"shish" poems
You aren't big ****
'till you're on a stick,
not even legitimate
like gator, hotdogs, sausage and chicken.
A stick gets your mouth waterin'
and your tongue lickin'
you can get your veggies on a shish-kabob
and cotton candy handed to you at any sport
or circus,
we even got religious services about servin'
this person on a stick!
Wanna be famous? Get your wish
and put somethin' on a stick--
the get rich quick types stick 'em up their ***
while the rest of us gather
at fairs and carnivals to mindlessly laugh
at jugglers, clowns and ride circular rides.
All the while snackin' on somethin' on a stick.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 4:22 PM UTC
There’s a favorite culinary dish in town;
it’s known as the synapse shish kebab.
It’s high in protein as well as fat, and it comes
with a garlic-infused broccoli rabe,
available with a choice of couscous or rice.
The palate will most likely be enticed, just like
another common John who swears to us that he
again has done absolutely nothing wrong.
It pairs nicely with an eighties chenin blanc,
gray matter that’s grilled to sheer perfection,
smoked all day, and is guaranteed satisfaction,
seemingly like an old, rambling rolling stone.
The lights are on—but nobody’s buying homes.
An opera singer that is deaf to certain tones,
this is definitely not regal crumpets and tea—
“heart-healthy nutrition,” all our medics agree.
There’s a new critically acclaimed dish around;
it’s the slow-roasted synapse shish kebab,
moderately priced, and portions are family style—
passed-down secret recipes from west of the Nile,
and also numbers that won’t make your wallet sob
like a big, bad, dark, overly loaded cloud.
Give it a try, and then shout it out loud:
synapse shish kebab!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
young trees
gaze skyward,
their branches thick
with a visual feast
of floral shish kabob
prepared in sunshine
with a rain marinade,
a treat
of the season.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 4:07 PM UTC
On some mental shish,
Some hyper bolictime chamber shish,
Working out, unpreferred peripherals.
How quaint thinking hyperbolic thoughts,
Translation, non-medicinal words got me hollering...
"Cacophony cosmic cluster concussions"
Thinking sarcastically recklessly on a regular,
Causing mental anguish when thought of.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
There's a party going on upstairs,
your invited, to come and have a scare.
H.G. Wells, will meet you at the gate,
costumes required, hurry don't be late.
Vincent Price will be tonights D.J.
Halloween is his favorite Holiday.
He's spinning "Thriller", while dressed up as "Kiss".
Watching Claude Rains do the "Transylvania Twist".
Steve McQueen came dressed up as the "Blob",
he's serving up the zombie shish-ka-bobs.
Elsa Lanchester placed real bats within her hair.
While Marty Feldman keeps yelling "Frau Blucher".
At the stroke of the witching hour,
St. Peter amps up all the power.
A disco ball drops down from a cloud.
Out on the dance floor, forms a massive crowd.
Michael Jackson then leads them all in dance,
while Lon Chaney and Karloff take their chance,
to join the angels in harmony,
While "Monster Mash" is sang by Lugosi.
Even the Devil made it through the door.
He's the one sporting an Elvis pompadour.
So much fun is had by one and all,
at Heavens Annual Halloween Ball
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 6:37 PM UTC
oh snap.
guess who's back?
I'm one step closer to a heart attack.
these flashbacks drawn from a cutback, turned me into an insomniac,
twas only a matter of time until I had a cardiac
arrest me now, officer. I've done you all wrong.
'cause my heart lying in my breast no longer plays a loving song.
I'd love to play the rest, see who else would try and sing along,
but I best not cause more distress, I know where I belong.
this girl KC.
man, she's killing me.
thoughts grilling me, yeah they drilling me!
this thrilling feeling's chilling me to the core, like it's refilling a sea
that just won't quit. My anchor's heavy as ****
my head's split a bit, teeth grit cause I'm full of these images of misfits, and culprits
whose crimes I didn't know they could commit-
they're all me- I'll admit I don't have a permit to
park my *** in this waste of mass class.
just mind the sass, my ego's thick as thick glass, and I don't have the strength to be harassed (rn).
hold up
>>Boi
I don't got time for this.
I need help, man, tell me what to do, I'm ******
this story's this; I miss the abyss in which I could hiss at KC's every bish she brought home,
reminisce that shish in whish I could blissfully talk about french kissing her.
but now I got me a man.
but now she back I've got no game plan.
tell me can you show me again how life is more than her?
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC
Today I am slickly coated
with the sheen of a long walk,
only holding hands with purpose;
the goal to find it.
