"fricassee" poems
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin *** help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that *** staw a sow,
Or fricassee *** mak her spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro ****** flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.
Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Here I write some recipes,
From our anti--football league,
How to cook a football totally,
Must boil it for twelve hours, ritually,
Then you can dice it and fricassee,
Or maybe bake, broil, and grill,
What won't fatten, shall fill,
Or you can make mini-football custard, eh,
Chocolate footballs in a bowl, let's say,
We call it Footy Iles Flotante,
Star sweet in the anti-football restaurant!
Then a recipe for Grand Final Day, swell,
It's called footy Croquembouche Noel!
Hear the anti-footballers yell!
You, too, can write recipes,
For the Anti-football Society,
It's like dining at the Waldorf Astoria,
Anti-football recipes from Melbourne, Victoria!
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 3:37 PM UTC
Who thumps against me in the dark
And rings the jingles by the door
To let me know he has to *** a little after four,
Then barks at neighbors passing by
To let them know a guard is nigh?
Who chews my phone and my remote
And tears the pillow stuffings out,
Then wags his tail with sheepish smiles
And makes me laugh when I should pout?
Whose breath defeats my appetite
And slobber covers everything in sight
And pounces on our comfy bed at night
When I have snuggled in just right?
Tucker Freitas is his human name,
A wooly Labradoodle with no shame,
(We call the "grand-dog" to his face
But other things when in disgrace).
So would I have him any other way,
Say in a kennel or a fricassee,
Or stuffed and lying on a frame?
No, I will love him in his puppied self
Content to know he loves me as myself.
The company he gives is pure as gold,
His eager joy at seeing me is never old;
He's healthy and excited each time he hits my door,
Tongue hanging out and slobber flying,
Four feet sliding on the polished floor,
Remembering treats and wanting more.
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
Young chicken turned into fricassee
How hot is your gravy?
Such sizzling goodness
Smells so fresh in the pan
Having a fry
Don't really know why
Cooking at such high temperatures
Makes me crazy this way
But I've got to have you frizzle
Cut tenders spitting grease about
Think I'll dice up a side of
Turnips, greens and roots
There's an unwritten law about it
Even so
Availability finds comfort in handiness
A little splash of wine on that
Ought to make it all
Come together
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
I feel pretty sick knowing
you’ll be a part of my
art.
My poems have you in
them like a metallic aftertaste.
A hint of nuts.
Did you put vermin in
this fricassee?
Some people put God in
their poems but with me
it’s always you.
You’re the inky air in
the corner that congeals like
bad music.
No, I don’t want to
listen to that song.
Just put it on “shuffle”
for Chrissakes.
You sit there in the
crack on the wall and
scrunch your body at me.
You’ll ruin your posture but
you’re not really there.
It’s a metaphor.
It’s what poets do when
they hate you as much
as I do:
You blast my taste buds
away from the ordinary and
force me to talk about
you in euphemisms.
Or dysphemisms in this case.
God, I don’t freaking know.
You just make me angry!
“I’ll treat you to dinner.”
******* go treat yourself to the bottom of a lake.
I told you you were
black space in the walls,
but I’ve opened a window.
Weren’t expecting that, were you?
Still, perhaps you’re too utterly
utter to suffer the flutter
of the breeze.
I’m going out.
And believe you me pal, you’d better be gone by the time I get back.
Even though I know you’re not really there.
It’s the principle of the thing.
Jul 31, 2010
Jul 31, 2010 at 9:39 PM UTC
Ostracized and banished! Banned and throne out!
Kevin and Allpoetry, they give me a big flout
-
Just because I write, that Queers will burn in Hell
They kick me off their site, my *** they did expel
-
Kevin Kevin oh tisk-tisk, don't you want to burn?
Guess what oh ****** Fruitcake, your Damnation you did earn
-
You'll roast upon a spit, you'll fricassee and fry
In Hell you'll have a "Gay" old time...I won't even say goodbye
-
Hey Kevin Kevin Faggot...write some poems down in Hell
Write about your TORMENT! In fire you can't quell
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC
My favorite verse of scripture [1], is from the Book that’s last
It’s about the Wrath of God, poured out on you en masse
-
Chapter number fourteen, verses nine and ten
As I watch you burn, I will shout AMEN
-
You’ll fulfill another verse, from the Sermon on the Mount
Mathew five verse five, God will settle His account
-
How many lovey-dovey “Christians” will there be that take the Mark?
All the non-Elect, to “The Way” you did not hark [2]
-
I will watch you burn…watch you fricassee and fry
After you’re well done, I will watch you die
-
Then you'll be sent to Hell, then the Lake of Fire
Forever there you'll burn, YOUR jESUS was a liar [3]
[1] And - Psalm 139:21
[2] Rev 13:8
[3] "Another jESUS" http://hellopoetry.com/poem/998361/are-you-a-christian/
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
******* sure don’t like it, when I tell them where they’ll go
They will go to Hell, not a French chateau
-
Forever they will burn, in the Lake of Fire
They will fricassee and fry, their torment won’t expire
-
Especially “Christian” faggots…lovey-dovey Queers
They will weep and wail, and cry lamenting tears
-
All the demons wait for them, they’ll jam a red-hot ***** up their ***
Ram it in and out, and they’ll do this with no class
-
Are you a “Christian” Faggot?…That’s like a ****** *****
You will greet the Horseman, you’ll greet The Horsemen Four
-
The rider on the White Horse, you will take his Mark
Every ****** will…does this seem too stark?
-
Too stark for God **** ******* on their way to Hell
Especially “Christian” ******* who worship their god Bel
-
Does my poem hit a nerve? I sure hope it does
Flag my pretty poem, flag it just because
-
Just because it's true, a lie I will not tell
All you "Christian" ******* are going to burn in Hell
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
Upon ***** and Gomorrah, God Almighty did rain Fire
He burned up all the Faggots...do you heed His warning dire?
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If you're a ******* ****** or a ******* Queer
Eternal Fire awaits, DAMANATION so sever
-
Is my poem "Hate Speech"? Don't you want to burn in Hell?
That's just too **** bad, at prevision you excel
-
Not only will you burn, you'll fricassee and fry
You'll be roasted on a spit...Halleluiah when you die!!
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One less ****** in the world, one more ****** burns in Hell
Hail Westboro Baptist! Clap and shout and yell!
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 4:47 AM UTC
boardroom doors,
circuits open
grey matter hallways
where skeletons
made of lightning
fricassee my synapses
jackboots roundup
****** dahlias deflowered,
their wilted smiles
rainbow
the grass below
with shadows
cowardly dandelions
roar no more,
taken to see the wizard
on yellow brick roads
paved with the
carcasses of braver kin.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
Hi-yea ****** hi-yea, I'll write a rhyme for you
How you'll burn in Hell; your worst nightmare will come true
-
A long life you'll live not, STDs will take their toll
You'll die and go to Hell, and be eaten by a troll
-
You'll fricassee and fry, be roasted on a spit
How "Gay" you gunna be, in Torment that won't quit?
-
Pretend it isn't so, continue on your way
Soon, very soon, God your soul will slay
-
Kevin will find out, when it's too **** late
Hey Kevin are you ready? In Hell you'll meet your fate
****** !!!
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 4:58 AM UTC
You lived in hedonistic luxury, in open lust and greed
Don’t say you weren’t warned…but you didn’t heed
-
Now it’s time to pay the Piper. Do you have enough?
Your soul is all he wants. Do you think this is a bluff?
-
Grim Reaper comes for you, he’ll carry you to Hell
Forever there you’ll be, to worship your god Baal
-
Kick and scream and cry, but it’s too **** late
Don’t bother to repent, you have meet your fate
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You’ll burn in Hell FOREVER! You'll fricassee and fry
Guess what I don’t care, your whole life was such a lie
-
You’re RELIGIOUS **** a whitewashed sepulcher
A ********* Priest…the “Holy” Monsignor
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC