"pizzas" poems
The principal in a cool cartoon tee
His fashion sneakers squeaking across the floor
Sets out candy, pizzas, and canned sodas
Arranges a door prize, and assembles the faculty
Requires them to sign in so he can check on them
Orders them to hold hands and sing the school song
Reminds them they are all one big family
As a preface to his primary agenda:
To tell them to be more professional
The principal in a cool cartoon tee
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
(a satirical pop at the Illuminati)
It's time to slay fatted consumer cows
It's time to fumigate the Great Unwashed;
To sow mutation's seeds behind the ploughs
To see the dullard's dreams forever quashed.
How movingly they pray not to be harmed!
How doggedly they work to make a wage!
How prettily they line up to be farmed,
Yet, how they long to be at centre stage!
The Useless Eaters eat their pizzas deep,
Their double fries and creamy mayonnaise;
Produce only some methane while asleep,
And fodder for landfill, throughout their days.
It's time for the superiors to win;
Unleash the virus, let the cull begin.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
I knew there was something wrong with her when I was 10
I found a magazine report about borderline personality disorder
I was reading in the school library and I started crying
I could never have put a word on what was different about my mother
But there it was, plain as day
The way she could stay in bed till 3 in the afternoon with the blinds closed
The way some days we would laugh as she asked me if I wanted to play hooky and skip out on school
We would go grab frappucinos at Starbucks and rummage through countless thrift store shelves
But some days, some days I would be screamed at until I cried
Some days I would lock myself in the bedroom until I needed to come out
Some days I would stay at school extra long and just put off going home altogether
Some days my brother and I were burdens
Some nights we would get to order pizzas and drink Coke and some nights we were told to find food for ourselves
Always with the paranoia and the headaches and the inability to do anything
Consistent with the anger and the depression
Consistent with the exhaustion and the impulsive natures
The pills never helped, the pills never made things better
Fourteen years later and things are no better, things are no easier
Things have made no progression
Fourteen years later and we don’t speak
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
The Dutch brought art, mud and dirt of the Kathmandu heartland,
With cigarette smoke clouding the air, and pizzas in the oven.
Not overcooked, no medium rare, slight rounded, man-made
The ambiance was now of Rembrandt and Van Gogh,
Yellow with the hint of light.
Perhaps coffee, perhaps tea.
And delight in a conversation of philosophy.
Maybe you'll pay, maybe me.
The open doors swallow in the air of the monsoon,
with the enigma of ever binding books who stuck to the wall
Like wall flowers, some folded papers like petals of an unbloomed bud.
They all had smells better inhaled with tobacco smoke.
The music played, and people dance within the security of their thoughts,
The shelter for their thoughts, the flaws of their speech.
Memories,pure and bright radiated from the lamps above the bar,
Lights which come to us only in fallen stars, but wishful thinking
is dangerous.
Hence forget it like Dutch forgot the wars.
Memories are made here, where the humidity is heavy from the perfume of heavy smiles, or folded chins and forheads from a chess game.
Not hidden, no worries, around the corner.
But yet again man made.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
Bobo's kitchen
in the kitchen
icebergs rampage from the freezer
burying pizzas and waffles
in a glacier jungle
Bobo swings forks and knives
at the ice until the maintenance man
cusses in Polish
gallons of water
dripping downstairs
sizzling Bertalina's soul
the fiery bilingual single mom
living in fear
below his fear
of noise complaints
she sends tape recordings
to the landlord in her
cute red faced anger
loud people! and bongos!
guitars! stomping! laughter!
nightmares for her boys
who think they hear ghosts
her tight black spandex
drives Bobo mad when she runs
drifted scents of her food
sift in through his windows
knocking him out
in hungry frustration!
