"parmesan" poems
You're trouble, you're toil.
Yes, trouble and toil.
With you I think I'll bring to the boil.
A pinch of salt and a teaspoon of oil
but not too much, your taste it'll spoil.
I'll take off your beard.
To eat that would be weird.
But gristle that makes your knees
into crackling . . .
. . . oh yes please.
With mint sauce on each cheek,
two kebabs that are seekh.
Not keen on the chin
so I hope you don't mind,
that goes straight in the bin.
Chop, chew, swallow and digest.
Can you guess which part
of you I like best?
It's your nose that I grate
all around the edge of my plate
and because I've asked "Please"
that you try not to sneeze.
It makes a much better garnish
than parmesan cheese.
Savoury poetry by Kaydee.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
I finish scooping a large serving of stir fry onto a styrofoam plate
with the two metal spatulas left on the counter for me.
I sidestep the forty something year old man who is our host
who has opened this house, his families house, to us
his extended family.
I jump over the dog and take a seat in a metal folding chair that has been set by the table
which is meant to seat 4, but is seating 9 tonight.
To my right is an old friend, the estranged stepsister of the sleeping hostess
to my left; the father of another friend who is, himself the best friend of the host
and a regular in this kitchen.
His son sits on the other side of the girl to my right
his girlfriend is across from him
and to his right is the three year old niece of the hostess.
Her Five year old sister sits across from her.
at the end is the 14 year old daughter of the hostess
and across from me is her sister, the reason I am here.
We eye each other across the table,
trying to say something to each other
trying to reveal the sound our heartbeats make,
but our words are frozen in our throats.
They would be pierced though by flying words
and noodles
and laughs
and forks.
they would be pierced through by the energy here
by the connectedness
by everything.
If we were to say anything
it would be rendered so completely useless so quickly
that we can't.
Or so we tell ourselves
as we sit at this table
with our large, crazy, extended, adopted family
knocking elbows as we try to eat
passing around the Parmesan cheese
listening to the dogs barking at us for accidentally kicking them
as they tried to forage for food scraps under our chairs
not telling us they were there.
There is a happiness here
a buzzing
an energy
this is a family
this is a family
and I belong
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 3:46 AM UTC
I love them,
They don’t love me.
Why would they?
They’re hot,
Juicy,
And delicious,
And I’m just…
Salty,
******* them down to the bone.
Buffalo wings rip up my insides,
They’ll inflame my chest and belly,
Giving me heartburn,
As I power through my consumption of them,
And yet I still crave them on a frequent basis,
As if I didn’t learn my lesson the last time.
Bone in or bone out,
It doesn’t really matter at this point,
I gave up trying to develop a preference,
As I’m committed to my hankering,
And seek regular satisfaction,
From the sensation and flavor they provide me.
Eyes full of tears,
I power through the pain,
Believing that each and every wing is worth it,
Even if I know they don’t agree with me,
And know **** well they are not good for me,
It’s like hitting yourself in the face,
But laughing at the sound it makes.
Wings come in all shapes, sizes and flavors,
But I choose the buffalo wing every time,
For the mere fact that they taste the best,
Even if they end up causing the most damage.
They don’t even fill me up,
But they do make me feel like I’ve had enough.
How many buffalo wings would it take,
For me to try a new flavor?
Is it the saltiness that appeals to me?
Is it the spiciness that enslaves me?
Is it the drippiness that seduces me?
Why not something sweeter, like BBQ,
Or savorier like Parmesan Garlic?
Why not choose plain old wings,
With a little bit of seasoning to keep it interesting?
Nope, I’ll always go for the buffalo wing,
I’ll always have that craving,
Because sometimes, living on the edge,
Knowing the risks and going ahead anyway,
Makes loving wings all the more worth it,
Despite their destructive ways.
Oct 30, 2023
Oct 30, 2023 at 8:29 PM UTC
Succulent, meaty, ribs falling off the bone and drenched in a velvety, thick, sauce.
“Check please.”
Tender chunks of lobster tail bathed in sweet, drawn, butter.
“Thank you. That will be all.
Heavy, cream-coated, strands of fettuccine accompanied by fresh peas, Speck, and shaved Parmesan.
“I wish I could stay but I can’t.”
Filet. Rare. A veil of Roquefort and sautéed wild mushrooms in a Sauternes reduction.
