"gastronomic" poems
Do you know what happens
When two worlds collide?
It's like a churn of eggs and beer
In a gastronomic ride.
At first it could be delicious
That it takes you all the way
To a taste of hershey's kisses
Or a scent of red boquet.
You'll wish that it remain like this
And believe it to be true
That there's no moment you would want to miss
And you've figured out all clue.
But then the waves go tossing
And the sweet and sour will blend
To a bitter flavor toxicating
Two hearts to a drunken end.
The tearing and the swearing
Could make you realize
That the biggest toll of loving
Is making it real in your eyes.
So what's left is a rancid vapor
From two hearts both left for dead
That will free all pain and horror
From the lips they're left unsaid.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
Imagine a spherical shield,
all sensual swirls of body art
and gleaming currents of
silent comings and goings.
Her path is radiant
with skeins of silver slime.
She’s discreetly **** inside her shell,
snuggling in mystical moisture.
A willing captive,
She’s self-sufficient,
timid yet eager to explore,
free to withdraw at any given moment.
Admire the courage of her smallness,
the generosity of her gifts to the beauty
of our skin, our gastronomic delight.
She does not fear mortality’s ultimate crush.
She lives and dies in the joy of giving
her soft, sweet syrup back to the earth.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 5:13 AM UTC
*Bus poems are shorties written on the way home,
riding the M31 thru Manhattan. Often silly, often not...*
There is a contest that does not involve my P.S.F.
(Preferred Sport Franchise) this weekend,
truly don't give a good ****** who wins,
but that is no excuse to deny me my sir sore-losing,
victim status,
so richly deserved.
A triumvirate of doctor, g.f. and medical tests,
have on the field ruled,
once a year, a conjugal visit permitted,
tween my arteries and chicken wings.
there will pigs in blankets demanding attention,
potato knishes, and cole slaw juices, and a
foreign dignitary, Sayyid Cous-Cous,
lining up along side the quarterback who will be
'winging' honey and spicy passes to his favorite receiver,
this couch coach and impartial observer.
This is my Sunday fare.
If insufficiently highbrow,
for all you poetic aesthetes,
have no fear,
this athlete gastronomic,,
victim of his victuals,
will prepare mentally
by hanging with King Lear once more,
sharing a verbal tasting menu,
the day prior,
who once called me,
at a Giant super bowl party,
*“A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a
base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited,
hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a
lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson,
glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue;
one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a
bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but
the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar,
and the son and heir of a mongrel ***** one whom I
will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest
the least syllable of thy addition.”*
― William Shakespeare, King Lear
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
♪♫♫♪♪♫♪♪♫♫♪
Revelation: three, seven – the Kingdom of Heaven
The key to unlocking both glory and shame.
Philadelphia knows He’s arriving in newness
inscribing on foreheads His city and name.
(Though it could be on tee shirts or baseball caps, true –
unless someone takes time to decipher the text…
is it Greek? Aramaic? Amharic? What next?)
Don’t be mad – it’s not me but old John who’s to blame.
Of names and on numbers of Savior and Beast
I have long been a-pondering, trembling, wondering
mushroom-cloud raptures in mind’s eye a-thundering.
How will we get to that marriage-day feast?
Will my garment be ready or filthy with fall-out?
(The song says His blood will make clean if we call out
in faith for forgiveness, in humble repentance
believing that grace will abolish the sentence.)
You may wish my rhyme to be likewise abolished.
Bear with me. Forgive me, I grant it’s not polished.
I speak what I feel and I write when I’m able;
which brings us to heavenly thoughts gastronomic:
what dishes we’ll meet as we dine at that table-
strict Jewish? Angelic? Or pre-Abrahamic?
Shall they serve us from silver or common ceramic?
Being clay to the potter, an unfinished vessel
I leave all these questions for others to wrestle.
Yet there’s still one more realm I explore in conjecture:
the sounds at that gathering. Classical? Rock?
Unending revivalist Christian refrains?
Shall we headbang in heaven with glorified brains?
Psychedelic/Psychotic…? or Handel and Bach?