The destination that holds promise
according to the latest yelp reviews-
promise worth remembering
while bearing the heat of the summer subways,
the morose and lonely feeling
of watching a couple cling to each other
as the trains swing our bodies around.
When the stench of the city streets-
the receptacles for those
who can't wait any longer,
invade our noses like they were home.
The promise that morphs into ringing
in my head when my stomach grumbles
next to the carts on the sidewalks
with the burning flesh they call halal meat,
smells warm and familiar
sharing shish kabob kisses and chicken knishes,
but I've left those days behind me.
Now I'm scouring the streets of Brooklyn,
for that new chic creperie sans animals,
things with faces, or friends if you will,
screaming "Find me!"
whilst dodging the heady scents of Popeye's,
and bacon egg and cheeses,
meat markets, fish markets, bright moving ads,
of women ******** clad eating burgers.
Would you like lox or sturgeon with that bagel?
and when I do get to the little mom-and-pop
of a hole-in-the-wall cafe,
I think of the carnivorous brothers and sisters
that have had the meatballs to join me.
The countless nights I've had to explain
where I get my protein from,
that yes, I can eat pizza.
And no, it's not a travesty
that I want to give up cheese.
Because the real travesty is in the this country's handling
of living things, and by animals- I mean all of us.
And carnivorous brothers and sisters,
when you're feeling threatened and defensive- and you've got
guilt and entitlement coursing through your
friend-fed veins and thus you claim,
We're shoving our vegan, vegetarian, pescetarian
efforts down your throats.
Think again and know that we're only doing the best
we can to help what we believe in.
That we eat and live
with purpose and promise in mind.
Real women can eat vegetables too.
You can take vegetarians to barbecues.
Trust me, we're good at co-existing,
Are you?
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
Have you ever noticed
how you don't have anything?
Not that girl
you pretend to put
in your glove compartment
when she's in your gloves?
Or a car?
Or a job?
Or real, feasible hope?
Or **** all?
Put yourself in my position,
I can't stand looking at you,
your head caves in at the middle
like dough with a thumb print,
and you could fit
two *******
or two clitoris'
in that nose of yours.
All you think about is *** companionship and pancakes.
A lack of hope,
that's what's missing,
I'm talking
feasible hope,
that's the one you really need.
If you could feel it
like yesterday's bile
still on your tongue,
maybe it'd be easier for me
to work with that head.
Or
those gloves,
if you actually put them on
instead of pretending to put them on,
instead of playing with that girl.
Tell her what's really going on,
even though she'll laugh
and laugh
and laugh.
Tell her you're actually going insane
every second.
A shish-KABOOM
that slows down faster
than accelerated Swiss particles speed up.
Tell her about your heart,
that underneath the ink across your chest
there's something else tattooed.
Or maybe she won't say anything
and you'll be talking to
fingers in a ***** glove.
A car would be good too,
you could go places,
use those free passes to Puregold
your friend gave you.
Then again,
you'd want to save every woman alive after going there;
you'd think you could do it,
some hero,
some fake,
some male with a complex.
And finally
the job.
You have over $10,000 in outstanding loans,
either you get a job
or I do the right thing for the both of us.
So do you really want all this?
Want to be young?
Want to know what it's like
to have this ******* heart
and keep it forever?
A heart that doesn't shut the **** up
and goes off calling angry everybody's
at four in the morning
because it's drunk?
Want to know about fear?
I'm not talking wise fear,
I'm talking fear-of-death;
tiger-in-a-bunny-suit fear.
Once you turn those lights off
and can't handle yourself in the dark
then you'll know my fear.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 8:23 PM UTC
An open Rosary,
Sprawled on the table
Has the shape of Eire.
Towns joined like beads
On winding, rope roads.
At the end of the main street
In Shercock, Lough Egish,
Or a thousand other towns,
Looms the church spire,
God's rod.
The square still bustles on Wednesdays.
The smithy's forge
Now lights up a Paddy Power;
The Euro Store sells needles and thread
Where once a seamstress sat;
Shish Kabobs on flat bread sell
Where the butcher's counter displayed the day's cut.
But scrape away the paint
And attend to the devotion and mystery
Of small town Erin;
Where only the pubs maintain names
Decade after decade.
There, on the wall, see the rebels
Enjoying a football match,
And the crowd, laughing,
Has their backs.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC
You could tell
by Mamie’s face
she was sick
of shish kebabs
in fact it seemed
that the whole Moroccan holiday
was kind of getting
to her sensibilities
from the standing
on the two brick toilets
to the shish kebab
food misadventure
let’s go walk
on the beach
she said
before I throw up
with this crap
and so you walked
with her down through
the path to the beach
the moon and stars
above in a black
patchwork sky
the sound of the sea
rushing in and out
and the voices
of the others
getting less
and less
and she said
looking up at the sky
isn’t scary that sky
why is it scary?
you asked
it’s so vast
like it goes on forever
she said
I think Pascal found
the immensity
of the night sky
disturbing
you said
Pascal?
Is he on the coach?
Is he on the tour?
she asked
no he was a mathematician
and physicist and inventor
and Christian philosopher
in the 17th century
oh right
she said
boring ****
come on let’s get
on the beach
and lay down
and stare
at the sky
and stars
and that bright moon
and then we can snuggle
up close
and we’ll see
what comes
and she pulled you
onto the beach
and the damp sand
eased itself
between your toes
and the smell of the sea
hit you
and the sounds
and the wind
from off the sea’s shoulder
and she pulled you
down on the beach
beside her
and you lay back
and looked up
and the vast sky
seemed to press down
on you both
and she laughed
and said
it kind of makes
you seem small
and insignificant
doesn’t it
she said
you felt her hand
in yours
a soft pulse
of her being
right there
like a small beeping drum
and she turned
and looked at you
and smiled
and her smile was captured
by the moon’s glow
and you said
we need to remember
this moment
this being here
this newness of being
and she laughed
and said
don’t get too deep on me
and she leaned in
close to you
and kissed you
and her tongue
entered you
and the whole sky
seemed to witness
the moment
seemed to want
to embrace the kiss
the bright humanness
in her moonlit face.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 8:42 AM UTC
Kami-Kaze dinner test
This is a test of the emergency Kami-Kaze dinner alert
If this were a real emergency,
You would have been instructed where to go
And what to do next;
But as this is just a test,
Please pick up your napkins
And arrange them comfortably on your laps.
Begin the salad or soup course,
Picking up the correct utensils when the main course appears,
Don't forget to sniff for the delicate aromas-
Wait, hold it-hold it-hold it.
Hold on for just a dad-gummed minute there:
No shish-kebobs allowed on the menu!
Kami-Kazes just love shish-kebobs..
(Heads are gonna roll for this one)
This is no longer a test;
Get ready now, everyone
Dive beneath the table now
Fast as you can,
This is no joke, no;
This is real, as real as it gets
Come on-
Push aside the table cloth,
Bend down, bend down quickly
Forehead to knees, and hold your breath,
Just like you were taught years ago in school-
And prepare to kiss the pork **** goodbye.
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
There's a party going on upstairs,
your invited, to come and have a scare.
H.G. Wells, will meet you at the gate,
costumes required, hurry don't be late.
Vincent Price will be tonights D.J.
Halloween is his favorite Holiday.
He's spinning "Thriller", while dressed up as "Kiss".
Watching Claude Rains do the "Transylvania Twist".
Steve McQueen came dressed up as the "Blob",
he's serving up the zombie shish-ka-bobs.
Elsa Lanchester placed real bats within her hair.
While Marty Feldom keeps yelling "Frau Blucher".
At the stroke of the witching hour,
St. Peter amps up all the power.
A disco ball drops down from a cloud.
Out on the dance floor, forms a massive crowd.
Michael Jackson then leads them all in dance,
while Lon Chaney and Karloff take their chance,
to join the angels in harmony,
While "Monster Mash" is sang by Lugosi.
Even the Devil made it through the door.
He's the one sporting an Elvis pompadour.
So much fun is had by one and all,
at Heavens Annual Halloween Ball
Oct 29, 2010
Oct 29, 2010 at 5:12 PM UTC
Shish kebabs
shish kebabs
that's all they have
Miriam said
as she sat
at the bar
of the base camp
in Morocco
I sat smoking
and drinking a Bacardi
they do salads
I said
in long French loaves
I have those
they’re healthier
and quite filling
she looked down
her nose
can't just have salad
she said
must have meat
of some kind
well don't look at me
I’m too skinny
for a decent meal
she laughed
and sat
closer to me
at the bar
can you get me a drink?
sure what you having?
same as you
ok
Bacardi and coke it is
so I asked
the bar keep
for her drink
and he went off
to get it
a cigarette hanging
from his lower lip
what did you think
of the belly dancer
last night?
I asked
not my thing
she said
but I see you liked it
yes it was a good experience
heard about them
but never
seen one before
last night
I said
the bar keep
brought her drink
and I paid him
he went off
and I said
how did you sleep?
not good
I had Moaning Minnie
with me
and she moaned
because I came in
the tent at 3am
what time
do you call this?
she moaned
some of us
are trying to sleep
she moaned on
for ages after
I think she was moaning still
in her dreams
I suppose you slept?
she said
yes I crept in my tent
and fell asleep over
my suitcase
I was too **** tired
to move it
and the ex-army guy
was zeroed
lucky you
not really
I would rather
have had you there
than him
snoring like some bear
what makes you think
I’d sleep with you?
you did the other night
after the beach party
she sipped her drink
and looked
at the menu card
that was different
she said
yes it was
I said
we went in your tent
and Moaning Minnie
came in
and turfed me out
Miriam smiled
if she'd come
five minutes earlier
she'd have got
an eyeful
yes that
would have been
a bundle of laughs
Miriam ordered
a salad roll
and sipped
her Bacardi and coke
I sipped mine
and enjoyed my smoke.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
Step One: Write down on a piece of lined paper that living is a-okay.
Step Two: Tell yourself that Step One is malarkey but realistic.
Step Three: Make a campfire and have some sweet shish kebabs with strawberries, marshmallows, and bananas.
Step Four: Burn the stick when you finish. (It'll be more satisfying.)
Step Five: Watch five or six episodes of your favorite show and regret every second of it.
Step Six: Learn a bunch of useless facts about a specific animal and relentlessly tell them to your family or friends. ( Or even a stranger if you are feeling dangerous.)
Step Seven: Jump/get throw into a cold pool and as you flail around feel the goosebumps on your skin and the weightlessness of your bones.
Step Eight: Throw a party, and clean up the mess the next morning.
Step Nine: Sit in front of a desk with pen in hand.
Step Ten: Repeat Step One and skip Step Two.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
The music from the base camp
a few miles from Tangiers
could still be heard
from the beach
where you
and Mamie
lay looking out
at he sea and moon
she spoke
of romantic things
her parents
her job
her hopes
you listened
looked at her there
her eyes capturing
moonlight
her hair
her lips moving words
her hands
about your waist
yours on her back
and thigh
some one laughed
from the base camp
more cheering
clapping
music coming
and going in waves
caught by a slight wind
Mamie became silent
and kissed you
her lips on yours
pressing on
her tongue entering
her hands over you
she closed her eyes
sea sound
wind touching skin
voices from the base camp
a guitar sound
voices singing
she **********
(what was left
to undress)
you moving in
smell of sea
and scent
taste on lips
and tongue
gin and shish kebabs
darkness closing in
moonlight and stars
and her kisses
moving to your neck
and cheek
and you sensing
her warmth
her nearness
skin on skin
tough grass
by beach sands
voice calling
laughter
Mamie wordless
just sounds
and breath
and you feeling
her flesh
the fingers moving
sea waves
coming in
shush of the sea
passions high
distant sounds
guitar and laughter
and singing
riding the waves
you and she
and the god almighty
rough moving sea.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 4:41 AM UTC
Skewer a bleak piece of meat, bruising
rhythmic hips bumped up
against Formica while stirring
slow, marinating salty—still angry
about yesterday and lemons.
It’s morning
and you’re sorry, subtly flavored
savory with a Worcestershire bite.
Nibbling juicy,
like lime flesh lolling open
to peel my onion layers
one by one to the floor;
petaled out until
just the rawness remains.
Teasing taste buds
into taut lines, forgiven rows
rolled over
tongue. Delicious.
Peppered red and seedy-sore now,
but satisfied
that we won’t forget our manners
at the dinner table. Folded
tee *** napkins,
folded hands and don’t
touch the silverware. Yet.
Eat it bare or not at all.
Swallow. Whole.
Ask for seconds,
maybe thirds
if you’re vulnerable.
And I think
from the throb in your throat,
(a tender, exposed slope)
that you’re stirring to be.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 2:25 AM UTC
This is that remarkable shish,
Extra ordinary type of writing,
That makes me feel some type away,
With my thoughts, solitary.
Befuddled by my own mindset conspiracy
Contradicting predicaments.
No Coachella for me,
My thoughts on parole,
Lost in a pandemonium with pious fiends
Blunted thinking of the known, unknown,
Unknown of the known, unknowns.
Things that we know we don't really know about.
At that time I felt like somebody chose me,
Feeling amorphous as a "POET"should be.
As it is written,
I am gifted,
I know it's fugazi
Come learn something...
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
a peace on summer breeze
let sunshine on the trees
and psychedelic days ablaze
with vivid colors in this haze
sky at dusk would lie in wait
and serene was the moon
nearing fate that water was sedate
and the pool flattered me
smiles were frozen upon themselves
with clover and chairs
clustered this grille; with shish kabob
and flavor that savored the heat
where fire instilled tonight
fore the air was succumb
to this lazy hour of credit
in this town as love beamed
straight to the heart
where tears were heartfelt
and roses where red vinyl was hot
and spun well with the next track
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 7:01 AM UTC
This is that remarkable shish,
Extra ordinary type of writing,
That makes me feel some type away,
With my thoughts, solitary.
Befuddled by my own mindset conspiracy
Contradicting predicaments.
No Coachella for me,
My thoughts on parole,
Lost in a pandemonium with pious fiends
Blunted thinking of the known, unknown,
Unknown of the known, unknowns.
Things that we know we don't really know about.
At that time I felt like somebody chose me,
Feeling amorphous as a "POET" should be.
As it is written,
I am gifted,
I know it's fugazi
Come learn something...
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
haint gonna mock ridiculous science
asper to be bled
dark practices to leech out mailer daemons,
not so laughable nor in cred
double, when oppressed diabolical dread
oompah loompah fealty l'chaim fled
as hand grenades explode within my head
mettlesome monsters
make mercuric chrome dome feel like a led
zeppelin with fractured stairway to heaven in stead...
delivers me zombies, where angels fear to tread
cuz, the devil and psyche did wed
shotgun Swedish crow did house mafia style
wrenched, wrested wretched
mental state most intense (no croc) dial
shattered, slewed, splintered sanity,
thus practitioner with "FAKE" know how aisle
apprentice Aunt Roadie,
who will skewer me evil spirits den da deuce
till I beak home one sacrificed overly cooked goose
a burnt offering shish kabob
no longer able to raise cane on the loose
like a red bull
rocky on the shoals of a frantically angry moose
livid with rage
(akin to diary of mad a housewife)
entropy written, where death will be only truce
pyromaniac qua ramshackle shanty (tinderbox)
unleashes wicked zeal
hellacious incendiary juiced ride
up plies noisome rubbery odor,
sans hot wheel
along the outer limits of functionality explosions
precipitate like drops of molten steel
routing hunger, searing nostrils,
tearing tenuous fragile tethered tendrils
self cannibalizing via tooth and nine inch nail
linkedin with nauseousness as thine meal
exemplary asper full blown panic attack
lodged within mine genetic blooper print deal.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
There is the launderette,six kilogram load sitting quite cleanly at the top of the road and next door the 'topstore', continental cuisine,so many things I've never tasted or seen and here is the chip shop,the *** shop and whip shop all bunched together,I wonder whether they know,I have a hunch that they do,that the shop on the corner is called 'appetites come true' ,it's the shish shop,kebab stop,doner popping off the *** and piping chilli,very hot,not a place that I've been to but a place where appetites come true,
and for all destinations at the crossroads a taxi firm,united nations,all licensed to seat me and you and two or even more when specifically ordering a sedan, six door and door to door what the hell are you walking for?
The bus ride is a fantasy through Stratford's heaven on the 257 but why can't it be the 73 and all these lovely shops I see could be sat on the seven sisters gyratory,
I go round and round and all for a pound
or two
but worth it for the lovely view.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
This shish is deeper than an ocean,
It's harder to harbor but that's all I digest.
As Adam took a bite of the apple,
They see us through the eye (i) of the apple
The world they put in our visualizing sight of mental,
Is to own an APPLE while they pull away the real world
Using evolution, entertainment & electronics forming fugazi.
Presidents in our pockets, these people all dead.
As we aimed for the pin point that we won't miss
Instead we should missplace jealous, aggression & hate.
The more we act upon our emotions we turn to be emotional
Vivid devotion holds us tight than tighter.
We're that over loaded vessel of pure vivid devotion.
These days we have people treating others carelessly
Elevating motionless emotions over, metronome & loyalty.
As he was moguls, he should have not been mulish & took a bite.
A pious way of penalizing sinners would be...
Imagine the weight of the universe on our minds & shoulders
Falling down into the matter of endlessly space...
That's how it would feel like.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 6:44 PM UTC
We met
in the heat of the discotheque
they played the sixties
all night long
afterwards
I jumped the queue for kebabs
and you had Shish,
Later still,
the hesitation before a kiss
frightened I'd miss the moment
but never
did
and confirmation
of a further assignation
at the discotheque
where we met
next Saturday night
feels like
a hundred year wait
until we get back on the
dance floor
and gyrate once more
to the beat
I can still feel the heat
of your lips.
It's not wishing on a star
that has brought me this far
it's the red vauxhall viva
my fathers old car
she
sits
under the hanging dice,
I think
our names on the windscreen
would look rather nice
she
says
no
and I go along with her.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 1:14 AM UTC