¿Como estás? he asks her
I speak ******* English! she barks back
back up the stairs Bobo goes
to his own kitchen where
the mice crawl out the stove tops
and potatoes grow tree roots
clear through the window
toward another life
Jake Mahaffey
Copyright (c) 2013 Jacob Mahaffey
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
*spread it on thick
on my bread and biscuit
lots of peanut butter
twice as thick
as grandma’s
makeup cake on her face*
peanut butter
more than tar on the road
peanut butter
with my naan and my rice
lay it on the noodles
and peanut butter with tofu
don’t forget a dollop
with the curry too
good pasta and pizzas
become better
soaked in peanut butter
Ye Olde English Sandwich
flames like a dragon
fixed with half a bottle
of the New World Inca paste
*spread it on thick
on my bread and biscuit
lots of peanut butter
twice as thick
as grandma’s
makeup cake on her face*
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 5:10 AM UTC
Today was grocery day.
I didn't want frozen pizzas or chips.
I wasn't looking for juices or dips.
All I was looking for were crackers, And crackers Is what I got.
Three boxes of Wheat thins.
The family sized Cheeze itz game me grins.
Tons and tons of triscuit crackers.
Gliding across the stores bar code trackers.
But best of all was my glorious box of Chicken in a Biskit.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
I have a Job, delivering pizzas.
I've seen the good.
The bad.
The ugly.
The really ugly.
The strange.
The crazy.
The fat and lazy.
But one thing I havnt seen.
Is someone as judgmental as me.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
to make someone feel the way you want them to feel
is to trade in your soul for a pizza
without the mushrooms, sausages, pineapples, M&M;'s, pepperoni, cheese, tomato (it's pronounced toe-mato mind you) sauce, crust, dough and
leaving all but an empty
box on top of the garbage can.
too bad for the floating astronaut,
drunk on coconuts,
when he left in his tin can.
he's begun dancing on empty matter
with all the missing pizzas.
i guess their owners have been
****** and dumped
in another swirling portal
a long time ago
when the light was flickering off on
that empty street at dark(au contraire, mon cheri!),
just threatening to die when you believed it was ageless?
the night will never be a color.
goodnight my loveless ingénue
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 2:19 AM UTC
Good Day spoken in a bad austrailian accent
bad juju voodoo clear light poltergeist on disablity
Hoarding every scrap of miserable memories attached to trash
your apartment is a holiday for nightmares and childmolesters
******* magazines, old sanitary napkins , bad vhs movies
lay like dead soldiers waiting for the war to end
Black bags and boxes scattered every where are villages to rats
and every unknown pestilence you can only read about in medical textbooks.
half eaten pizzas covered in pickles dried up sadly looking at empty pills
You have no hold on me I can't understand your pain nor will i listen to your overdramatic ******** about whoever
or scheming to defraud Walmart
Your mutilation is a scar spelling sociopathic miscreant child trapped in an old mismatched shell of no clear gender.
Your diagnostic prophecies from the dsm5 dismissed like school on a snow day.
Will commands the unentanglement
uncurse
unfear
dispell all your contradictions accusations monologrhthyms
bad music choices and echoes of muttered mustard.
only truth will be uplifted
Peace be with you
whereever you are currently infesting enjoy your dora the explorer ice cream
Was there ever a floor in here?
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 12:53 AM UTC
the church bells peeled a rhythmic ringing
tinnitus
sending us listeners racing back
into a guilty crime like daze.
the mass begins in twenty painful moments
better rush in the rustle of sunday wear
bible bolstered underarm
front pew glances at the priest
who had a back view glare at late comers.
Mama said the sins of your fathers
will visit if you
miss a mass
canned hellfire will get you
and st peter will tick mark your presence
after communion.
I listened
when I stopped
God became god
and the church bells peeled
the same way
only the new pizzas came
with canned chilli peppers!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
I love her pizzas
Her pizzas are delicious
They are so yummy!
~Marian~
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
What was her name?
**** I can’t remember.
It was a boy’s name
made feminine
with a little “i” at the end
like maybe hearing it would
make you think of
some fat guy making pizzas
until you see it
spelled out or
until it becomes attached
to her lips and hair and
skin.
The “i” was not dotted
with a little heart,
(not her style at all) but
I should have a picture
in a box some where with more pictures.
I don’t.
I’ve got little notes,
tiny thoughts scribbled
on empty match book covers,
on the backs of
pretentious
business cards,
in the borders of
the mutilated,
amputated flesh
of decrepit
used up yellow pages,
ripped from a dead and
disjointed phone book.
I woke up from this dream
and groped for something
to scrawl on,
anything,
because it seemed significant
at 2:38 am.
In the desert somewhere,
(I’ve never even been)
you were
looking out the window
and the way the parched
dry light crackled
around you
you might have been an angel
or a sign
partially occluded by glass
advertising something
I could never afford
like family or god
when suddenly you were not
a silhouette,
not back lit,
but glowing.
You were so in love, with
who I don’t know, and you
went into free fall
back
onto the bed
pulled your knees up
to your chest and
kicked your legs giggling.
I was part dead, half ghost
and still happy that you
were so happy.
I said, “you’re pregnant?”
knowing the way you
know things without
really having a way
of knowing
in a dream.
You laughed again
grabbed your little dog up
in your arms,
(I’ve no idea where the pup
came from), and baby-whispered,
“You’re going to cut
the umbilical,
aren’t you?”
and I woke with
the image of that mongrel
chewing through
the cord.
I am
waiting at the pharmacy
and the…
technician,
is reading the
cryptic symbols
penned in
indiscernible Latin,
my prescription.
She is not beautiful
but very fuckable
And in my mind
I am constructing an
image of her ******
likening
the shape,
size, color, etc.,
to her mouth,
when I see
my own writing on
the back
through her precise
fingers.
The tech,
she is holding a
snapshot of her.
It might as well be
a picture of me
vomiting or
************ or
defecating.
This
is what I have left,
my version of a photo,
my dream,
scrawled on the back
of my medicine.
**** getting better.
I ****** it from her hand.
I leave fast. I will
never go back.
This is no chemical imbalance.
This is not my inheritance.
The loss and pain, sometimes,
that's the pill we need to swallow.
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 11:14 PM UTC
I miss some memories of people, 8pms next to a ceiling of November stars and random yo momma jokes.
I miss pepperoni pizzas and orange sodas of a meeting the night before an Algebra exam.
I miss some people who move to the United States, back to Mindanao, away to Makati.
I miss not knowing of a graduation until we sing that batch song one last time.
I miss her under a Langka tree with a chuckle next to the height of my left shoulder. She was measuring my happiness in the little talks and ringing laughter.
I miss wiping her tears as I helped roll her bag across the rocky road to a bus.
I miss being under the wings of God when I first met him through lion puppets and singing prophets.
I miss biting through those chocolate chip cookies after successfully reciting John 3:16.
I miss eating until the tummy says “keep going” and the candy bar bag was always open.
I miss crying when my yaya leaves me everytime I go to kindergarten. This was every single time I get down the school bus.
I miss smiling for a family portrait next to the Christmas tree.
I miss riding across a river with my little brother in paper hats and a floormat boat
I miss walking across a field of santol buds. Ruby to my eyes and to others who pick them.
I miss my panda bear. I could always sew the eyes back on.
I miss being young
But I can’t miss growing up and moving on.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
Bun o'clock
I'm hungry but I don't say anything
Because I can hold on longer
Chew pm
Someone says I look thin
Have I lost weight??
Three pounds
Potentially three pounds
But I don't know because I always think I look bloated
Four ice cubes to tie me over
I don't need to eat
I'm okay
Five fat shaming *******
Stroll past me in their skinny jeans
Reminding me who deserves to be a size 0
Tricks o' the mind
Start to play
As I tell myself I don't need to eat because I did yesterday
Age seven is when
Mama first told me to stretch my shirts
Hide my figure
Watch what I eat
Stop taking second helpings
No dessert
Eight
Looks like a couple of donuts.
Muffins. Pizzas.
Any round food.
My round stomach.
Nibble pm.
It's okay to eat a little? Maybe?
Ten pm?
Or ten candy bars?
Eleven hours later
Nothing in my belly
But four ice cubes
Twelve: time to taunt my taste buds
Trick myself
Tell myself that I'll eat tomorrow
Tomorrow will be the day
The day I really splurge
Everyone knows that's a lie
But my tummy doesn't
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 8:57 PM UTC
Hair stands upon jolted skin folds.
You never could eat a salad.
You look pregnant with a fat pig!
Large enough to eclipse the sun!
Large enough to cause nuclear winter for everyone!
Grass ceases to grow with every step that you take!
The earth weighs a percent more whenever you ingest!
Your rolls could warm the Eskimos!
An orchestra of clapping flesh fills the room with every movement you make!
You don't seem to care about the people you run over when rolling in the street.
You say it is their fault for getting in the way.
They all look like Indiana Jones trying to outrun a boulder.
Too many happy meals can make a lot of people unhappy.
Man sized pancakes dot the side walks that we all used to tread.
Skinny people no longer exist, they are all dead. You mistook them for French fries.
You are just as imperfect as me,
So who are you to point a chunky finger.
You think you are so big behind that screen. Lecturing me about body standards when you look like you washed up on the beach this morning.
Stop crushing your high horse and come down just a little bit.
Time for you to get a serving of your own medicine.
Gape those ears wide and give a listen:
I don't live to look good for some fat *** greasy, disgusting pig on the internet, jerking off to ********** **** while his mother makes microwave pizzas upstairs!
So jam that finger up you ***
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 6:51 PM UTC
Sweetheart you need to be have a flatter stomach
Put down that soda pop
Or one day it will make you pop
Put down those puff pastries
Or one day they will make you the Pillsbury Dough-girl.
Take up crunches and sit-ups
And just ignore when your body screams for food
Take up ******* in and waist trainers
And just ignore that ******* in all day weakens your muscles pushing you further from your ideal
Hey good lookin’ you’d be prettier if you had smaller thighs
Stop eatin’ them donuts
They turnin’ you too dough
Stop ordering your pizzas in larges
They turnin’ you large
Start doing some squats
Just ignore your back screaming in pain
Start running sum more
Just ignore that bigger thighs mean a lower risk of heart disease and premature death
And a simple request from everyone else: make sure your hair always looks like a girl from a movie, that your skin is flawless, you dress perfectly, are always happy, smiling constantly, have an aesthetically pleasing Instagram, be in an adorable relationship, know all the newest music and shows
You know what
just be perfect
but
not to perfect
-love society
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
HI DUDES
I HAVE JUST DONE A COOKING SHOW, WHERE I COOKED MY FAMOIUS PIZZAS
YOU SEE I COOKED THE PIZZA, WHILE I LISTENED TO IRON MAIDEN
I LIKE TO COOK PIZZAS, ACTUALLY PIZZAS WAS A MEAL I COOK FOR PEOPLE
LIKE MATES AS THEY COME OVER, CAUSE
I AM UP WITH THE YOUTUBE JUNKIES
ON AAA YOUTUBE TV, YOU’LL FIND THE VIDEO
SO WATCH TO SEE ME MY FAMOUS PIZZARIA
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
It's not just the piano notes
It's not's its sharps or should I say it's flats
It's not the music sheet
It's obviously not my E major voice
Neither is it how well our voices blend
When the concertmaster says start to
Lady Antebellum - Need You Now
It's not just the Violins
G3, D4, A4, and E5 soothing notes
That keep us playing even when the rest stop
It's not our audiation that keeps as late
Into the night writing,meditating,singing
Laughing at each others crazy lines.
Or your masculine tattooed arms, Strumming the guitar
Neither is it your ability to manipulate your voice to both
Tenor and a Countertenor,so that when the concertmaster says start
To Michael Bolton - When a Man Loves a Woman
It feels like heaven has just opened its doors.
