"hummus" poems
I don’t like cauliflower so I will feed all mine to friends
moving black specks, fruit flies on vegetables
confused
killing their dinner with cyanide
like sticks of cinnamon or garlic cubes
I hand it to bugs with my long second toe
that is supposed to mean I am a genius, but I don’t eat
cauliflower broccoli anything leafy and I am missing fish oil
from my diet
confused
I whisper into the fruit flies’ elf ears
perked up as dog eyes escape their sockets sometimes
Dogs do not eat cauliflower either or hummus
they are not even confused
Morning, we all see the same shape of the moon’s goneness
but others will eat bread despite mold
I wonder if I am one
and what have I done to the economy by disliking
cauliflower broccoli anything leafy and fish oil, as well.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
Little Box talks back
With a new set of teeth
And pink gums
A fake nose and a wax mustache
She disguises her voice
To sound like Groucho
•
Little Box opens up
And cries to her psychiatrist
I don’t know why they hate me
I’m such a sweetheart
I volunteer at the zoo
And teach Mandarin
To their bratty children
•
Little Box is not happy to see you
So she closes herself up for months
Years, decades, and two millennia!
She tacks up a sign that says
Nirvana
•
Little Box is undead
She sleeps all day in a coffin
Hands over chest
At night she cruises the mall
For juicy victims
She prefers type A
But AB if she has to
What can you say
Vampires can’t be choosy
She likes your stupid brother
•
Little Box is on the psychiatry couch
Everybody hates me
Nobody loves me
Little Box lies on her side
And spills her guts
•
What’s in Little Box
A perfect orchid
A chocolate-covered strawberry
A new iPhone
With a glittery sleeve
Amber earrings from Pushkin
Keys to a new Porsche
A retro Chanel brooch
A Getty scion’s left ear
A Czar’s *****
Gifts so rare
Please don’t stare
•
What’s in Little Box
Rancid chow mein
A sliver of cold pizza
Last week’s hummus
You’re a starving orphan
From East Brooklyn
And you’ll eat it
•
So you want to **** Little Box
You want to know her secret
She won’t open up
She won’t give it up
And you are genuinely repelled
By her filthy ribbon
•
You want to DO the Little Box
You are a sorry story
You big creep
Why don’t you get off the couch and find
A real girlfriend!
•
Boss Box
White, square, and without a soul!
•
Please don’t analyze Little Box
She’s just cardboard clogging the landfill
Her mother Precious Jade Purse
Has been regifted
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
no dead birds in the oven
no innards in the stuffing
nor fatty drippings to be scraped and poured
the smell of roasted veggies
wafts through the wintry air
pumpkin and sweet potatoes
marshmallows green beans lentils
turnips & collard greens
hashed browns & black-eyed peas
quinoa sorghum cuscus hummus
carrots leak broccoli Romanescu
gumbo in southern regions
wild rice dishes in the north
tastily spiced with turmeric
cumin and baked paprika
Indian curry soy sauce chipotle
as well as with the usual suspects
of garlic salt and pepper
and whatever fits the taste of hosts
in short
a venerable feast to demonstrate
how nature feeds us a large cornucopia
of plants for our delight and sustenance
in short
no need to **** a bird
* * *
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
Chick peas et al Garbonzo beans'
a machine with blades, the means.
Tahini, lemon juice and a red pepper flakes,
A chipolte in abodo, smoked paprika, is what it takes.
Roasted red pepper, garlic too, touches on the button,
The roar, whirr and with the sounds blending till done.
Salt and pepper to taste,
Not too much or it is a waste,
Not to little or, well, you know,
A hint of red just shows.
With your crusty bread, dig in like you hold a shovel,
Two handed flavour, taste and bite into that crusty bread,
Flavour moves and sends a smoky heat sensation to a new level,
Hope this is the best tasting poem that you have read!
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 2:05 AM UTC
11-11-11- past 11a.m.
I missed it.
I wanted for me what happened to my friend
in Australia
She was walking down the street and at
11-11-11- 11a.m.
almost everyone around her
took a bow to such powerful numbers
11-11-11-11a.m.
(Perhaps we shall be saved she said)
Today, my 11-11-11, I was shopping for my lovers feast;
Hummus and crispy organic veggies
Fresh beets and pure ****** olive oil
Local goat cheese to die for
My phone alarm rang letting me know it was 11:10
(I did not hear it) as I was talking to Max my grocer
About:
Just picked Arugula and sweet Irish butter
(To mound a top San Francisco sour dough)
He hinted to me not to miss out
On:
Butternut squash and meaty pomegranates
"A lucky omen" he said, "on a day like today."
“What do you mean A day like today?” I said
“Well it’s 11-11-11” he smiled
“Oh my goodness” I faintly cried (almost too loud),
“I missed it!” (I saw the time on the wall where I was shopping)
“Missed what?” he said
"Missed out on experiencing 11-11-11-11.a.m."