“It's just not the right time.”
Perfectly seasoned carne asada with a creamy roasted poblano sauce, queso fresco and the cool, half-mooned, sultry innards of a Hass avocado.
“I'll call you tomorrow”
A decadent Kobe burger blanketed in cheeses, caramelized onions, crisp bacon, and a cap of unctuous foie grois.
“But thank you for everything.”
Peanut butter and jelly on white bread.
And you would have me forever.
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 4:42 PM UTC
A selection of limericks
There was a young lass from the Bronx
Whose ******* make fearful honks
She sounds like a car
When she puts on a bra
And the geese gather round when she bonks
-----------------
Father Alexander McMackett
Ran a ruthless religious racket
When taking collection
He'd offer protection
Salvation could cost you a packet
-----------------
A carrot named Archibald Nation
Had feathers in high numeration
He was labelled as veg
By a grocer called Reg
With a dubious qualification
-----------------
A sculptor named Arnold Duprees
Carved a **** plug from parmesan cheese
He lamented his luck
When it melted and stuck
But he fired it out with a sneeze
-----------------
Knights in the armour of old
Have little to keep out the cold
For they dress as the Scots
In thier tenderest spots
Which encourages rust and then mould
-----------------
Oh ***** you make my knees quiver
You chemical lethargy giver
You tickle my tongue
And pickle my brain
Then you jump up and down on my liver
-----------------
A Fella named Ricky De Gaul
Had seventeen ******* in all
They called him De Chesty
But with only one *****
It should have been Ricky De Ball
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
Somewhere in the furrows of pink and gray
flesh, nestled between delicate arches of pelvis,
in what was supposed to be bowels and pulsating warmth,
lies the wish for chemotherapy.
Old images of skull-white sundresses
glimmering with the glory of summer days in the world of Perfect Thighs
fester imperceptibly,
buried in some remote corner of the midbrain
that smells like half-digested chicken parmesan;
each memory’s tastefully arranged––
rows of wheat, sharp as disinfectant,
sour with antimetabolites and metastatic guilt.
October levels prospects like a hurricane,
and as your mother balances a salad fork between chalk fingers
the full plate in front of you reminds you of ruptured organs.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
Stella told us she was bi.
I stared down at my oysters,
covered in parmesan,
taste like the ***** in Frenchtown.
With my silken tongue,
flicked another from its
shell, let the goo drip
down my lip, and run
up my wrist.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 4:35 AM UTC
Come, Friend.
I'll show you around the house and tell you all the trivial things that remind me of her.
(Here in the hallway)
These stacked, empty shoeboxes,
That I now keep my poems in,
These bare walls that I suppose,
She could make a better use of,
(In the living room)
This monochrome vintage tv,
That she'd have thrown out,
My books lying haphazardly on the table,
That she'd have cleared up,
My guitar that hasn't been restrung for 7 months,
The pictures of Dutch tulip fields,
The multilingual posters on the wall behind the TV,
Like a pretentious polyglot,
(Now,the kitchen)
And this bitter fragrance of tea leaves,
This divine scent of cardamom,
Rising from a hot cup of tea,
The rattle of kettles,
These dying rose petals,
Parmesan and cheddar,
The cheesier the better,
All of that pickled food,
According to my mood,
The battle of spices,
Those gingerbread slices,
Everything-
Everything reminds me of her.
"She's but a figment of your imagination,friend."
She's but a figment of my imagination, friend?
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 6:32 AM UTC
I am the Cheese Master
Master of the cheese.
Asiago, parmesan
Camembert, brie
Smokey, creamy, sharp and nutty
Pungent, salty, sweet
These are all the cheeses
That I like to eat!
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
Nobody can comprehend;
It baffles one and all
Just how much I love Edam
And pine for Emmental.
Gouda smoked is very toothsome
The same is with Gruyère
And Mozarella and I have
An eternal love affair.
Cheddar when it's sharp and sweet
Is an absolute delight!
Parmesan, simply divine
When it is aged just right.
Some may call it an obsession
But I don't seek a cure,
For though all the world may melt away,
My love for cheese endures!
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 3:58 AM UTC
The cheesiest thing... Is that when the parmesan and mozzarella melt, they become one.
Just like how he and I kissed at our wedding. We marry and become one soul.
