"marmite" poems
*i think, you should stop going to italy, for one, oh **** me, keep going on hedonist piss-fuck fests to places like mallorca, but stop going to italy, you're making my stomach ache from laughter, with what you come back with, the so-called "innovations"; somehow i'd just poach my cauliflower, and drizzle it with fried breadcrumbs, and serve it as a side-dish to fried eggs (2), and some tatties; for goodness sake, even cauliflower cream soup makes more sense, garnished with some fried chorizo!*
first it was avocado on toast...
who the **** puts avocado on bread?
i can imagine putting it in pasta...
but on bread?
hey, what the **** does
the acronym f.a.d. mean?
i don't know, and i won't google it...
o.k. avocado on toast...
nothing near guacamole,
but fair enough...
but what i discovered... pushes
the button where i turn into a fox laughter
(fuchslachen) -
i couldn't stop...
you can find it in the weekend
section of the saturday times newspaper...
written by nicola m.
cauliflower and mozzarella pizza...
you have to be ******** me...
cauliflower? on pizza?
one of my housemates at university told
me an anecdote:
i was in a restaurant once,
and asked for a pizza with no cheese...
he continued:
and then the head chef came out and
asked me... are you, insane?!
a bit like: bread... but no butter?
and i thought i was insane eating a watermelon
today, whole,
the red pulp, and the outer layers including
the skin included, allowing myself
a gorilla imitation cameo gimmick...
but i thought i was mad...
but there's avocado on toast...
and now... cauliflower on pizza...
it's a ******* side-dish!
wait, don't tell me... you're going to put
some potatoes onto the pizza the next frizz
comes along... right?
how about beetroot?
thankfully, if i have some
wacky ideas in terms of culinary escapades,
they happen, drunk, after 12a.m.,
and i'm the scientist, and the experimental rabbit
2-in-1...
a newspaper column?
apparently, you get one, putting avocado
on toast...
or cauliflower on a pi-zzzzz-ah...
to be honest, even though i haven't tried it,
grilled aubergines on a pizza could work...
the toast? marmite and cheddar...
english people should stop glorifying holidays
in italy... they're ****** cooks...
an italian would just look at
a pizza with cauliflower and say: cosa?
i'd suggest heading to scotland first,
and picking up the vibes from some haggis.
**** me...
avocado on toast...
caulifower on a pizza?!
now i can die happy, 'appy,
clapping: encore!
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 2:54 PM UTC
behind velvet cloth I saw your quail's eggs,
I saw your gentleman's relish too,
protruding as it was,
an Etonian slap to the face of the marmite jar which
it was reluctantly sat next to.
and although the relish would happily admit that
to sit next to marmite was certainly preferable
to finding oneself positioned next to Bovril or Cup-a-Soup,
it certainly was a far cry from the delicatessen counter
he was once accustomed to.
oh the delicatessen!
how the tear ducts performed with nostalgic aplomb
as memories of stuffed vine leaves and caramelised baby shallots
filtered back to the gentleman.
what he'd have given to be back there now,
to once again share the company of proper food,
of handmade chutneys and pickles,
not this common oafish tar.
this brutish black gunk.
'You may not have been factory made'
retorted Marmite,
'or contain E325,'
'but that isn't to say that your place on this shelf
is any more valid than mine.'
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 10:38 AM UTC
Marmite! (Veggie Mite) Peanut Butter!
Marmite and peanut butter,
My God what a terrible thought,
Both truly vile,
Pungent,
Repugnant,
Foul in texture,
Reviled in taste!
Never have I ever bought,
Incredible how some can love 'em,
I can't bear the taste,
Smell makes me feel really ill,
Worse than any bitter pill!