“Oh my dear you missed nothing”, he said as he reached toward me with
A huge ripe pomegranate. I felt flush from wanting something
that now seemed so gone.
“No”, Max pointed out, “you have more than feeling a set of numbers
In the movement of the day”,
“You were here planning a feast for a loved one
(yes I told him it was a lovers dinner)
What could be more in acknowledging the power of life
Than love?”
I said nothing as I beamed and took that pomegranate and
Ohhhh
I felt so good.
Linaji 2011
(an almost true story)
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 6:05 PM UTC
Wailing walls, howling fences
Encaged and blocked by barriers
All smashed, sorted in security fence
Miles of humanity and flesh torn apart
Why is it that we can’t live together?
We bleed the same coagulating blood
Lined up and humiliated in alleyways
Paths of iron bars and imprisonment
My veins wringed, intensive torment
Mentally distracted, strained by grief
Settlement, conflicts and border struggles
Governance, religious trickles of disunion
The biblical birthright verses human rights
The unsighted straining peace settlement
Shadows of the peace blueprint screams
Ongoing reconciliation, milked in small doses
Whose home is whose? Subdivided in areas
Controls of disillusionment undisclosed
Unmanned checkpoints evokes fears
Revolving cameras tossed and turned
Bansky slogan “make hummus not war”
Smashes freedom to uproot and merge
Constitute and construct peaceful resorts
All horns blowing to collapse duality
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
“I'd love to tell you I had some deep revelation on my way down, that I came to terms with my own mortality, laughed in the face of death, et cetera.
The truth? My only thought was: Aaaaggghhhh!”
“I could have killed you.”
“Or I could have killed you,”
he shrugged. “If there’d been an ocean in Kansas, maybe.”
“I don’t need an ocean—”
“Boys,” she interrupted, “I’m sure you both would’ve been wonderful at killing each other. But right now, you need some rest.”
"My fatal flaw. That's what the Sirens showed me. My fatal flaw is hubris."
"The brown stuff they spread on veggie sandwiches?"
"No, Seaweed Brain. That's HUMMUS. hubris is worse."
"What could be worse than hummus?"
"How did you die?"
"We er... drowned in a bathtub."
"All three of you?"
"It was a big bathtub."
**Best chapter names:
I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher
2.Three Old Ladies Knit the Socks of Death
3.Grover Unexpectedly Loses his Pants
4.My Mother Teaches Me Bullfighting
6.I Become Supreme Lord of the Bathroom
7.My Dinner Goes Up in Smoke
10.I Ruin a Perfectly Good Bus
12.We Get Advice from a Poodle
16.We Take a Zebra to Vegas
17.We Shop for Water Beds**
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 5:58 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
Y'know whenever I go to my brother's to watch a football game
He always brings out a lovely big platter of cheeses, with a selection of crackers
This and some hummus, nuts and potato crisps
Along with a nice cold beer
He really likes his cheeses does my brother
Me! I don't mind a bit of cheese myself
But Him, he's a real connoisseur.
Anyway last Christmas I was looking for a present to bring him
And in my local supermarket, guess what, they had these lovely big platters of various cheeses
Wow! I was delighted, that was his present sorted
No more traipsing around shops, tiring my poor feet out
And this was a good present, something he'd really like;
So I brought the cheese home and put it in the fridge
Next morning I was up early sorting out the presents, who got what
Putting them in nice Christmasy type bags
I then packed them in the car and took off,
An hour later I'm sitting at their table and we're talking about some poor celebrity movie star who's just passed away
Their saying he had some Brain disease, just like Alcheimers except it wasn't Alcheimers
My brother's wife is there trying to articulate, to explain
"It's like his brain had holes in it"
And I'm thinking "Holes in the brain, hmmm... just like...like a Swiss cheese"
Then, of course, I remember. **** I say out loud in front of them all,"I forgot the cheese, I left the feckin' cheese in the fridge"
Really ****** me off
Then I start thinking, that's actually quite funny
We're talking about Alcheimers disease and it reminds me I left the cheese in the fridge
What do you call that, is that ironic or what ?
What's a Paradox ? Sounds like a washing powder.
Wait! Is this a poem at all or am I in the wrong place ? (LoL)
May 23, 2021
May 23, 2021 at 10:31 AM UTC
There is
no poetry
in me.
There is only
people and
things and
places where I should have
been hours ago.
I am empty cigarette carton
I am
bleeding nostril
I am sweaty neck.
I am calloused feet.
I am going to shoot up
a mall
or maybe
eat some hummus
or maybe
take the train home.
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 5:27 AM UTC
Meze
*Meze or mezze /ˈmɛzeɪ/ is a selection of small dishes served in the Middle East and the Balkans as breakfast, lunch or even dinner.