We are like gruyere and onion soup... We soak ourselves in the broth of love...
When we think of each other, we are like bleu cheese and crackers, our soul complements each other.
The cheesier our love... The more our hearts melt when our eyes meet...
Our love is described by the nature of cheeses.
How some strong cheeses are complemented with the sweetest fruits, how some cheeses are worth melting for and how some cheeses are eaten just the way they are.
Just like how we fall in love when opposites attract, how someone is worth sacrificing for and how we fall in love with someone who’s just the way they are.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
I been bumpin frank Sinatra
I been chillin with these mobsters
Perfect Italian girl put the parmesan upon the pasta
We had white sauce on the angel hair
We were sipping on the pinot
Her hair was black as mine,
but her skin look like a kilo
Thighs look like a hundred grand
Eyes green like a c- note
Liquid nitrogen in her veins
The tongue game ****** she wrote
She whispers fortunes in my ear
While tracing plans upon my skin
Lead me to a life of sin
Then gave the roulette a gentle spin.
I never gave her a wedding ring
I proposed to her with the shell
wedding dress was made by Prada
The coloration red as hell
Showin fangs in a crooked smile that she hid behind her veil
Death upon her breath, it turned the atmosphere stale
Unholy matrimony pastor trying to hide his thorns
Ring bearer bared his fangs
flower girl throwing thorns
Bridemaids holding bouquets made of wilted lillies
She drove a knife through my heart and said
“ baby do you feel me?”
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
Such a manly man very rare
Dripping with forbidden
Luxuries.
Complexities bringing out the besties in me.
Owee
Owee
Touching places imaginatively.
At thoughts of beauty.
Guilty guilty..
Diamonds sparkly out shining reality.
I was driving to the store for some seasonings and something refreshing.
As the sunlight kept appearing rays of bright.
Pulling down my sun visor.
The heat of the evening. Gets hotter temps are steaming.
As my mind starts to reflect.
Trying hard to redirect.
Flowery thoughts best to forget.
Walking down grocery store isles.
Looking for black pepper, and onion powder.
As emotions inside scream for hearts attention gets louder.
I need to get some tomato sauce, parmesan cheese,
Feelings leave me alone please,
hearing that voice "come here baby I'm recalling.
Woman quit running suga your stalling.
He states I see you truly I've been going thru my own
lonely thangs I'm a man. Living day by day
working hard laboring with these hands. Meeting life demands.
Your cool such an Angel Brush me with cool wings.
I do compel.
I admit I fail. Just need water from glowing wells.
Mercy for me..
You run away from me.."
Guilty guilty ..please forgive me if I trouble.
I'm shopping isle hopping escaping. All I want is to find my own paper.
That will belong to the words I scribble on it by my own flavor.
Pen courting simple free good dots careful no out of the line spots.
Finally at the register ready to check out.
Tempting treats thoughts to grab them mind plots.
Don't grab any candy junk at the register. Keep it moving.
Guess who's entering.
As I'm exiting. Beautiful luxury manly casually strolling up to me.
@SelinaSharday_H.E.R POETRY S.A.M 2023
Apr 27, 2023
Apr 27, 2023 at 11:51 PM UTC
I want to be like Rachael Ray
Not for money or fame but because
I'd deliver my perfect eggplant parmesan
To great enthusiastic applause
I'd like to slice an onion, too
Just like the smiling Rachael does
Or complete a sweet peach cobbler
To the sound of ooh's and aah's
You don't have to weep with joy often
Over last night's chocolate mousse batch
Just put your hands together, can't you?
To deliver that 5-minute clap
I know it sounds quite arrogant
Desiring such full appreciation
But that feeling keeps washing over me
Wanting accolades for my creations
Just once as I set dinner on the table
They all inhale in admiration
While they leap to their feet spontaneously
To give me my standing ovation!
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
You called, I answered
You said it's too late, that you're already too far gone and that the doctors have nothing left
Four months tops, five if we're lucky
You started to cry and I could still hear the fire in your voice spark up
You said "the reaper has his grip on me and it seems like he isn't going to let go this time. Please don't forget about me and what you promised me."
I responded with a deep breath and a muffled cry
"I'll never forget. I'll never forget."