Please don't make me a sarnie,
Not with these,
No not ever,
By all means spend your time with me,
Please to you I thee beseech,
That these two dreadful foods so vile,
Hit the dustbin in big style!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
you make me
take my toys out of the box
share them with children I don't like
finish a jar of marmite wipe my mouth and say thank you
smile at horror films
touch snakes with my bare hands and eyes open
put salt in my coffee
speak with my mouth shut
you charge for every kiss a thousand Chinese burns
love is the pile of thorns surrounding a petal
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
Finding something on the road
And serving it for dinner
Buying dresses far too small
And thinking you look thinner
Solar powered submarines
Broken ribs or ruptured spleens
Driving cars and drinking beers
Lightbulb licking, bad ideas
Knowing where you shouldn't be
And being there despite
Going out in thunderstorms
To fly your iron kite
Sharing needles with a shark
Going to Mansfield after dark
Setting fire to someone's ears
Telemarketing, bad ideas
Not deploying gaffer-tape
When doing D.I.Y.
Believing the implausible
While branding truth a lie
Replying to Nigerian Princes
**** bleach and ******* rinses
Tabloid papers touting fears
Voting UKIP, bad ideas
Impersonating ******
Before nineteen forty-five
Catching a train on Sunday
And assuming you'll arrive
Turning lights on with your nose
Eating food that moves or glows
Listening to Britney Spears
Marmite Pringles, bad ideas
**
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
As I opened my fridge one morning,
early on before sunrise,
I was greeted by the stench of tuna fish
which at that time came as quite a surprise.
And I poured myself a glass of orange juice,
the stronger stuff with bits in,
and then tossed yesterday’s Guardian
into the overflowing silver bin.
‘I’ll pull back the curtains’ is what I thought next,
nobody, of course, out on the street.
No sooner had I picked up the remote control
when I felt like something to eat.
‘I’ll get myself some toast’ I said in my head,
and smear it with some Marmite,
but my days, my eyes were so **** sore,
I couldn’t see if I was doing it right.
The years I’ve been waking up early,
every time it is the same,
barely making it down the stairs,
all part of God’s make-him-pay game.
But I finally sat down once more
and could now relax in front of the news,
only to see some cheery couple
with a glass of champagne on a cruise.
It made me wonder, what it would be like
if tomorrow I just stayed in bed.
Would I have an extra few hours to rest
or would somebody find me dead?
Then a van pulled up on the other side of the road,
bloke closed it with a very loud bang,
made me jump so much I spilt half my drink,
seconds later is when the phone rang.
‘Hello?’ I recognised the voice immediately,
a friend calling me at this hour?
They said how they wanted to pop round later
if it wasn’t going to be a terrible bother.
‘Sure’ I replied and then soon hung up,
my voice sounded coarse like Velcro.
Only then did my eyes see a black figure
standing right outside my window.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 4:27 PM UTC
**She’s not the sort that bares her soul
With tales of pain
With tales of woe
She contains the pain
She keeps it tight
It haunts her
Each and every night
She walks the walk
She talks the talk
She sometimes even has those thoughts
But …
What about me?
I’m
Trapped inside a prism
That floats inside her brain
Cuckolded as a passenger
Why can't I drive this train?
Is it fear that holds me back?
Will fear dictate
She stays on track
I think
And think …
And think …
And think …
I sit here in the darkness
Watching through her eyes
Yearning for the moment
To be released from this disguise
You think that you all know her
Enchanted by her scent
Anyone would think
From the heavens she was sent
But ..
What about me?
No-one hears my voice
Because I’m weak and timid
I therefore
Have No Choice
Can’t you hear me screaming?
Boxed inside this cage
Suppression’s a necessity
When you can’t release the rage
I know she is my keeper
I know she keeps us safe from harm
I know she saved us being
Deported
to
The Funny Farm
But…
That was so very long ago
I now need
To smell the air
I need to taste the tulips
I need the wind to blow my hair
I need to drink fresh coffee
Eat doughnuts on the Pier
Indulge in Marmite sandwiches
Eradicate this fear
Please …**
*There, there little sweetie
Come rest your sleepy head
You’ve gotten overtired
I’ll tuck you up in bed
Your time will come, my sweet
But really not quite now
For you
would need to comprehend
The who, why, what & how
We made a pact
Remember …
In the summer of ‘79
That I will now protect you
From that wicked evil swine
There, there little sweetie
Let me wipe away those tears
I want to see you happy
I can internalize your fears
Little sweetie
Let me see the joy upon your face
Can you feel the love
I give
In this oh so warm embrace
Don’t worry little sweetie
I understand your pain
That is why
It is me
That will always drive this train
I will never ever desert you
I will always keep you safe from harm
This is why
It is
YOU
That always keeps her charms*
**You’re right
I’m kind of sleepy
You’re right
I need to rest my head
You’re right
I’m over tired
Please tuck me up in bed …**
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 6:38 AM UTC
You bought me some good presents.
Some lasting presents.
A lasting presence,
Now that you are gone.
You always remarked on the light
And now when I see sunlight,
I think of you.
You took me to the beach,
Now when I see the beach,
I think of you.
You bought me a coffee machine
And every morning as I get my hit
I think of you.
Winter scarves and hats
Are wooly thoughts of you.
Smoking out the window -
Naughty thoughts of you.
Trying not to smoke -
A thought for you.
Marmite on toast -
I think of you.
A pretty girl -
Some other you.
A naked girl -
I try not to, but...
I think of you
So much more
Now you are gone
And I'm not sure
If I will ever
Not think of you
Again.
There's only one thing
That could stop these thoughts -
To be with... you again.
Just you.
You.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 10:02 AM UTC
I don’t like Marmite.
I’m going up on deck.
Don’t look. Don't Look. That’s why I said don’t look.
WAIT! Somebody! I have to go inside.
To find my glasses. My swimming glasses.
In the wonderful world of haribo.
Do you smoke? I don’t want you to die. Why? But why?
The purple ones are so sweet, did you know that?
A giant one came out! A giant one – two eggs!
In the game his eggs are like – that – big! He made two.
Is that friendliness?
I’m going crazy.
But dadDy!
My feet used to be – THIS - big.
I told you you had to use this.
Hey you! Come back with my slippers.
Put a glass with only ice, I want to make very very very cold water. ..
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 3:08 AM UTC
Longing, encapsulated culinarily.
Crisp, crumbling.
Buttery.
Wooden board, serrated steel,
Sawn loaf.
Thick black waves,
merged by steel.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 4:28 PM UTC
My mate Marmite
Woke up in bread with a girl -
I can't believe she's not butters.
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
I've both toasted and buttered
having been served equally well
with marmite and marmalade.
I've dinned in Brugge and Halifax
trod the true path of kings
in places of requisite legend
still flavour claret
in truer climes
and tried to sting like a bee
composite and true living
slight of hand yet self assured
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC
The last loaf in my freezer
The last I'll ever buy
I'll savour every crumb of it
Toast slap on the butter
And marmite mmmh sweet marmite
Worthy of an eye shut moment
Warm fuzzy .. Smile
Thakyou hello poetry
Free therapy for me
Purging my bad choices
But back to my moment
Im so happy right now sunshine
... damit .. marmite on my keyboard ... hahaha
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
As the stars burn, rake in the silver sky
Lighting it up, like a cinema screen;
Lift your dainty hand and draw,
Marmite love on our canvas of dreams.
As you fade, I’ll begin
Let me in your simple self
And sway
And stay,
there
till the mortal end.
On a fragrant hill someplace lay, a snug you-me;
Squirrels sneak into a daisy, grass and love entwine.
We stare, in trance; at our sublime canvas
at an abstract life so quite.
A sudden chirp precedes your crinkled smile…
The warmth of it…against the coldness of the dew.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
He said grown men don't weep
but I did last week
last night as I lay on my bed in a heap
bar height - i've lived a life on the sweet
(bar -marmite a little bitter on the teeth
(bar -barfights i guess I thrive on the street
baabaa type if I'm a meat I'm a sheep
ha ha at light but only weep in my sleep
far far right from when I started this speech
au revoir mon amie this be the end of my suite
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 6:11 AM UTC
Snort repticalc and mashed up altoid
Have fun with some friends in God’s portwine stained forehead wrinkle
Imaginary time and poison thumb I like
Natalie rips some Earth nuts from soil
Ripping out the toxins and crackin it open with your her teeth
Clapping laughing and crackin nuts and cookin crumbs in pressure cooker
Bad dreams in your frozen water bed
Damp in the ceiling drip and trickle onto papas
bald spots, plastic mickey mouse cup collecting
ceiling leakage
peanuts and marmite froze over lickin frost
***** wrist grunk trash youre rubbing frolicly on the placid table
I cant believe the glass aint clean
Looking not out a window
But a piece of glass reflecting the city behind me
And my band fall out of place
When the old man sneezes
I get pushed aside because the marching band needs me to move and
Im only so talented
dead Chihuahua smell coming from the basement
a parallel universe where there’s one extra atom
with lana del rey on repeat
and jesus was a comic book character too
knuckles breathing fight stance
contraposto counter position backwards and
upside down rubber band army march
a thin breathing kettle with 0 durability
and a plastic bent tight so it’s white, pink, spotted
palamino dress and champagne skin
the damp gets to me
again again again
fingerless gloves for fingerless tom
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC
My name is Adam
I’m intelligent and handsome and modest
6”4
your type on paper
I can reach the shelves
you can’t
I’m just a normal guy
I wear the trousers
I’m the type to take you to the zoo
I also have one tattoo
I’m like Marmite
keep your expectations low
Open-minded
no Tories
I can’t promise anything but
I did something funny once
I’m very laid back
swipe right if you don’t eat the pizza crusts
I’m always up
for a good time
I’m an all-round average guy
and a part-time Taylor Swift tribute act
I’ll tell you how it is
some people call me a hero
what more could you want?
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 6:31 PM UTC
I saw him that day
Not when he woke, like
Any other morning, next to
The warm naked body of his girlfriend
Still muzzy with sleep, half open eyes
Searching to see his face, unbeknown
To her for the very last time,
That sweet smile,
Not as he kissed her on the doorstep
She, wearing his T shirt baggy on her small
Frame, hiding slim undulating form,
After a breakfast of toast and Marmite
Which he loved, but she had always hated
The taste could still be detected
On his moist lips,
Not when his bike exploded to life
Fireblade thunder, exhausts spitting
Wrath and fury, the voice of an engine
Wanting to go, go, go, like wind
As though the Devil gave chase
To his helmeted head, full faced
Soon hiding death mask grimace,
Not then, but later,
From a motorway bridge, wondering
Why all the traffic had stopped
Checking for my return journey,
He and the bike lay across the lanes
A little way apart, neither going home,
Next week she’ll move back with her mum.
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 6:49 AM UTC
I am the whisper of a leaf in the breeze
I am the flutter of a butterfly against the white honeysuckle so sweet
I am the gurgle of the flowing river
I am the wind in the willows
I am the waitress picking up coffee cups in the cafe
I am the old woman reading a newspaper against the window
I am the siren of the police car as it drives by
I am the laughter of an old man who twirls his moustache
I am the chatter of a young child
I am the taste of sugar on your tongue
I am the scent of a hundred roses in your nose
I am the sound of plaintive notes on a flute in a land far away
I am the smell of candles and incense in a wooden church
I am the flavour of Marmite on hot buttered toast
I am the feel of the cool granite table against my wrist
I am the refugee who hides in subway tunnels
I am the man who cheers for Arsenal
I am the woman buying anti ageing creams
I am the child kicking stones on the path
I am the smell of rain
I am the taste of freedom
I am the sun upon your skin
I am the honeyed kiss of your lover on the inside of your wrist
I am the taste of violence upon your lips
I am the woman in the red dress and the ebony skin dancing
I am the poet on Speaker’s Corner
I am the woman licking her fingers as she eats
I am the autumn leaves that rustle under your feet
I am the man checking his phone
I am you and you are me and we are a hundred other things
And we are all unseen, forgotten, experienced, reviled, overlooked, and replaceable
And the music plays, the clock ticks, and we look away
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
i've been synthesising my sleeping pattern
for 9 years, i haven't experienced lucid dream
for wakes upon turning
365 x 9 equal for 3285 mornings, or afternoons,
i can drink lukewarm whiskey & coke
and feel happy, but i managed it, simulating
the natural byway into sleep and mythology,
nine years of synthetic sleep patterns,
i should have been encrusted in the Auschwitz
medical experiment of sleep deprivation,
thank **** no Muslim will mind wearing
satan's postbox - unless you're willy-nilly
and Lenin and politically correct - like bi-,
swings both ways, they tried to shoot Trump
while i got a spare tire to boot...
oh please **** off with your Muslim friends
to Saudi Arabia and satchel up on Bangladeshis
building up the new pyramids of
of Dubai... cos there's a nation of saints
somewhere, somehow? this ain't the antagonising
hypocritical Vatican mind you, also,
you know what Islam means to me?
it doesn't mean a submission to god... given then 72
virgins for martyrs, it just means: competing with king Solomon;
so there, i "said" it, get a jihadist on my *** straight away,
i'll be waiting, eating strawberries and a yogurt
watching Wimbledon, oh come one,
do it nice and pretty with me like a Barbie doll,
i can't be bothered with your ******* attempting
the altogether possible, but seemingly impossible -
it just gets boring after a while fearing mortality
with your Marmite smeared ninjas attempting
an American cheeseburger of sports that's played alongside
the Oakland Raiders, Philadelphia Eagles, New England Patriots...
oh wait, you can't antagonise me, because you didn't
fish with a bait like Mickiewicz, or Tuwim... or Prus...
yawn.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
The leaves on the tree outside my window get bigger by millimeters,
And the umami delight of marmite on crumpets is comforting and luscious,
One eye shut because the sun if filling it with heat and light,
This way I can still read my book in the sun,
These joys,
These small joys,
Which you have to take note of, you must,
Are endless;
Cold beer zapping my tongue like electricity, zing zing,
Dippy eggs with toast crunchy and eggs runny , salt flecked across the top,
Coconut hand-cream rubbed between each finger and thumb meticulously,
Music pouring through rooms into the flat and lilting in and out of earshot from outside, inside, next door and my radio,
Sparrows with their endless cheep cheeping,
Steam from strong black tea, gilded with rose, warming my hands nose and stomach,
The tiny hairs on raspberries, so soft and the juice so ****
Plans to go no where, somewhere, the pub! A river! A farm! On a train! On a boat! On a bus!
Candles which pack the room full of floral, honeyed scents,
Crunchy apples,
Flaky pastry,
Warm bread,
The tsssssssttt when you open a can of Coke,
Lemons, just lemons,
The bbzzzz bbzzzz of my phone carrying I love yous, and for ***** sakes,
You have to take note of these joys, you must,
Because when I think about 16 women dead by lovers hands,
I feel I've hollow bones,
I need the beer, eggs, hand-cream, music, sparrows, lemons and bbzzzz, tea, bread, pastry and plans to keep me upright,
And I send thoughts of dippy eggs and lemons to those without.
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 11:54 AM UTC
Good night marmite
Sweet dreams sugar beams
Have a good sleep lady bo peep
See ya later alligator
Hope to see you soon pretty moon
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
When we straighten out the kinks
give up the high jinks and the japes,
the capers that we catered to
who do we become?
Stiff collared stuffed shirts or
ladies in their bolstered skirts?
peasants as pleasant as they may be
are not the people I want for me.
I like the middle of the road brigade
The marmite, toast and marmalade
set on the table ready laid brigade
actually
I just like brigades
the words sounds so military
full of shot and shell and blood and
guts,
the dead don't go to hell
they join
a brigade
brigade, brigade, brigade, brigade
the call I hear must be obeyed
my kinks are just as ***** now
don't know how and do not care
the table's laid in time for
one more and one
brigade.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 6:24 AM UTC
Tories are running for their primms
Indian summer of their wilted reign
Twelve years of spreading marmite
Child Q to Rwanda
London Police in special measures
The fabrics of civility collapse
as the spiders enmesh us
within their web of lies
Jul 11, 2022
Jul 11, 2022 at 5:02 AM UTC