-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's a meze day,
Many small poems arrayed,
A tasting menu,
Hummus and babaganoush,
Small observations,
Pita dipping,
Long writs tabled,
Unless dragged out from the wine cellar,
For another meal,
Another mood.
They'll keep,
or not.
The bay and beach have been traded in,
For Western Mass. mountains,
The highland region,
The Berkshires, the Green and the Taconic Mountains,
Formed over half a billion years ago
When Africa collided
with North America.
(Just for a weekend, a traitor, I'm not.)
*Different insects checking me out,
Crash landing in my chest hair jungle
To get a taste of a Long Island salt air,
Fresh blood and poetry from a foreign tongue.
Mount Greylock asks me what I got to say.
I said I got grey locks older than you, friend.
I am a billion years old, son of the copulation
Tween the Sun and and a passing comet,
The Atlantic,
My amniotic fluid birthstone unevaporated..
Greylock sniffs, mumbles,
just another New Yorker.
*The clouds different, thick slabs, bank-heads keeping
My sun-father from showing his true colors,
My skin seeks his restorative powers,
Burn the strain, the stress, the black circles from
Within and without, but this is a partly cloudy day.
Sooner than me, the leaves will be red and gold,
The season of long sunnier days forgotten,
The trees that
Fill the panorama,
Point their soon-to-be
Denuded branch fingers at me
Accusingly,
L'etranger,
You brought winter's chill,
A lie but perhaps not,
For they are sensing the
Inhabiting cold in me.
A strange day, every asking, passing thought
Thrown back in my face,
And stewed, stir fried up
All in vain attempts to keep warmer
Just a little bit
Longer.*
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
Ya look all over
and see people
everywhere
hands in pockets,
coins passing through
fingers; gold watches
glimmering beneath the
summer setting sun
These people
are people you could
love, have loved,
and may never love again
We share our
bodies like bees
with their
honey
And it's okay to
lose it all, as though
we never had it
in the first place
The tidal of days
ahead, crashing
against our open mouths;
Productivity
a curse
The pursuit
of happiness
a disease
Ya wonder if
it's going to get
any better;
if it's going to be
as perfect as it
was when we
were children
But the universe
had something
worse
in store for
us
instead
The air condition
hums, the car starts
and the engine
rattles, the baby
coos for warmth;
and somewhere
someone is holding
a door for a woman
who has an appointment
with a doctor;
there's a bump
where there
shouldn't be;
a deep love
that dare
not leave.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
There is a love no phrase defines
Eight letters mean nothing
but what you take from them.
And some take none.
So I'll take a few more letters
cos' eight seems not enough,
to tell of a love that rests
high above the lust
of a high school romance.
This is a love where you dance
through the night
with your shirts off
to music that doesn't even play.
You sneak abouts here and there
and hit bowls against the grass
and glance on lakes at night
the ultimate paradox shining
in mankind. Belligerent fights
with brooms ensue to be ended
by boxes of cardboard pizza
or red pepper pita and hummus.
Your parents say, "those guys again..."
And you say, "Hey! you're talkin' bout' my friends here."
So you go.
You take rides endless it seems.
Take trips to places before unseen.
Talks of blabber and sensibility.
Snuggle seshes end in wrestling matches.
If you wake up and your jaw hurts,
you and Maxy probably got drunk again.
If your clothes smell a bit,
chance that Andy dropped by.
If your mind's been blown
Mack and Will laid with you
by the pond for hours.
If you feel a love stronger
in your soul, Dbake's nearby.
If you laugh your *** off for days,
Dusty probably told a joke
or pulled his pants down.
If you can't wrap you mind
around some fact or story,
Bankman must have sprouted
out some MIT engineering bull
you wish you could understand.
But who gives a hey when
you're out chilling with the bros,
brews or not, smokes or tokes or nokes,
there is always a brotha out to chill.
And to you, I say
NAMASTE
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 11:52 PM UTC
You put me on a health regime,
full of fruits, kale, and hummus,
you put me on an exercise plan,
and taught me what a burpee was.
You have always put me on something,
taught me something about myself or others,
actuated some facet of my potential, and for that I thank you.
© Matthew Harlovic
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
I got hummus and pretzels,
but I wanted a bag of chips.
I got creamer and cheesecake,
but ate corned beef hash with a pepsi.
I don't quite think I'm lying about
who I am to myself, but
on the other hand I'm feeling
like there's something behind
those curtains. Friends I don't
give a **** about, and an increasing
incentive to just start walking
and never turn around. There's
a diner somewhere out there
with a meat and potatoes dish
just as good as mom's, I bet.
I'd sincerely like to give a ****
Sometimes I wonder if life seems
easier for people who feel gung-ho
about dying in military slavery
and ********** to FOX news.
If you're reading this,
hey, maybe we're not so different;
You play a zealot's game of
love and peace, but pull the trigger
right in their children's faces,
and I tip-toe around people
I couldn't care less about.
We nourish each other in the way
that chairs aid discussion
in an episode of Jerry Springer.
Doesn't have to be comedy,
but I wasn't going to cry about it.
I'd probably just fib and say
everything's aces.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
if you ever meet
any little differences out there,
then run: find
a yellow lukewarm,
well-lit square
to take care
of you.
all those
who loved me
i've ran from
if you ever come across
unusual syntactical arrangements
in your head,
**** 'em off w good ol'
reverent dread.
all those
who love me
i run from
if you ever stumble upon
weird words strung together
while on the bus,
cut em off quick w
well-worn scripts.
all those
who will love me
i will run
if you ever cross paths
w themes juxtaposed irrationally
in the fridge,
eat the hummus on the door ---
not the severed finger in the crisper drawer,
signaling for you to come closer;
closer still..
all those
who have love
run run ruuuuuun
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 2:45 PM UTC
Poetic,
Thy beak can speak words of sensual charm,
But canst thou speak of what's to cometh?
Poetic,
Thy words do flow and run,
As a waterfall, tumbling hummus!!
Poetic,
Thou canst shape lives by thy wittled crippled fingers,
Yet canst thou show thy action? Like thy hero's and singers?
Poetic,
Thou canst bringeth life to thy surroundings,or death to thy foes,
Yet wilt thou giveth all thou haveth from thy back? Or steal poor men's troves!!!
Poetic,
Thineself can waketh one to splendor,or putteth them to sleep,
But cans't thou heareth them? Rub their bones when their weak?
Poetic
Poetress
Poets
Tis I do believe!!
With thy words,
Thine self could make seeds to eternal beautitude,
Or everlasting damnation!!!!
I'm a stoic,
For mine words art mine action's!!!
Art thy own?
Poetic.....
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
Triscuits and hummus
with olives and wine
Miles and Coltrane
in four four time
salmon and salad
rosemary and thyme
Rohmer and Renoir
at Hollywood and Vine
Haruki Murakami
and Mark Twain
these are some of the
favorite things of mine
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC
Stars on top of stars on top of stars. Blankets of silver snow. I unzipped my sleeping bag, the one I got for 15 dollars at a yard sale in Monterey. I brought my knees to my chest and thought about my friends and California.
Emily was living in a small apartment in Arcata, with a little garden out front that had dandelions and mint and some tomatoes. Everything in her apartment was either bought at a garage sale or on craigslist. Her mom gave her everything else, which was really only the bed and some silverware. I liked her little brown teakettle the most. “Isn’t it cool? Five bucks at a garage sale in good ole’ Moghetto.” She adored these things more than herself and embraced the simple life she held, her bike, garden, and lack of almost everything entirely.
She had taken the semester off to travel, but she never went anywhere, just stayed in that garden all day, boiling water in the kettle for God knows what. There wasn’t money to go anywhere, and what she got from painting fences or apartments was easily spent at the market on chicken, nuts, hummus, eggs, or rice. My God it was wonderful to see her move around that miserable apartment, showing me every little thing she had.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
as of late
i have been maintaining sanity
organizing my addictions
compartmental-izingly
where you seem to fit
perfectly among my other
bad habits
i take you out
when i'm at my weakest
ridden with guilt and entitlement
i must admit
you are by far my worst habit
but to tell you the truth
you're getting a bit long in the tooth
so I'm gonna inhale a large bag
of gluten free quinoa brown rice
multi-grain tortilla chips
mix up a special batch
of sriracha and hummus
spicy avocado dip
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
Soon as cupid closed his eyes and released his bow,
I immediately knew your face from my dreams.
The girl whose face I could never see,
You were always so quick to leave,
I'd pretend to hate you if it were true.
Just before I open my eyes the stars disappear only to reappear when I close them.
I slouch deeper in the couch awaiting your presence.
A chance to reciprocate just how I feel.
Forgiving you for not showing up a second sooner.
A hummus of white pastures
Devoted to the hunger of the sun,
Devouring everything in sight.
An maybe that invites the utopia of your thought,
Stung by an fleeting arrow, strung by the oasis of an longing heart.
Wondering aimlessly; an clear day
Without a single cloud to be found.
These are the times I think of you.
The horizon of my world.
The clouds move, curious in nature.
Beneath the pain of ribs struck by a fleeting arrow
You are there, the throbbing sensation that pulsates through my veins.
I miss you without having to look down,
I am neither naive nor stupid.
With quiet vocals
I deeply long for you on cloudy days
I deeply long for you now.
My enigmatic arrow
Migrate back to my side
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 3:27 AM UTC