(Lighten up. It’s the end of my bible-school lecture.
You’ve seen a few rooms of my castle-in-air,
and we ALL know it’s reggae they’re playing up there…)
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
Followers of Sfera would be glad to know that the Spanish fashion brand recently launched its Fall-Winter 2016 collection at its flagship store in SM Makati.
The event, held in partnership with the Spanish Chamber of Commerce in the Philippines (La Camara Manila), had the local Spanish community and members of the diplomatic corps among the guests.
They were treated to a fabulous showcase of the collection, along with cocktails and an exciting shopping experience.
In attendance were Maria Jose Carrasco, wife of Spanish Ambassador Luis Antonio Calvo, Pedro Pascual of the Commercial Office of the Embassy of Spain, Alfredo Roca, vice president external of La Camara Manila.
Sfera, part of Madrid’s renowned El Corte Ingles Group of Companies, opened its first store in Asia in the Philippines in 2014, on the second floor of The SM Store Makati. In 2015, it opened more branches—on the second level of Building B in SM Megamall, and on the upper ground floor of SM Seaside City Cebu.
September 2016 saw its first department store corner at The SM Store in Aura Premier.
This premium fast-fashion brand offers men’s and women’s wear, and is known for its ability to stay on-trend every season while maintaining good-quality clothing and affordability.
From SM, heading to the opposite side of town, we were treated to a gastronomic symphony at one of our favorite restaurants, Salvatore Cuomo.
The six-course dinner, prepared by chef Salvatore Cuomo himself, served as a sneak peek of his new dishes on the menu.
The Italian culinary titan has narrowed the boundaries between innovation and fine taste. The meal was a roller-coaster of dynamic flavors and textures—an array of small bites paired with light aperitif for starters, washed down with Italian and French medium-bodied red and white wines.
In true Salvatore Cuomo fashion, the ingredients used in the entire dinner were thoughtfully selected and sourced from the best producers in Europe and Asia.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
1 - Sweep out the International Space Station.
2 - Eat Kale every day and like it.
3 - Learn to know and like a republican.
4 - Become a Mixed Martial Arts champion.
5 - Be kind to extinct wolverines.
6 - Develop at taste for Rap music.
7 - Explore gastronomic excess with you $16 in food stamps.
8 - Teach the cat how to vacuum and dust.
9 - Find the last person under 30 without a smartphone.
10 - Figure out why God created Twitter.
11 - Solve the riddle of what women really want.
12 - Give up on all the above by Ground Hog Day.
~mce
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 9:29 AM UTC
REVELATION: three, seven – the Kingdom of Heaven
The key to unlocking both glory and shame.
Philadelphia knows He’s arriving in newness
inscribing on foreheads His city and name.
(Though it could be on tee shirts or baseball caps, true –
unless someone takes time to decipher the text…
is it Greek? Aramaic? Amharic? What next?)
Don’t be mad – it’s not me but old John who’s to blame.
Of names and on numbers of Savior and Beast
I have lately been pondering, trembling, wondering
mushroom-cloud raptures in mind’s eye a-thundering.
How will we get to that marriage-day feast?
Will my garment be ready or filthy with fall-out?
(The song says His blood will make clean if we call out
in faith for forgiveness, in humble repentance
believing that grace will abolish the sentence.)
You may wish my rhyme to be likewise abolished.
Bear with me. Forgive me, I grant it’s not polished.
I speak what I feel and I write when I’m able;
which brings us to heavenly thoughts gastronomic:
what dishes we’ll meet as we dine at that table-
strict Jewish? Angelic? Or pre-Abrahamic?
Shall they serve us from silver or common ceramic?
Being clay to the potter, an unfinished vessel
I leave all these questions for others to wrestle.
Yet there’s still one more realm I explore in conjecture:
the sounds at that gathering. Classical? Rock?
Unending revivalist Christian refrains?
Shall we headbang in heaven with glorified brains?
Psychedelic/Psychotic…? or Handel and Bach?
(Lighten up. It’s the end of my bible-school lecture.
You’ve seen a few rooms of my castle-in-air,
and we ALL know it’s reggae they’re playing up there…)
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 8:55 PM UTC
The guy at the diner failed to mustard Jake's hot dog
As he was eating it he felt as cold as a marsh frog
Yucky was the flavor without condiment
Chomping it down, a tasteless torment
As the fries on his plate were doing the backstroke
Having a jolly swim day in a puddle of oil
Asked for industrial towels to wipe up the slick
Before it caught wind of the Environmentalists
A complaint has been filed about their bill of fare
Nothing served over the counter would we wish to share
Placards will be shown over the Diner's facade
Warning customers of this ecological disregard
They won't water down their words like the Diner their drinks
Before you enter in you'll stop and think
About the Blue Plate Special with Salmonella on the side
Do you prefer your Botulism broiled or would you like it fried
Gastronomic delights such as they will make you pay
A stint in the infirmary is sure to come your way
With a tossed salad of pain, relievers, and antibiotics
Which none of the above will be deliciously exotic
If you can take the cooks looks and stomach the smells
Along with the service that's slower than snails
There's normally a coupon in the daily mail
Buy one get one free!
Ahhhh.....what the hell
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
Not noon delight nor a twilight's splendors
Not dawn nor dusk: the space between for dreams
Of what you ask appeals to both genders?
Melting yellow soft peaks? Amber warm streams?
Golden brown spheres stacked high, their height unknown?
Tis a past morn's custom, daybreak's bounty
Tis a morning fixture, not to postpone
Bacon Beacon of hope for the breakfast county
Though her cloying honeyed fluids are faux,
Though she takes a sluggish minute to heat
Tis my young wish to make myself her beau
This odd request is thick, so rich, so sweet
Gastronomic Mrs. Jones increases girth
I want to squeeze my Mrs. Butterworth
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
Air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch black hours of night)
on his witch a ma call it...
to escape temporarily the cares and concerns
of an uncertain world,
where as n outlier from the madding crowd i gape
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
at the sheer inanity
trumpeting strumpets donning an innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod --
seize ***** viz Cesar
his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
go to hell in hand basket
and rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het
two...three...four, while the billionaire
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
turns a third blind eye
speeds away in his reo speed wagon
foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy,
how the fickle finger of fate let
this pompous ***
vacuums up majority votes
across world wide net
to finagle vox populi,
and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face s as his smart pet.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
GoLong Daddy story short -
pondering my rental circumstance
will be upended if this ret
chad, evil, googly-eyed, gastronomic,
narcissistic bullish don will set
the spark for world war three -
via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within the american crucible melting *** -
with backs whet
unless....Katrina and the Waves, superman
or the Sabrina can oust him yet!
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 2:27 PM UTC
# The Hostess
Crowned in Afro-tribal headdress,
On her chest a Slavic tunic;
Appearing as a prophetess
Or a schizophrenic ******
On her wrists ring Irish bangles—
Wrapped round her waist a bright sarong;
On her breast a pendant dangles
Like some Oriental gong.
Multi-kulti represented
As a woman, weirdly dressed.
Every ethnic group is feted
On arrival to the West.
The Dinner
Everybody bring your dish!
The ethnic potluck has begun.
Afterwards your guts will wish
Your culture had remained as one.
Foods collide and almost mingle
In the cultural melting ***
Yet it’s hard to find a single
Way to describe this mixed-up lot.
Curry mingles with Kielbasa
Chinese dumplings, Jello, slaw
Deviled eggs, the odd samosa
Beans and rice, cheap sushi raw.
Soul food, Kimchi, Spanish rice,
Pad-Thai, grits, potato salad;
Gastronomic paradise?
Or a nauseating ballad . . .
Out of many, not quite one—
You bravely burp. It’s quite diverse . . .
But as your stomach comes undone
Digestion goes from sad to worse.
E pluribus to Alka-Seltze®
Groaning in your bed at three:
Let it fizz and hope it helps, sir
Lest you doubt diversity…
I’m Diversity. I am strength!
Sings the undigested food.
Perhaps we all shall know, at length
If global change was for the good.
Apr 29, 2023
Apr 29, 2023 at 3:52 PM UTC