It's not how high I can hit the yala leyo notes
Neither is it my ability manipulate my emotions
So that when the concertmaster says to me Start To
Loren Allred - Never Enough
I give the crowd both my voice and my emotion
It's the memories the two of us make
That lead up to this moment
When the concertmaster says Start
The memories trickle in
The laughs,the anxieties,the fun,the fights
Even the shared pizzas and movie nights
That are all joined with the one thing that we share
Our passion for music,it's culture and giving it life
It's beauty and how freeing and liberating it's words can be
Things we both want to say but really can't
So we use the most basic language we both get
Music
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC
Woke up early
5:35
The sun not up
The birds asleep
Lingering nightmares
Cold horror hands
Gripping my head
Clenching my thoughts
They slip away
Weakening with the sun rising
It's a new day
A day looked forward to
Rushed breakfast
Fear I'm late
Fast shower
Packing decorations
Makeup painting
Hair brushing
Leaving the house
9:20
Picking up friends
Mom dropping us off
Greeting more people
Taking pictures
Together
All smiles
And laughter
Being with my friends
Driving around
To visit lonely people
The first woman
An invalid
Talking
Laughing
Joy
Smiles
We leave
Then lunch
Under the trees
Sandwiches
Delicious
Sun
On our way to another
Getting lost
Stupid GPS
Laughing
Joking
Talking
Sharing stories
Waiting for directions
Arriving
For a lonely woman
Who's husband of 66 years
Recently died
Depression
But happiness in us
Helping out
Planting
Weeding
Tending her flowers
Who keep her company
Thankfulness and appreciation
Cookies and water for love.
We must go
And go back to our group
We decorate tables
Themed ours
"Gifts from the Sea"
"Mermaid Dream"
Pearls and paper flowers
All blue and white
Shells and jars of sand
Clear glass pebbles
Blue table cloth
Beauty
Next is cooking
We each have our jobs
I make cookies
Ginger chocolate chip
The batter is good
Then help with the pizzas.
Chilling out for an hour
Talking and hanging
Waiting for our food
Time to eat
We approach the tables
8 different pizzas
All made by hand
By us
A salad bar as well
Sweet tea
We eat
Afterwards each team speaks
Team #3 speaks of cleaning
We Team #2 share our adventures
Team #1 share a play and experiences
In babysitting children
Speeches are made
A plaque presented
Tears of surprise
Cookies are brought out
The cookies I made
They are delicious
Games are then played
I win one
Then it's time to say goodbye
To all my one week friends
Late at night
11 pm
I sit and think
Of all that happened
And smile in memory
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
I bought carrots, and kale,
coconut oil that was on sale
avocados, and blue berries,
vitamin supplements
in a desire to stay healthy
out of fear of my mortality.
But I miss donuts
and sugar coated cereals.
I miss monster energy drinks,
taco pizzas, and cheeseburgers.
I miss what was killing me slowly,
suicide by snail’s place.
I once raced to gain weight.
Now I eat things I hate,
longing for something dangerous on my plate.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 12:46 PM UTC
Mini Pizzas, full of happiness and joy
Seem to make me more delighted than a brand new Christmas toy
I cut them into quarters and eat them one by one
And I'll eat them 'til the end of time, or 'til I've ate a ton
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC
Lily Willie, I am hungry
Do you have a cup of coffee--
A glass of milk, a butter cookie
Or a chocolate-dipped strawberry?
Lily Willie, I feel queasy,
But burgers are too greasy,
And pizzas are too cheesy
How about macaroni?
*Lily Willie, are you silly?
It's just a bite, a little candy
A slice of cake, nothing fancy
My head is numb, vision's hazy
I feel cold, but it's not snowy
My lips are purple, fingers chilly
My eyes are empty, so is my tummy
Lily Willie, I feel hungry.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
At the East End Cafe
a Canadian folksinger
strums up a storm
on a guitar-
a bargain guitar-
he got $1000 off the price of it
We don’t know any of his songs
Locals tap their feet
to his rhythms
talk to people
they talk to every day
but louder tonight
fuelled by beer and wine
and a determined bonhomie
Ange and her girls
cook up a storm
behind the counter
serve us steaks
and real pizzas
and creme brulee
Late night kids
stroll outside
peer in - curious-
at the unaccustomed goings on
Beyond the plateglass windows
the inside lights
orange globes
reflect in the darkness
like floating pumpkins
I know the river lies out there
just moving on down to the sea
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC