"ravioli" poems
Stop resenting me
For the way I shop
The things I do
To make sure
My food is fresh
I confess I feel blueberries
In my fingers
To make sure they are firm
Not too ripe
I confess I shake
Cans of spaghetti and ravioli
So that I know
The sauce is not
Congealed
I confess I pull frozen waffles
From the back of the freezer
Less likely that they thawed
And refroze into
Oddball shapes
I confess I smell trout
Before I buy it
Placing it against my nose
In the most unabashed
Way
Spare me your hate
About my consumer habits
When I know it has nothing to do with
Food
As long as I bring you warm release
In the darkness of your desires
Pull your tangled hair the way
You like
Bite your darting tongue
In mad hunger
Deep appetite
As long as I reawaken the
Woman
Primal animal hidden
Within
Turn your heat into a river
For a long passionate
Swim
As long as I attend quickly to your
Every ***** command
The craving of your ******
Insatiable
Demand
Then I can squeeze french bread
In quiet and peace
I can sniff cantaloupes
Without suffering ire
Or grief
I’ll take you tonight
In that filthy way
You like
Until then
Leave me alone
I’m shopping.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:15 AM UTC
I wish you detox from drunken heights,
I’m jesus for today until my current shift ends
and the next one begins, after many nights,
in the garden centre of fallen south coast eden.
Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine
People’s faces glitter as I go by,
memories of sinless youth,
for my hands blind with nostalgia,
that my being resurrects.
The child Lazarus scurries past my side,
to his home with his future in his hands,
in my hands, cupped wide.
Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine
I can love the unfortunate,
for my fortune is golden.
Delivered in letters
from North, West, East.
My trinity circle who join me at my supper,
breaking the garlic bread and sipping the borello,
to top crab ravioli baptised in the stream of sauce.
Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine
The gates of heaven are open,
unblocked by the deaths of Keats, Shelley and Williams,
their souls not blocking the exit with an Underground Queue.
I give my blessings to
Livingstone and Charles Gordon
The one native he changed and the others’ sacrifice at Khartoum
Gained me my crown to modestly flaunt.
Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine
I float down the hall, to His Mighty Voice,
as my gold becomes a donation on the alter,
to gain the choral hymns of Mercury gilded rock gods
that will brighten my days
for now,
oh glorious moments.
Amen.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
You **** your teeth loudly,
Smack your lips on ravioli,
Whatever it is I taste of
You can't really say
Meanwhile I've had my face
pushed, mashed on your *****
trying to find life's meaning
with short tongue tight frenulum
Cursed I crave your ***
****** mane grows unkempt
Despite my attempt to
Get some head
...
Dead
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 6:46 PM UTC
In the microwave or oven roasted
A simple snack to have or full blown meal
Eat them at home or where wine is toasted
After a bag, hunger you will not feel
A calzone and ravioli it's not
Packed with flavour, pepperoni and cheese
A roll as delicious as it is hot
An oral ****** each bite'l release
Totinos Pizza Rolls, the perfect snack
Ev'ry piece what a wonderful delight
It's like Christmas when you get a new pack
I'm telling you boy, they are out of sight!
If there is one thing that I regret
It's knock off Totinos, never forget
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 12:48 AM UTC
I am the nice girl
the cute girl
the friendly girl
the one who always smiles and asks how people are doing
and doesn’t expect them to ask back
I am the sweet girl
the funny girl
the responsible girl
who takes care of others
because she’s afraid of what her mind will do if she ever decided to let loose
based on what others do
I am the calm girl
the nice girl
the cute girl
the one that feels she cannot accept being called beautiful
because such a word doesn’t seem worthy enough for her
Unlike being called
the loud girl
the annoying girl
the basic girl
all because of how and what i say and act and dress
which makes others think it’s okay
to judge base on words that people say
words to me can be a trick or treat
The treats are the words used to express me so positively
Cute funny nice smart
And the trick by the ones I had called friends
Calling me words that they use to bring me down
Loud annoying basic stupid
the words that we say or put on our brains can affect us everyday
I am the girl they call
cute and nice
Yet no one has ever thought my words would ever have more meaning
Or think twice
Because I have hidden them longer than anyone would ever know
see by the time i was 10
when my older sister
the pretty popular smart girl died
i was left broken down inside
and i ended up being the shy girl
who’s ideal of a friend was her grandma and eating ravioli
and watching tv
the sad girl
that cried each night hoping for such pain to end
Regrets so large and wide that I could never hide
the lonely girl
who had no one to call as friends for her own
the depressed girl
who wanted to runaway
who thought suicide at least more times a day
But never thought to express her pain
See I am not that simple
words do not express me
yet when people describe us we take their words
and use them as our own
words that wrap around us so tightly
that hold us in our hearts and cling to our minds
that we assume we are just the words that they tells us
Make us assume
we can’t be nothing else
simple small words
are what we end taking to be our own
and thinking nothing else
BUT I AM MORE THAN JUST A Nice, cute, SIMPLE MINDED GIRL
I am more than just those little words they throw at me
yet as touching and sincere as those words are
they don’t define me
they are words that can describe but yet when others hear it won’t they just assume the same
They change their blank canvas mind of me into the colors of what people say
making up their minds of me before they even see me
As if by hearing my name the painting in their minds is already created
Being shown too others
See I want to be more than just what others say about me
for i am a woman
who fights for whats right
overthinks,
that makes me sink and swim through the ocean in my mind
but can get to the shore in time
to fully appreciate life
and prove that not everybody is what they say to be
trust me
i used to be just a nice girl
Unlike everyone else
I perfer not to be a
Simply nice woman
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
He and I
Are oil and water.
He is cigarettes and ravioli;
I am cranberries and ramen.
The great benefactor?
Yes, a factor
But not the end.
Not the root.
I shall never be a beggar.
Hark, calls reality
Indifference is aching for you.
Threatening, forcing.
Beware, or it shall overcome you.
I was never good at chemistry
And what is painting but a solution?
What are we but unstable?
Perhaps we are just allotropes.
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 4:15 PM UTC
#
Piercing blue eyes
As though you can see the truth
A wide boyish smile
Barely at the prime of youth
Brown freckles that cover your face
I could trace the constellation
A void of stars coating the night sky
Creating whats deemed a wonderful sensation
On your 18th birthday
A year away from now
We shall cook ravioli together
You said you would teach me how
You wear fingerless gloves
Each and everyday
They double up as mittens
"I love them"
I would always say
Warm and cozy
Far to large for my hands
But they fit yours perfectly
Then again they are made for a man's
I'll still call you Smol boy
Even though you tower over me
I'm sure your use to it by now
After all I'm pretty crazy
Pure black coffee
With no sugar at all
A little bit of milk though
8-10 teaspoons if I recall
***Too bitter for my liking
I'll have enough sugar for the both of us***
You're an insomniac
Barely 2-3 hours a night
Its quite concerning
But you say your alright
I know your a lil over the edge
you're a fair bit mental
But your a dear friend of mine now
I'm sure you're actually quite gentle
I'll support you still
Even though I've barely skimmed the surface
There is still much more to uncover
And sure I'm a little nervous
Even maybe a little scared
But you're my Lil ravioli boy
So there is no reason to fear
Try not to be coy
I'll be there for all your sketchy antics
And all the mental breakdowns
And I hope you will be there for me
When my heart occasionally hits the ground
Though whatever happened through this
All the highs and the lows
I'll stand by you through it
No matter how steep the road
Lil Ravioli Boy
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC
Smirked at, ****** on, pushed around, beat down
The ***** street corner is Tipsy Trixie's sin city playground.
She charges cheap,
because the black asphalt radiates the smoldering mid-July heat.
She hums "Hey Jude" as she struts up and down 9th Street.
She can't wear layers in the winter, because nobody can see the goods
underneath leg warmers , gloves, furs, and hoods.
Now Trixie is pregnant, 4 months...she's starting to show.
The days are getting longer but the business is slow.
"The Man" doesn't know.
He won't know...he can never know.
Trixie's been warned about the man.
He'll beat her up, and slice her open,
like a Chef Boyardee ravioli can.
Then he''ll sew her up and throw her back on 9th street,
to meet supply and demand.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Today I bought some cheap press powder
That makes my face smell like cinnamon and old people.