Every time I walk by the picture of us on my shelf, I can still feel your fire burn on inside of me
It's been four whole years, and I still haven't broken that promise
I still make your favorite dinner on Tuesday nights
Spaghetti with just a little too much parmesan
You used to say that the noodles looked funny and that they needed to be extra cheesy because I was a noodle and I was always so cheesy to you, I loved that
I still go to your favorite book store on the corner, hoping to find you living on in a book somewhere
You used to love books and it seemed like they loved you just as much
Whenever you were in a bad mood you'd crawl into our bed and get lost in your own little fantasy
You used to buy a fresh bouquet of flowers every Monday afternoon
You said that flowers were beautiful and Monday's weren't, so you were doing us a favor
You used to love watching shows about aliens and UFOs, you always told me that you knew there was life outside of our own, and that they were lucky they weren't living on Earth
"We know hell as if it is our heaven" you told me
Nothing ever stuck out to me like that did
I still remember holding your broken eyes on my shoulders
I remember hearing you scream and cry at me as you clawed at your neck, trying to make me realize that you felt like someone or something was choking you
You used to tell me that they were after you
You used to grow silent and just cry and cry
I remember the night you told me you loved me
You were scared because your life was weighed down by all of your problems and you didn't want me to get discouraged; that your problems were nothing compared to me and that I seemed to be your best medicine
I didn't care
You were beautiful to me and I still loved you in that moment, just as I do right now
I hope wherever you are has spaghetti with parmesan on Tuesday nights
I hope wherever you are has so many books that it would take you the rest of eternity to read them all
I hope wherever you are has flowers on Monday afternoons
I hope wherever you are has aliens, you deserve to be with the ones you seemed to fit in the best with
I hope wherever you are seems like heaven
I hope wherever you are is safe
I hope wherever you are is away from the ones who were after you
I hope wherever you are loves you as much as I do
I hope wherever you are, you're able to look down on me and smile
I hope wherever you are, you're able to see that I still haven't broken that promise
I promised that I wouldn't let the reaper get me, and if I did, I'd fight him off
I lost you to him but he will never get me
I miss you and I can't wait to meet you again
Forever onward,
I love you
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 3:24 AM UTC
Once again, I'm forced to neglect my chance of happiness to instead give it to others.
Once again, I sit and listen to perpetual moaning about the differences between who I am and who I should be.
Why should I abide his desire to put me under? He digs himself a deeper hole each day and unconciously awaits his own bloodstained burial.
Is is wrong that I don't care whether I allow him to breathe or dump his stiff carcass in the nearest river?
I've never been tempted by ****** but lately, the vision of his lifeless eyes has been swimming in my head like the souls of a thousand unavenged hellions.
Hell hounds howl my name as my wrath is unleashed upon his wreckless soul and screams fill my ears as my vision turns a sickly yet thrilling scarlet hue.
Believe me, sweetheart, you've been begging for this for too long and when you turned on me with your petty, insolent disgrace of an excuse for breathing, I relished the thought of ripping your heart from your chest with my bare hands.
You don't want to know the things I'd love to do to you. You don't want to hear the chilling screams from my nightmares which seem more of a blissful dream lately.
This is my last warning... next time you wrongly decide to size up to me, you'll realize your mistake... but it'll be too late. By the time you notice the lack of oxygen in your lungs, your ashes will already be scattered across your mother's dinner like parmesan cheese.
That's it. I'm done. Rant over.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
I sat to end a day dragged on
Spaghetti topped with parmesan.
When the plates found clean, I let out a yawn.
And my pillow I placed my head upon.
In my dreams God had drawn
Back curtains to reveal the con;
A sky deceptively white as swan,
Found only as melted parmesan.
Again in morning I released a yawn,
Through my window I greeted dawn.
But found my dream all but gone
As the sky still smooth as parmesan.
And the day drags on.
And on.
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 8:24 PM UTC
I found myself peeling the skin off post it notes
I was lost
You okay they said, like a statement than a question
People get annoyed like I’m adding oil into their drink water
When I sprout about my sadness
Relax, I’m not asking you to hold an anchor
I’m asking you to listen
Happiness is a bridge on fire with no one on it
Sadness is a metal detector through the streets
Depression is when the roof tops, knifes, and middles of bridges
Start being friendly
I’m stealing thumbtacks off walls
And putting the in people’s
Pizzas to teach them
How to swallow sadness
The problem is I like to pretend,
Which is to say I like to fall in love
We would date for a while
And then I would realize
I’m only in love with the story we made and the ***
Which is to say I was looking for poetic material
Like, Teenage poetry is awkward
And Young poetry is selfish
Middle-age poetry is about my ex-wife
Old poetry is boring
Dead or Near-Dead poetry is what we remember
And all poetry is filled with cigarettes stains and mistakes
Life is short. He says
I hand him a cheese grader
And said back
“Make like a slice of parmesan
and go **** yourself”
Life is long for the people who wait
I was on the bridge with the sun high above
Taunting me and pinching the back of my neck
Do It, You *****
Around me were families
So I decide not to,
And never again;
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
It’s been for many a decade
Part of the daily diet.
The mold, and mice, and men love it;
The mice eat it in quiet.
The Provolone and Parmesan.
And the Cheddar, mild or sharp,
Can cause food glands to salivate—
Making the taste buds to harp.
The famed macaroni and cheese.
Cheeseburger and grilled cheese too.
Cheese cake, and more recipes
That've all with cheese to do.
Cheez Doodles, Cheese Sticks, and Cheez-It.
Cottage Cheese, and cream cheese too.
A favorite meat substitute—
Mozzarella, or the Bleu.
So much to share. Too much to say
On this ‘National Cheese Day.’
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
Four seated
In a pizza place
Sharing a pizza
Cheesy and delicious
New York style
Talk between bites
Reaching for the Parmesan
The table slides
Hits one of them
Right in the gut
Pizza drops
Back on the paper plate
Grease splattering
Eyes wide
Heads turn
Bodies shift in their seats
To see the sound
Strange noise
From the little table
Table of four
Laughing it off
All things resume
They continue to eat
That greasy, cheesy pizza
Talk of life
Current events
Bites of pizza
Two slices left
Split and taken
Being eaten
When...
Slide
The table
So killer
Slides to one
Hitting their gut
Making them grunt
Pizza drops
Heads turn
Bodies shift
Movement from all about
The pizza place
Eyes fall upon them
Laughter
Then the table is fixed
Repositioned
Then the pizza
Cheesy and greasy
Is devoured
Talk goes on
All resumes
After a time
The four leave
Cleaning up their trash
And leaving behind
That killer table.
- Jay M
November 28th, 2019
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC
In my father's kitchen,
I grew up with Sade,
bleeding tomato sauce,
braised sausage,
doughy pasta,
and parmesan cheese.
How lucky to be raised
on such warm wooden floors,
the kiss of life kind to me.
And how I've squandered it,
listening to Sade alone with
dry pasta,
canned sauce,
soy sausage,
and no cheese
Half-heartedly dancing
with a cheerful grimace
plastered on my face: What was.
All I think now are moments.
Tiny little f r a c t i o n s of
a second of a thought,
when I didn't try hard enough,
or failed to defeat my expectations.
Maybe those fractions
make up the difference between
happiness and whatever this is,
nostalgia insists.
One day the thought of never
achieving became so overwhelming,
I disappeared, isolated myself,
lived like a pauper,
afraid of wasting time,
stoicism by my side.
But even then,
with no distractions,
I couldn't rid myself of the thoughts.
If anything they were
more magnified by the silence.
Yet all I craved was silence...
and clarity.
How strange that whatever I crave
puts me
exactly where I don't want to be.
Things turned out. As they continue...
had I known this sitting
on the sun-soaked floors of my Italian roots,
I'd have jumped a decade ago,
perched at the window screen,
wondering how far the fall...
...no, I don't think...
but was it high enough?
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 10:46 PM UTC
it’s not difficult
to know what to do
with 500 heads of garlic
but the garlic scapes
that’s another question
i’ve been grinding them
with basil, oil, nuts
and parmesan and freezing
the pesto
but the freezer is stuffed now
with strawberries and soon
the beans will come
then the broccoli
and the kale
i’m not a survivalist
but if the electricity
were ever to be cut
for a day,
well, i’d have to
haul out the generator and
today I picked up my old
two horsepower pump
from the shop
i use it to draw water up from
the pond which is 10 meters
lower than the garden
i am gradually learning to
look after myself
it’s been a lifelong project
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC