"linguine" poems - Hello Poetry

Giovanni the Pizza Guy (Pronounce "a" as "uh") Giovanni,you make a de savory tomato and de thicka white creamy alfredo you are a de pizza guy, amor'e Si', I make a de homemade paste she's a richer for you taste and that's a part of my story. I make a de pizza pie I make a it to please you wanna de pepperoni or you wanna de plain cheese ? I am a you waiter I take a you order when you food-she a comes she make a you mouth water I make a de perfect pizza in me you should a trust you wanna de thicka or de thinna crispy crust? I can make a spagetti or make a zucchini butta for you , I make a linguine I can make a de sauce red I can make a it white after you taste-you wanna more bite I make a de spagetti -she's a made a with love I cook a real slow you order ahead ; or you take a to go. I putta de stuff on de top I give a you wine or a some pop Uno momento, will you please I must a cut a de cheese I am a you pizza guy to make a you pizza pie Why must a you stay a at home when a you can a dine a in a Rome ? I save a you a table I tell a you a fable I fill a you pants I make a you dance I make a de sauce thick I make a de sauce thin I make a you laugh I make a you grin ! Si', Please a come a back ; see a Giovanni again! CHOW FOR NOW, BELLISIMA !

0

Nov 26, 2010

Nov 26, 2010 at 2:45 PM UTC

mcwa

GIOVANNI THE PIZZA GUY

Giovanni the Pizza Guy (Pronounce "a" as "uh") Giovanni,you make a de savory tomato and de thicka white creamy alfredo you are a de pizza guy, amor'e Si', I make a de homemade paste she's a richer for you taste and that's a part of my story. I make a de pizza pie I make a it to please you wanna de pepperoni or you wanna de plain cheese ? I am a you waiter I take a you order when you food-she a comes she make a you mouth water I make a de perfect pizza in me you should a trust you wanna de thicka or de thinna crispy crust? I can make a spagetti or make a zucchini butta for you , I make a linguine I can make a de sauce red I can make a it white after you taste-you wanna more bite I make a de spagetti -she's a made a with love I cook a real slow you order ahead ; or you take a to go. I putta de stuff on de top I give a you wine or a some pop Uno momento, will you please I must a cut a de cheese I am a you pizza guy to make a you pizza pie Why must a you stay a at home when a you can a dine a in a Rome ? I save a you a table I tell a you a fable I fill a you pants I make a you dance I make a de sauce thick I make a de sauce thin I make a you laugh I make a you grin ! Si', Please a come a back ; see a Giovanni again! CHOW FOR NOW, BELLISIMA !

42

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I have to admit my weakness, my inability to control my carnal urges. I have reached again into the depths of my cupboard where I have vowed to never enter with a hungry stomach. And so the temptation of linguine and innocent tiny shells crowded into my head instead of heavenly angel hair. I have faith that only you can absolve me of my sins and twenty pounds, more or less, a 10% tithe to my Semolina God. Then there is the matter of the cheese. Forgive me, please.

0

Sep 26, 2009

Sep 26, 2009 at 4:39 AM UTC

patricia-a-hawkenson-1

Confessions of a Pastatarian

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I have to admit my weakness, my inability to control my carnal urges. I have reached again into the depths of my cupboard where I have vowed to never enter with a hungry stomach. And so the temptation of linguine and innocent tiny shells crowded into my head instead of heavenly angel hair. I have faith that only you can absolve me of my sins and twenty pounds, more or less, a 10% tithe to my Semolina God. Then there is the matter of the cheese. Forgive me, please.

16

omar loved his guitar. he took it to pubs, clubs and parks. he took it on trains, buses, to bathrooms. he went to bed with it. omar loved his guitar so much that he cut a hole in it so they could make love. it hurt like hell, but it was worth it. three months later, omar and his guitar, who was called Vera, had made love two-hundred and thirty six times, and a viscous mess lingered inside her. one day the mess became sentient and it slid itself out of Vera's whole and onto the carpet. omar came home that day to find it soaking up the linguine in his pantry. within days it had doubled in size. within weeks it had grown soft, wet arms and legs and fingernails. after three weeks its form was fully recognisable: a guitar, with arms, legs and a head, and a thin sheet of human skin, stretched over it. on it's forehead were the six tuning pegs. and strings were stretched from its forehead to its crotch. one time one of the strings snapped and omar had to replace it with one of Vera's. it had a mouth. when it was old enough omar made love to it too.

0

Sep 19, 2012

Sep 19, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC

ryan-pemberton

the food of love

omar loved his guitar. he took it to pubs, clubs and parks. he took it on trains, buses, to bathrooms. he went to bed with it. omar loved his guitar so much that he cut a hole in it so they could make love. it hurt like hell, but it was worth it. three months later, omar and his guitar, who was called Vera, had made love two-hundred and thirty six times, and a viscous mess lingered inside her. one day the mess became sentient and it slid itself out of Vera's whole and onto the carpet. omar came home that day to find it soaking up the linguine in his pantry. within days it had doubled in size. within weeks it had grown soft, wet arms and legs and fingernails. after three weeks its form was fully recognisable: a guitar, with arms, legs and a head, and a thin sheet of human skin, stretched over it. on it's forehead were the six tuning pegs. and strings were stretched from its forehead to its crotch. one time one of the strings snapped and omar had to replace it with one of Vera's. it had a mouth. when it was old enough omar made love to it too.

40

Big And What Else Is In America I’ve seen big people in little places all over the U.S. I have seen people break little laws and end up in the headlines. I’ve watched old folks do young things. Fat do thin stuff. You have never asked me why I see such things. You have sat in your soft chair thinking it was hard. Leaders do little things and end up on the TV. Cokes look like Pepsis to no one. Spaghetti is really linguine. Bosses beg to want anyone to know they do everything. Words become less syllabic the more you say them. I have seen yellow look awful light brownish. I saw a pineapple that seemed like a stone. The President became a wanton chief. Casual oinks became loud moos. One time, not long ago, I viewed my wife as a lady who wanted all my money, had it, and did nothing except wait and wait until all my relatives died, and then, spent it on purses at a mall nearby the estate. Daniel Gallik [email protected] www.dangallik.com

0

Jul 10, 2015

Jul 10, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC

daniel-gallik

Untitled

Big And What Else Is In America I’ve seen big people in little places all over the U.S. I have seen people break little laws and end up in the headlines. I’ve watched old folks do young things. Fat do thin stuff. You have never asked me why I see such things. You have sat in your soft chair thinking it was hard. Leaders do little things and end up on the TV. Cokes look like Pepsis to no one. Spaghetti is really linguine. Bosses beg to want anyone to know they do everything. Words become less syllabic the more you say them. I have seen yellow look awful light brownish. I saw a pineapple that seemed like a stone. The President became a wanton chief. Casual oinks became loud moos. One time, not long ago, I viewed my wife as a lady who wanted all my money, had it, and did nothing except wait and wait until all my relatives died, and then, spent it on purses at a mall nearby the estate. Daniel Gallik [email protected] www.dangallik.com

28

Everyone looks pretty when I take off my glasses. I blink, rub twin bruises from my nose, eyes narrowed like the tip of a Dali paintbrush: melting liquid color on a pregnant canvas. I let pigment run into faces: heads lumpier than hand-rolled ***** of clay, black mouths rippling like asphalt puddles, bodies quivering like overcooked linguine: blurred, as if viewing them without prescription has stripped and censored their naked bodies. Sightless, I see with my ears: watch the tone of their voices, taste the words that unfurl from the breath on their tongues. I see with my skin, feel the atmospheres that slow-boil under their own. I see from the depth of my stomach: absorb the energies that hit my belly-button: third eye. And when I've seen, I replace my glasses blink. Sight eclipses my vision: stubborn lines and harsh contrasts framed in unforgiving black boxes. I think maybe I'd rather brave the world blind – nose bare, eyes squinted, and belly grumbling – if only so I could see with clarity.

0

Nov 4, 2014

Nov 4, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC

cortnicofficuss

20/20

Everyone looks pretty when I take off my glasses. I blink, rub twin bruises from my nose, eyes narrowed like the tip of a Dali paintbrush: melting liquid color on a pregnant canvas. I let pigment run into faces: heads lumpier than hand-rolled ***** of clay, black mouths rippling like asphalt puddles, bodies quivering like overcooked linguine: blurred, as if viewing them without prescription has stripped and censored their naked bodies. Sightless, I see with my ears: watch the tone of their voices, taste the words that unfurl from the breath on their tongues. I see with my skin, feel the atmospheres that slow-boil under their own. I see from the depth of my stomach: absorb the energies that hit my belly-button: third eye. And when I've seen, I replace my glasses blink. Sight eclipses my vision: stubborn lines and harsh contrasts framed in unforgiving black boxes. I think maybe I'd rather brave the world blind – nose bare, eyes squinted, and belly grumbling – if only so I could see with clarity.

24

*i mean, that **** is weirder than the scots deep-frying chocolate bars (mars, mianly, even though i think snikers would taste better), or slices of pizza; yeah, and they say: euro-trash... how much more ****** can you get?! i don't even want to know what the irish culinary fetish is; it's enough knowing that the thai like deep-frying locust.* i never understood it, this english "thing", there is probably no nation in the world that has a compulsion to mix two carbohydrate heavyweights... heavyweights? pasta... bread... rice... crisps... so i was reading the yesterday's newspaper and this recipe was included in the magazine: pasta with beans and pesto... sounds good enough... but i read into the recipe... 400 grams of linguine, 300 grams green beans, 200 millitres basil pesto freshly grated parmesan... and then it hit me: 1 large potato cut into 1 centimetre cubes... but now i'd be asking americans to: not bother getting a passport... in school i watched the english lodge crisps into sandwitches... this is the most oddball of all current nations... who the **** combines two heavyweight carbohydrates? they even have this standard of lodging chips into buns... like my father once noticed on the building site, this black guy, stuffing a banana peanut-butter and some bacon into a sandwitch... fair enough if you lodge a plantain into the mix... but a banana? about as weird as the english using crisps + bread... or pasta + potato. having a glimpse at this pratice, seems more fascinating, than, say, spotting a yeti.

0

May 21, 2017

May 21, 2017 at 7:43 AM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

it's an english thing

*i mean, that **** is weirder than the scots deep-frying chocolate bars (mars, mianly, even though i think snikers would taste better), or slices of pizza; yeah, and they say: euro-trash... how much more ****** can you get?! i don't even want to know what the irish culinary fetish is; it's enough knowing that the thai like deep-frying locust.* i never understood it, this english "thing", there is probably no nation in the world that has a compulsion to mix two carbohydrate heavyweights... heavyweights? pasta... bread... rice... crisps... so i was reading the yesterday's newspaper and this recipe was included in the magazine: pasta with beans and pesto... sounds good enough... but i read into the recipe... 400 grams of linguine, 300 grams green beans, 200 millitres basil pesto freshly grated parmesan... and then it hit me: 1 large potato cut into 1 centimetre cubes... but now i'd be asking americans to: not bother getting a passport... in school i watched the english lodge crisps into sandwitches... this is the most oddball of all current nations... who the **** combines two heavyweight carbohydrates? they even have this standard of lodging chips into buns... like my father once noticed on the building site, this black guy, stuffing a banana peanut-butter and some bacon into a sandwitch... fair enough if you lodge a plantain into the mix... but a banana? about as weird as the english using crisps + bread... or pasta + potato. having a glimpse at this pratice, seems more fascinating, than, say, spotting a yeti.

35

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! 🍝🎉

0

Feb 1, 2025

Feb 1, 2025 at 8:00 AM UTC

Iamsukhbal

Ode to Pasta

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! 🍝🎉

16

Galileo Newton Einstein all couldn't sing for **** ok maybe Newton would have a little too much Sherry & break into a ditty & jig; old Galileo inviting the girl who brought the milk upstairs to peer through his long tube...she'd say Mr. Galileo is so big & giggle to the girl bringing the eggs Medusa met Robert Johnson at the dark crossroads where Jesus hangs like a scarecrow, like he ever did that on a muggy day in old Palestine; every quantum girl is a million miracles rolled into one unseen freckled face; a single quantum girl is every other & every other is that one mirroring herself in the polished gem of science; her biology something like linguine primavera; oh for the day ur science is forgotten & remembered long after ur poetry is committed to memory & computers have become a myth

0

Mar 14, 2018

Mar 14, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC

johnny-noiπ

Stephen Hawking meets Jimi Hendrix

Galileo Newton Einstein all couldn't sing for **** ok maybe Newton would have a little too much Sherry & break into a ditty & jig; old Galileo inviting the girl who brought the milk upstairs to peer through his long tube...she'd say Mr. Galileo is so big & giggle to the girl bringing the eggs Medusa met Robert Johnson at the dark crossroads where Jesus hangs like a scarecrow, like he ever did that on a muggy day in old Palestine; every quantum girl is a million miracles rolled into one unseen freckled face; a single quantum girl is every other & every other is that one mirroring herself in the polished gem of science; her biology something like linguine primavera; oh for the day ur science is forgotten & remembered long after ur poetry is committed to memory & computers have become a myth

28

as a snowball rolling down the mountain. Every man had a hand in its making. Every man packed more on till it grew large as a boulder. It barely moves from its weight. Once this snowball was a little meatball on my plate. And every man the tomato sauce till I was lost in indigestion. I was tossed as the linguine in a polka-dot bikini. I stuffed my face into every man's line as spaghetti wrapped around a fork, so entwined and cut short.

0

Sep 8, 2022

Sep 8, 2022 at 6:35 AM UTC

SandyPoet

The Pain Piled On

as a snowball rolling down the mountain. Every man had a hand in its making. Every man packed more on till it grew large as a boulder. It barely moves from its weight. Once this snowball was a little meatball on my plate. And every man the tomato sauce till I was lost in indigestion. I was tossed as the linguine in a polka-dot bikini. I stuffed my face into every man's line as spaghetti wrapped around a fork, so entwined and cut short.

12