"omelet" poems
"I LOVE LOVE!" She shouted, speaking to herself in third person.
It was then that she seemed to float away
A balloon on Macy's Day.
*It seemed I was the only one orbiting earth,
watching those performances of daily life applauding
for a well-flipped omelet a superbly
fitted glove a full tank of gas at $4.00.*
I couldn't believe my luck
Terrestrially, there were husks sipping coffee
and rasping and rustling at each other
desiccated.
Privately, she was buying real estate on the moon
I LOVE LOVE! she shouted
Dancing like an egg on a spray of water
a declassified military satellite who through some dumb luck
had escaped the pull of gravity and won
Marveling at the moon rock
on her finger, even a stubbed toe just seemed
like the ideal opportunity for extorting kisses.
And it glinted in the light.
Everything was fine.
*Down on earth it seemed all the wine drinkers
were toasting to us cheering as we terra formed
the moon.* ***We couldn't believe our luck
as we rolled back our stone.***
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
next to my cup of hot bitter coffee
my bowl has a cone
an avalanche of heartache cereals
that is about to fall...
a plate of
peppered uncertainties omelet
beckons to be gulped and wiped out....
but, alas, i feel already stuffed
i can no longer swallow...
-----------
i decided to skip breakfast....
Sally
Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 9:17 AM UTC
(haikus)
eggs aren't done yet,
deep frying oil sizzles loud,
my eyes meet pale red,
i anxiously taste
Korean strawberries......but,
..........eagerly, i sniff,
home smells of....fried rice,
garlic...coffee...petrichor,
sweet scents...wafting 'round.
(10w)
youTube plays
Moondance by Van Morrison
shoulders sway...fingers tap.
i glow...while singing
with Don Mclean's
Starry Starry Night.
strangers knock, looking for never-heards,
at six AM?
very extraordinary!
then guards
warn us of strangers,
a bit too late!
clatter of china says,
table's ready...
wait...
rain is pouring!
where're you,
Creedence Clearwater?
have you ever seen the rain?
gosh....the dogs again!
...chased away
both cat and kittens :-(
(14 lines)
the table...now speaks loudly
of perfect sunny-side-ups
mushroom omelet with sliced sausages
there's toasted bread......fried rice,
and fried plantain bananas, too,
all steaming hot......the aroma
......of arabica........brewing...
the many unexpected moments
that keep popping out of the blue
create a palette of bright colors
and moods for this new day...
i await more of these "unexpecteds,"
this flow of eclectic poetry
really knocks me off my feet :))
Sally
Copyright April 23, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 9:36 PM UTC
"Surreal skeptic, cynical cryptic! Licentious lecheries fabulist façade fantasias. Wild eyed spectral serene. Dream of catenary concoctions, ethereal salacious conjugation, bridge the gap in metaphysical mystique. Erotica erectile errantry’s exserted protuberance is a kinesiology kleptomaniac with his embark embargo extraditions and his eventuation evocative execrations, a positive amalgamated anathema android of a terminus thrall. The shadow in the shade of the silhouette sojourn. The bailiff’s rakeness rails incarnate, unicorn railway nails and all. He will paint mirador bartizan panorama tableaus all over your proximity parameter perimeter peripherals. Force the enmity to acquiesce into impunity.” “Why this is not but an ogling ogre of an oligarchy omelet” she shrieked as he continued to tickle her. “Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugueness,” he said. “Positive orchestration renditions of transpositional interlude.” “Come here,” she said “let my clambering clamorous clangor write you a wield wile treatise expose’.” “The legions of Chinga da are battling the hoards of Gunga din saying ‘kinetic supremacy temporize tractive fluent’ , it’s sheer genocide. That plasty goop nosed Gumby ****** Gunga doesn’t stand a chance. Coax cacophony clout, catatonic phonics, grizzly grotto grouches all”, She squealed. “Now you’re gumption dreaming”, he chimed. “Chutzpah panache spontaneous generation complicity, gambit alluvium aloof succor.”
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
Your unique omelets
Fascinate me. Like your ***
Always exotic
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 10:26 AM UTC
We order a mushroom-cheese omelet
Now see you’re the kind of guy who eats jam on toast
And I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t eat toast as all
So when the plate comes, I give you both pieces of toast
And you spread the strawberry jam on it
While I’m busy cutting the omelet in half
But before taking a bite of anything
We both pick up a hashbrown simultaneously
As if somehow we’d planned the entire thing
And we both take a bite of it and
We love it
It’s cooked to perfection and potatoes are my weakness
Back to the omlet though,
So I’m not that great at cutting
And the omelet cut unevenly in half
So you take the smaller piece
Even though you’re bigger than me
And I steal the bigger piece
Even though I’m smaller than you
And you eat your half in three bites
While I’m struggling with mine
And the string cheese is caught somewhere between
My fingers, my mouth and the plate
And it takes me a while to eat
About twenty bites in, there’s no way I can eat more
So I ask you to eat what’s leftover
I guess I should have given you the bigger half to begin with
But I guess that’s just how we work
Where you’ll always take the smaller portion
But end up eating most of the food
Because I’ll always take the bigger portion
And leave most of it untouched
You eat my leftovers in two bites
And the coffee arrives
I almost knock over your espresso
While reaching for the complimentary cookie
I eat my cookie
And then I eat half of yours too
And by this time I’m pretty full
But I see a sign for a free cookie
And I want it
You don’t really care for it but you laugh
Because you haven’t seen me want anything as bad
As the cookie (it's free!)
And so you get me the free cookie
And I’m too full to eat it
So I put it in my bag
Very proudly; it’s my success for the day
I finish my Americano faster than you finish your single shot espresso
So you give me a sip of yours
But you drop a few drops on me
And now my pants look like they have blood stains
And I smell of espresso
And you’re trying to clean it with a tissue
But the waiter thinks we’re doing something naughty
So I tell you to stop
And even if we were doing something naughty
Who’s the waiter to say anything anyways
Anyways
So we finish out coffee and we call for an uber
And my pants are stained
And I’m carrying my cookie
And I don’t think I’ve ever been happier
While we wait for the uber
You steal my glasses
And you try them on
They look funny on you
I like them on you
I think I like you
And you can’t see anything
And I can’t see anything either
Except for your outline
That’s enough for me
So the uber comes
And he calls us
And we’re leaving
At the counter you pay
And I see a Nutella cookie in the window
I want it
But you just paid for breakfast
So I’ll keep quiet
We sit in the car
And I put on pomegranate lipbalm
And I give you some too
Your lips look nice and soft now
And I think today has been a really great day
And I think you fit me well
Because you love toast and I leave toast
And it works out
(except for that baked tomato no one ate)
But look the point is
Is that we work
Well.
And we squish in the back of an uber
And guess what?
The seat was made for two.
We ordered a mushroom-cheese omelet
It was a good day
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 10:35 AM UTC
I knocked my knee on the rod under the table.
I put a runner in my tights.
I licked my finger to wash the wound clean.
It stung for only a second.
Then it was as if it never happened.
The ditsy waitress with the blonde bun and bubblegum
was annoying me with the way she wouldn't pick up her feet.
She had a stupid Chinese tattoo on her wrist,
and like most of the world
she thought she could use a band aid as a cover up,
but nothing that obvious stays hidden that long
without being noticed.
And to top it all off, they burnt my tuna melt.
I got weird looks from people who passed,
catching the 50 Shades of Grey title on my book,
disgusted and pondering why
I would ever hold it up in a family restaurant.
The black man was eyeing me up in the corner.
The lady with the pink lipstick in her teeth thought I was erratic and disturbed.
The businessman thought it was merely for attention,
Well
jokes on them,
I did it just to **** them off.
That's when I looked over at you,
You were eating breakfast and a ****** cup of coffee.
It was 4 in the afternoon.
I could see your Captain America underpants
creeping out of your jeans without a belt.
I could see your eyes judging the newspaper headlines.
You seemed almost as unhappy as me.
So I went over and asked if you dropped the pen
I found in my pocket,
and when you didn't even look up at me to respond
I told you it was just a poor excuse to talk to you.
"I respect that,"
you said between bites of your omelet.
You glanced up at me for only a moment,
blue eyes, **** chin
probably expecting me to leave after the prolonged silence,
but I sat there unchanged,
I don't really pick up on social cues.
"You're pretty hot."
I guess neither do you.
I smiled something creepy, because I don't do it that often,
You didn't seem to mind.
Within two minutes you had me laughing,
saying stuff too loud,
and it was the first time
that I think I actually saw myself,
and I don't really even know you
but somehow, insanely
it feels like I already do.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
Comfy seats, yellow walls, hot coffee and Chai tea.
Tall tumblers filled with ice, and faces warm, quiet and friendly.
A rugged sign hangs just outside, to welcome those who are hungry.
If golden treasure lies inside, this Naked Egg is such a treat.
Now's not the time to question taste, you could pick at random for goodness sake.
There isn't an item on the menu the wouldn't make most clean their plate.
Sidewinder fries await inside, a torte, a Florentine, a bean.
The whole farm perhaps for your appetite, or a western omelet smoked with cheese.
New deli items await your taste, just choose your meat after a certain time.
And if your cup is ever in need, they'll refill your teapot every time.
Don't be a hot mess, just order one, and you'll be happy that you've come.
To be at the Naked Egg you see, is to see how flavorful life can be.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
He is cigars and beer in the evenings
He is reggae one day, and rock another
He is teaching me how to make the perfect omelet
He is unashamed selfies
He is giving space but keeping safe
He is golf and basketball, the only sports I can stand
He is laughter and jokes
He is good taste in all things
He is guiding me to a brighter future
He is my father.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:35 PM UTC
"Surreal skeptic, cynical cryptic! Licentious lecheries fabulist façade fantasias. Wild eyed spectral serene. Dream of catenary concoctions, ethereal salacious conjugation, bridge the gap in metaphysical mystique. Erotica erectile errantry’s exserted protuberance is a kinesiology kleptomaniac with his embark embargo extraditions and his eventuation evocative execrations, a positive amalgamated anathema android of a terminus thrall. The shadow in the shade of the silhouette sojourn. The bailiff’s rakeness rails incarnate, unicorn railway nails and all. He will paint mirador bartizan panorama tableaus all over your proximity parameter perimeter peripherals. Force the enmity to acquiesce into impunity.” “Why this is not but an ogling ogre of an oligarchy omelet” she shrieked as he continued to tickle her. “Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugueness,” he said. “Positive orchestration renditions of transpositional interlude.” “Come here,” she said “let my clambering clamorous clangor write you a wield wile treatise expose’. The legions of Chinga da are battling the hoards of Gunga din saying", "kinetic supremacy temporize tractive fluent" , "it’s sheer genocide. That plasty goop nosed porker of a Gumby ******* ***** monger Gunga doesn’t stand a chance. Coax cacophony clout, catatonic phonics, grizzly grotto grouches all”, She squealed. “Now you’re gumption dreaming”, he chimed. “Chutzpah panache spontaneous generation complicity, gambit alluvium aloof succor.”
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 1:26 AM UTC
The sun cheerfully rises every morning
As does my hope
Coffee flavored with a hint of ambition spiked in the liquid caramel drizzle
The curtains are drawn back
Just like my despair
Hidden beneath all of my "to-do's" and "do-later's"
A cluttered mess I hope to never sift through
Three missed called from an old enemy Depression and I'm too busy to ever call back
I crave my quotidian omelet like I crave a fulfilled life
Inside, surprises delight my enchanted taste buds
And my appetite for being alive is heightened with the spices electrifying their energetic flavors
Caffeine sparking my newfound devotion to activity and business to leave no room in my schedule for sadness
But as the sun sets every evening
My hope and beliefs are suddenly invisible in the vacantly somber sky
The stars shine like my thoughts
Ricocheting ideas in the back of my mind
Inching their way forward like the caterpillar in the cage
As the darkness sets in, my eyes adjust in a timely matter
A form of classical conditioning I picked up on early in my life
My irises only responding to the anchors holding me down
I vent to the moon all night about my confusion and unhappiness
And it laughs at my tears, begging for me to "wait and see" when the sun comes up
But I hone in on the negativity surrounding me like the pictures of him and the music of the crooks in the night
We aren't all bad people for feeling this way
To choose a side is to choose night or day
To choose a connotation for my life
My autonomic response is negative
Night and day are merely metaphors for life
And every aspect I experience on a daily basis
It's enough insanity to drive my car off the cliff at night
Only to rise to the top and reverse it all in the morning
Waiting around to make your own sunshine in the world of darkness is complex and seemingly impossible
To fall to an impasse or to rise against?
Ask me in the afternoon how I feel
And I may end up letting you know
I am a night owl
No matter how hard it hurts me
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
You spent nearly a year
toiling over my love and
I was cooking an omelet
down in the kitchen just
now when the coconut
oil reached up and bit
my hand, when I realized
that maybe it was my turn
maybe it is my turn. I am
not quite so sure what It is that
I
deserve.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
Two years ago, almost to the day, I scribbled into my notebook a single line: "When in doubt fall into those old rituals"
Two weeks later I was sober for the first time in eight months.
This morning I put whiskey in my coffee and took a pull from the bottle besides. I catch cold easier when I'm not drinking, my bones shake and rattle, I can hardly read.
If you know me more than most,
you know how desperate not reading is.
When in doubt, fall into those old rituals.
Smoke rising in the diner, two hands with a cigarette each hovering over two respective cups of coffee.
A plate of fries or perhaps an omelet and of course coffee after coffee after coffee, no cream, whiskey from the flask.
Cigarette after cigarette after cigarette.
The newspaper this morning read
"Annual Steamboat Children's March"
My bar won't open till 3.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 3:40 PM UTC
I made a 12 egg omelet for dinner
Not just for me, mind you,
But stuffed with milk, garlic, onion and two cheeses
Half as big as our whale sized pan and oh solo cheesy
It was such a delightfully delicious omelet
But of course, I couldn't make a beautiful thing without a dash of pain
Once, twice, thrice, four times I gripped that accursed handle
I burnt my fingers so the places where I grip my own are now slightly leathered
Sighing with exasperation, I lean across for the spatula and
ZING what do you know?
One more stripe of seared flesh on the forearm
Of course it hurt (when does fire not burn?)
But now I can't help but laugh, as the undersides of my fingers feel like a wallet
And my forearm a new splash of paint
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
coffee rings stain the tablecloth
empty creamer pods pile up by the silverware.
the old man finishes his omelet off
while his grandson rocks in his chair.
the new dads outside smoke and cough
avoiding their wives' disapproving glare.
the waitress sits me at a tabletop
and I take in the fullness of the air.
the light in the room takes me like a moth
a moment fleeting is still a moment worth the care.
I eat breakfast every Saturday at Roth's
this diner where all our stories are shared.
Nov 9, 2024
Nov 9, 2024 at 12:05 PM UTC
There was one a seed inside of me,
it was abstract and flimsy at first.
It is now the size of your left nut,
I can feel it protruding through my gut.
The maid is in the bathroom,
cleaning up my remains from ralphing earlier.
The ******* was thick,
chunky from the omelet I'd eaten earlier.
I thought I'd stored my brain chemicals away better than that.
That, that once was a lousy piece of seed inside my cumbersome belly due to the ashes you left in my mouth yesterday.
Chewing on fiberglass,
glad we're passed that.
Not too long ago I always felt like the elephant in the room.
I was the octopus squirting slippery blue...
liquid from my eyes,
my laugh and words contorted
to form my broken leg feeling of dangled care out the window.
The wind blew my hysterical scene away,
that,
time,
and the suppliers of the missing balance in the chemistry of my mind.
My feelings towards these events are slowly unravelling themselves and soaring away like the lost feathers in my metallic bore smelling place of sleep.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
He woke up early today while the sun was still young in the sky, he hadn't dreamed tonite, he was still opening his eyes and getting ready to give up the bed and get up when his eyes lost their focus, he wasn't sure if he had something in his eyes or if he was dreaming. He tried closing them for a couple of second but to no avail, he was completely out of focus, he looked around his bedroom and tried to see the outline of the objects around him, everything had a soft haze as in dreams were things are not physical, so he picked up the book that was on his night stand to try to see if this optical effect or illusion was also with objects closer to his eyes, the book's title was kafka's diaries, but it read as kafka's daisies, strange he thought, as soon as that thought of strangeness left his mind the title return to normal and he took a look at his hands, then around the room. It seems the hazinness left his eyes and everything seemed normal again as far as eyesight goes, since he always had 20/20 vision, so he got up, went to the kitchen. Turn the stove on for some tea, made himself an omelet and left for work. Kepre was a nomal twenty year old as far as human being go, he studied at the university of Buenos Aires and during the weekend worked at a local bookstore, today was saturday so he was on the way to work. He hadn't noticed yet or even felt that today everything would change for the better.
Muere después de nacer...
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC
(Skit includes Laurie, Howard, Shari and Matthew).
Laurie wakes up extra early to prepare a gourmet breakfast buffet with Shari and Matthew. As they all arrive to meet each other in the darkness, Laurie trips and falls over Matthew. In an instant, she comes tumbling down on Matthew. Shari ran to turn on the kitchen lights.
LAURIE: Where’s my glasses? I can’t see!
SHARI: Found them mom.
Shari goes to hand mom her reading glasses.
MATTHEW: Well, she’s broken her glasses and broken my back… Time to start the party.
SHARI: I’ll get the recipe book.
MATTHEW: I’ll get the icepack.
LAURIE: Matt, I’m fine; there’s no need to worry.
MATTHEW: Oh, thank God you’re okay! I am so glad; yup… So now there’s ice for only one, right?
Shari laughed from the dining room.
SHARI: Here’s the book. So we can make a simple egg omelet, which may not be the best idea, or pancakes with a side a various fruits. Ooh, that one sounds good, with a side of coffee.
LAURIE: How about eggs and bacon.
SHARI: Umm, that’s a tasteful thought, but dad’s trying to stay off the fatty foods for a while.
LAURIE: Oh, c’mon; it’s Father’s Day. He does so much for us.
SHARI: Alright. One cheese omelet with a side of bacon coming up.
MATTHEW: Ha-ha. Girl, you should be a chef.
LAURIE: A breakfast in bed idea sounds great. Let’s try it.
MATTHEW: Just don’t drop the food.
SHARI: She won’t Matt.
MATTHEW: Just making sure.
Five minutes later, as we all got the ingredients out, we began cooking the eggs. Once they were brown and crispy, we took the first egg out and began cooking a couple more. Shari started on the bacon. Once it was oily and cooked, Matt began making the coffee.
LAURIE: All finished. Good work guys. Lets bring it up to Howard.
SHARI: I’m so excited!
MATTHEW: Thrilled here too!
Laurie, Shari and Matt tiptoed upstairs, being in total darkness again. This wasn’t the brightest idea for them though. They walk into the bedroom still in the dark. Shari quickly turned on the light.
LAURIE, SHARI AND MATTHEW: Happy Father’s Day dad!
Howard awoke abruptly from a nightmare and accidentally knocked the plate that Laurie was carrying, out of her hands. The plate hit her in the nose and she fell backwards, falling on Shari and Matthew again.
HOWARD: Holy crapola… You scared the living daylights out of me at…
Howard looks at the clock
HOWARD: Seven o’clock in the morning!
SHARI: But we have, or had a breakfast in bed for you.
HOWARD: I appreciate this, but there’s cheese on my carpet now! LAURIE; mop!
[End of play]
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
The bed's been alone,except for only I.
The big round red chair says he spent a long time talking to her that one night, when I was away.
The computer monitor won't share, what it saw went by.
And the shower head won't say that it saw us both cry.
My car said it saw her, before I took over
The garage door says nothing, but shelters me ever.
The dog just looks at me sadly misses him here
The pillow states it's been days since I shed one tear.
My coffee cup reports that it has seen me dancing
Alone to unwind, while the place gets cleaned out,
My wallet concurs, the new cards at me glancing
The car echoes softly I've been out and about.
The scale will echo that I've lost some weight
And on the stove, the omelet pan looks satisfied.
The fridge says some ales have met mysterious fate.
The eggs say their fellows have all been pan fried.
The dresser says hey, but his socks are still here?!
The mirror mumbles something, about a reflection
Not knowing the ending or where they will steer.
And all of them feel that it's one strange direction.
©November 06, 2006
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
(reposting an old poem)
Next to my cup of hot bitter coffee
my bowl has a cone
an avalanche of heartache cereals;
~ a plate of ~
peppered uncertainties omelet
beckons, to be gulped and wiped out,
but, alas,
i feel already stuffed
i can no longer swallow;
-----------
------
----
i decided to skip breakfast.
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 12:03 AM UTC
Looking for a cheese omelet
when you a million miles from home
is a tall order,
and even if,
even if they use egg beaters
& fake slices,
is better than eating nothing at all.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
two
hardlegs and two
babes
found
raw eggs and ham
best
to add
to frogs legs
yet
wound
oddly up
*****
and hungry?
Naked and
broke
tweakin'
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
Her lips, coffee, milk,
Scrambled omelet skin and toast,
First breakfast in bed.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC