasoned carne asada with a creamy roasted poblano sauce, queso fresco and the cool, half-mooned, sultry innards of a Hass avocado.
“I'll call you tomorrow”
A decadent Kobe burger blanketed in cheeses, caramelized onions, crisp bacon, and a cap of unctuous foie grois.
“But thank you for everything.”
Peanut butter and jelly on white bread.
And you would have me forever.
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 4:42 PM UTC
We made chicken fettuccine alfredo.
I don't really know what food has to do
with death, but
we made chicken fettuccine alfredo.
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 4:37 PM UTC
My idea of a good morning is at six AM
when two cases of fettuccine alfredo,
captured by the gravity of this planet,
dive for the white speckled tile.
Trying to **** me.
Glass, alfredo, smell of cheap pasta in the air.
I look around
sigh
delicately begin to pick up glass.
Tiny shards make my skin their home.
My leather boots have never encountered such a substance.
Oh fettuccine, sweet fettuccine
I will never consume again.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 11:37 AM UTC
We thought of us today as single cells
'Ciliating' across the universe of colour
under the coverslip of time; a microcosm
of pedalling plants or fettuccine of cells.
The hues of darkness are pink and bright,
in beach slippers tracing paths on glass,
and those springing Vorticella are flowers
we created in our fictions of science ...
But all possess a veneer bound
cytoplasm of affection, crawling like
Annelids across the void in a world
bursting in avatars of the invisible
or their transparent real selves
glowing like gemstones in the sky,
or simply opaque as we are, each
to the other under the play of light,
polarized views secreted within some
dark muddied pond, harbouring
the cells of love, shedding cuticles
of sorrow, laying the germ of tomorrow
or funneling delight in little green globes
that make food ... are food. We must be
blessed to be cytoplasm like them or cursed,
I don't know which, but it's all profound.
May 2, 2021
May 2, 2021 at 8:37 PM UTC
It's a rainy evening in January,
And Dexys Midnight Runners
Are flirting with Eileen.
There's fettuccine bubbling away
Over the blue flames,
And I miss you.
It's the kind of night that needs
Tea,
And spicy food,
And whiskery kisses.
I made steam scented with strong spices and herbs
Curl around the kitchen,
And weave around me dancing
To help keep me from noticing
You aren't here.
But you aren't here.
You don't need me to feel weak,
To feel like you can love me,
And I don't need to feel like I can't protect myself
In order to feel protected by you.
I like CDs because they feel more real,
And I like you,
Because you feel more real.
You slept next to me last night,
And your soft breath in my ear
Made sleeping
Less terrifying.
I'm trying to drown out the lack of your voice
With old music,
But it isn't working
Because you love old music.
I woke up and you were gone,
Waking up is a colorful explosion
Of soft kisses and and gentle
Touches with you,
But you aren't here.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 8:34 PM UTC
I like pasta, you like pasta,
Twirl it, swirl it, let’s have a blast-a!
Spaghetti’s long, it dances on my plate,
With a tasty sauce, it’s simply great!
Fettuccine’s wide, so creamy and smooth,
With every bite, it makes me groove.
Penne’s like tubes, ready to fill,
With cheese and sauce, it gives a thrill!
Macaroni’s small, but oh so fun,
In a cheesy bath, it’s number one!
Tortellini’s pockets, stuffed with delight,
A tasty surprise in every bite!
Linguine’s flat, like a noodle parade,
With clams and garlic, it’s perfectly made.
So here’s to pasta, in every way,
Let’s eat together, hip-hip-hooray! 🍝🎉
Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 8:00 AM UTC