It was fifty percent off and I could not hold myself back.
I cashed another pay check today,
Money money money money.
Everyone is really annoying.
I liked it better when my worlds were separate.
They have all collided as of right now.
I just want everyone to unacquaint themselves,
And/or go **** themselves.
Because I cannot spare my feelings,
As well as all of yours
At the same time.
Tonight I went to Olive Garden,
I did not finish my mushroom ravioli.
Oh well.
Just another day in the life of a non-super hero.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
I lift it
lick a clearing
then driven from hunger and aroma
I bite in
*******
then take it all in.
After it is finished
and the delicious chunky liquid runs down my throat
I sigh,
"What a great bowl of Chunky Four-Cheese Ravioli!"
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 10:28 AM UTC
The elderly choices- hear their voices
As they get older they tend to dread
All the things that lie ahead.
Will I have enough money to buy medicine or food?
Which do I choose?
We work all our lives , just so that we can retire
Yet ! The retirement age keeps getting higher.
When we get older, we should be able to see
All the beauties that the u.s. holds for me.
We are lucky if we have enough to get
Out of the house, to go and buy a shirt or a blouse.
We have to think twice about buying a pair of shoes
But if we don’t buy it then we lose.
but when we go to the pharmacy
We don’t expect it to be free.
We are willing to pay what they say
In order to live another day.
Then we think about what we are going to eat
Canned ravioli becomes a treat.
We had gotten tired of eating peanut
butter and jelly, it wasn’t filling our belly.
Now you say that social security has
Gotten out of hand.
When does it stop? When do we take a stand?
You have taken everything away from us
And you say in you to put our trust?
And now I have something to say to you
When you get to our age, “what are you going to do”?
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 5:43 AM UTC
everyone called him Moe, and not just his friends. Moe, he didn't believe in beginnings, but his wife would tell people when it started. it started, she would say, when he stopped eating his lunches. and he guessed that was about right, as right as a wife can be. he'd come home from work with his pail and set it heavy in his wife's right arm as the baby, the youngest, would be in her left. he'd say, no I didn't, maybe tomorrow. then he'd go out to smoke but he wouldn't smoke. he'd leave the cigarettes in their pack and walk out to the yard and think about putting his fat neck in the tire swing. he'd come back to the house and put his fat hands on his daughter's shoulders and say he was home and he would be home tomorrow to eat with her and her brothers. he wouldn't be, though. not right away. on the weekends he'd sit on the step with his oldest son and watch little men die. such a small drop, from that step, not enough to **** a man. his son would just look at him and take the man from Moe's hands and place him on his back again. soon the day came that he left work on his lunch hour. his daughter said thanks and poked his belly. he could hardly move in his pants anymore but he managed to sit down. he asked his wife for the special and pinched her leg. coming right up was a plate of canned ravioli. fuck ravioli he said. but he didn't say it mean. he said it as if he'd just asked for permission to hate ravioli. he said it again. he said a lot of things just then, his mouth full, his wife opening cans in the kitchen. he addressed god directly. after these many years, he addressed god head on. he made for his truck. god, Moses here. it's the ravioli, we have too much.
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 12:12 PM UTC
I eat ravioli
Out of the can
Not because I have to
But
Because I can
I eat ravioli
Out of the can
Chef Boyardi baby
No
Need for a pan
I eat ravioli
Out of the can
Just like I use to
When
Was a young man
When I was a young man
Hitching across this land
I'd eat my Chef Boyardi
Out of the tin can
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
Adventurers travel
to places where they could shoot themselves and
have it mean something – wait for
steel-toe boots and whimpering floorboards to remove a gun
from the kitchen sink, the tile is as green as
moss statues in pool water
and the caulking is about to be dyed red.
I follow tracks, the pads of my feet. I want to be one
of them – steal a rusted van
with shotgun shells in the passenger seat, safety uncocked.
A home for the only things I care about
has no door. Squirrels
carried it away in a drought, bad men lit a wildfire,
birds stay safe in eggs that never hatched
hanging by spider webs in someone’s daughter’s room –
her hair remains in the velcro of a teddy bear.
She is the only ghost – everyone
else’s corpse had some reason or another to stay here.
I see ashes in a skull, I smell **** on the center of girl palms
old blood used to keep eyes glued open,
mine holds dolls to
my wounds, my emptiness fuses plastic hair to me.
Almost little pillows of ravioli
bloated bellies, frayed skin, so white that morning
cannot detect us – in death, pimples
might pop like balloons, and we get left to look beautiful for
for the next person who wanders along.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 6:18 PM UTC
through my microscope, I spend hours
looking at the interstices of a plant cell wall;
if the earth did not spin, I could endure the whole
frigid night staring through my telescope at one violently still
crater on the moon
but I eat only soggy cheerios for breakfast,
ramen--chicken flavor--for lunch, EVERY day,
and either Dinty Moore stew or cheese ravioli
for my evening repast
my toothbrush must be blue, the paste pure white
and I could never tolerate the plight, of socks slipping
down past my ankles
I love Vivaldi, Brahms, and the sound of soft rain,
but hail batters my brain like a billion ball bearings
on an defenseless tin ***
my alarm must face due north
and my bed sunset west, beyond those things
I have no peculiar request
except
that things remain EXACTLY the way they are/were
for eternity
I can't play a savant symphony
like some would expect, or do cataclysmic calculations
in my head
though I can recall,
two years and four months ago today, a gold thumbtack sitting alone
on my dead granddad’s wood work bench, and the gray smelling roll of duct tape I placed precisely three inches from it, to keep it company
and if I ever again travel 365.26 miles to visit Granny
in Milwaukee, Wisconsin USA, it better be there, not having dared
to move a nightmarish nanometer
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
I walk into a bus and there was a man standing
I sit he turns around farts directly in my face
The smell of course was awfall
But do you know what made it worst
It was the summer time, well for me that day was a curse
Not only was I mad I thought it was inconsiderate
He was old so my first instinct is to respect elders
But that wasn't the case I wanted to give him a one two
For blowing stink bombs in my face I could have died too
Was he eating dead rats or spoiled ravioli
A toxic situation I wouldn't hope apon my enemy
If your loved is in a coma that would be the remedy
I swore I've seen green smoke appear from his ******
Cleared out the entire bus including me the entire section
Yeah thats what I get for taking this mans seat
Wasted a bus fare to toxic gases and being lazy.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
One by one
I pluck them out
Of the rapid-
Boiling water
softening their skin
like salt water to a corpse.
Slippery little suckers
who I stab with my fork
with an excitement to eat them.
Oh, Peking ravioli-
You're delicious!
:)
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
- Docter Pepper
- Barbie marathons
- Micro-wave Pizza's
- The cold ravioli you hated
That unfinnished basement was like a home...
- The crawl space under your bed
- The sims
- Doctor Phil
- Mansy ***** bands
- Plans for Highschool
- And Warped Tour
Crying was okay...
- Pepsi
- Locking me out of my I-pod
-Sharing weird two A.M. thoughts
- Panic attacks
- Dumb boys
And I bet gullible is still on the celling.
Remember that moment when everything was perfect?
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
Discovered I forgot to post this on HP
Mar 25. 2010
Tony Boy – Chapter 2
A few weeks ago Tony was standing in the door way and said, “Grandpa?: Yes. “Grandpas need grandkids so they won’t get bored.” He is correct in that assumption since there is not a day that some surprise doesn’t pop up. I won’t be dying from boredom any time soon. I have been retired three years now and boredom is not a problem.
We were checking out at Target the other day and the checker and Tony was having a great conversation. As we were leaving, he turned around and said to the checker, “You are missing a tooth. You know that if you put it under your pillow, you can get some money for it from the tooth fairy.” The checker and the people in line were having a chuckle. Me, I laughed all the way to the car. When we got in the car he was questioning me as to why I was laughing. Oh, I just saw something funny.
Today (03/17/2010) we were in Costco foraging about 2:30. It is a great way to pass some time together. The food tables were set up and we had hit the ravioli stuff a couple of times already. The lady running it said one time she had noticed us coming in since he was in a stroller. Anyway, Tony headed back to get another sample and she was talking to a friend. As I rounded the corner Tony was talking to the friend. She was asking him how old he was. “Four.” At which she said, “You are smarter than my 15 year old.”
Tony is 5 today (3/24) A lot of people know his name. Me? Oh I am just Tony’s grandpa. A few weeks back we were in Sears to visit one of his many “friends”. Tammie was not available at the moment and we were wandering around looking at TVs. A fellow was down on his knees putting together a new display. Tony walked up to him and ask, “Do you know what you are doing?” The guy looked rather surprised and then the two got into a discussion of what tools to use. Tony told him about all the tools he has and what should be used on the job. Along came the usual question people ask Tony. “How old are you?” “I am four.” I heard the guy telling some of his fellow workers about being ask if he know what he was doing. They all had a good laugh together. We found Tammie and Tony got picked up and a BIG hug. Most of the people working in the electronics and appliance department know all about the little boy named Tony Boy. It is interesting to see their faces light up when Tony comes around the corner.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
Let me quote you, so there is no confusion:
**** me, **** me,"
"leave your mess for someone else to deal with."
You made the mess though and you added the anger.
You did, both of those things completely belong to you.
You don't know it, but I'm in the next room writing this, trying not to cry.
You shout, smash, and swear. I just write.
I wonder why you think it is we don't talk...
Our lack of common interest, my short temper, your short temper, my fear of you, my shame of not being good enough...
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
HUNGER
When I think of you
I marvel at your fragility,
How little you sustain yourself with.
If I could do what I would, I would,
I would bring you coq au vin with carrots glazed in brown sugar,
And onions glaces a brun, ringed with pommes duchesse;
And saffron pistachio rissotto with lobster ravioli
Bathed in a tomato champagne reduction sauce;
Or salmon poached in Alsatian Riesling,
Smothered in a rich Hollandaise, on a queen-sized bed of spinach.
I'd fatten you up,
Feed your body;
But of course it isn’t proteins, calories, fats, carbohydrates
That you quest for:
That would be so easy.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
Gonna carry out the feministic agenda
Gonna live, laugh and love lasagna
Gonna save the earth from the ocean
Gonna let the boys show some kinda emotion
Ravioli, yo, that pasta is tenda
Now what should I call ya, Genda benda?
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 7:06 AM UTC
O Captain! My Space Captain
Our food is all out
The men have nothing to do;
They are running all about.
O Captain! My Space Captain
The pet hamster go into the fuel
He died and decomposition made it like gruel.
O Captain! My Space Captain
We surely will starve!
All we had left was ravioli
But Cadet Capioli has ate it all!
O Captain! My Space Captain
Our end is drawing near
Never again will I see my friends
Or anything else I hold dear.
O Captain! My Space Captain
Why aren’t you responding?
I tell you we soon will be dead
But you sit in your chair pondering!
O Captain! My Space Captain
I fear that you are already dead
Well I shall walk to my death
Like a man, not bowed down with dread
O Captain! My Space Captain
It has been an honor to serve
A man of your ability and nerve
Farewell my once temporary now permanent home!
Never again will I look at the stars
And see where I wish to roam.
O Captain! My Space Captain
I am too young! What cruel twist of fate
Leaves me dead and floating in space
Never again to do anything I love!
O Captain! My Space Captain
We are about to crash into a star
Goodbye living! Goodbye life!
Goodbye children! Goodbye wife!
O Captain! My Space Captain…
Goodbye.
Jan 11, 2020
Jan 11, 2020 at 3:31 AM UTC
this is not a poem.
this is an idea next to a blank canvas
it is up to you to make it your own
think about it -
maybe you could write about
the relation between the faded white hues of chef boyardee's hat and the color of the used car?
or maybe about Mr. Boyardee negotiating with the Jeep salesman, bribing him with Chef Boyardee © branded ravioli?
think about the different scenarios
make this idea happen
freeverse, limerick, haiku
whatever you wish to do
YOU are the chosen one
good luck.
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 1:42 AM UTC
The pesto, the curry, the sugary tomato sauce,
the goat cheese-stuffed ravioli all expired someday.
No matter how rare, the food never had an inspiration date
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 2:35 AM UTC