"smorgasbord" poems
Two people both alike in character
Of the opposite sexes
Sit across a candlelit dinner
In a lovely, fancy restaurant
The room is incandescently lit
With a dimness that balances between ever so bright and ever so dark
Allowing for a gold tinge to envelop the restaurant
But not gold enough to take away notice of the lit candle set upon the White table cloth
The waiter appears and asks the couple
What they would like for dinner
The couple order the food and drink
Much to the waiter's delight the food and drink is expensive
The waiter returns shortly
With a bottle of their finest Pinto Noir
And pours the blood-red wine slowly
Into each of the couple's glasses
And leaves the couple to sip upon their sweet sin delicately
The food is laid out
Triumphant in its debut
A vast smorgasbord of entries
Including frog legs, crab, and delicious ****** steak
The couple prepare their silverware for the battle that is eating
The man stabs his knife into the ****** steak
Cutting it open and spilling the juices all over his plate
He stabs the meat with the fork and guides it toward his mouth
And slowly but surely chomps upon it with the strength of his fine jaw
And swallows the meat into the unexposed mystery that is his stomach
The woman begins to mutilate the frog legs with her knife
Cutting into the once moveable limbs
And stabs the limbs with her fork and brings it to her mouth
And delicately bites the limbs and politely chews
And swallows it into her fine and precious insides
The couple then split the crab legs
Using their bear hands they split the shells open
And remove the meat or **** it right out of the shell
They swallow it whole and do nothing with the shell
Leaving the shell aside to be as still as a carcass
The waiter arrives and asks how the food was
The couple obliged him with their satisfaction
The bill is handed to them and the couple pay it
Leaving a hefty tip
They then leave the lovingly dimly lit restaurant
To enjoy the night that is ahead of them
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
Half of a stale croissant,
A cupcake with no icing,
Partially consumed slice of cold pizza,
A special computer file,
Called old and cold,
Some files nothing more
Than titles on a snowy screen.
A smorgasbord of delicacies,
A mason jar with a lidded hole
To keep the prisoners alive but in,
The insides of my refrigerator brain.
Where the partial poem pastries reside.
Some jots and dashes get microwaved,
Served up instantly, hot n' piping,
Read me read me now for I am
Ready to be served.
Ah, the others, miserable creatures in a
Special Victims Unit,
In a ward where the doctor has no more
Release forms to sign,
Dream on, awaiting a super nova,
A comet tail, a torn screen window corner,
To engineer an escape.
Kitty, my kitty,
Give me your tired, poor scraps of prose
Yearning to be free,
I have a place for them, where
They will reside unhappy, but free,
In good company,
Waiting for the day they get to see the
Statue of Liberty.
Until that day, when,
Your happy love poems yearning to be whole,
Say, "now I have the ending,"
To let them breathe...
Now I have the closure,
That is the opening,
I will guard them closely,
As if they were fragments of mine own
Blood, sweat and tears.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 6:17 AM UTC
Let my poised obedience
Tip the scales and quicken your pulse
Let my body be a smorgasbord
Feast for your hungry eyes to devour
Let my silence speak in volumes
Resonating ardent desire
While your smile widens
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
*I have been studying how I may compare
This prison where I live unto the world;
And for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.*
-Shakespeare, Richard II, Act V.I
The world I fathom rhetorically orbits
around the whirr of a dust-peppered
triad of turbine limbs
inbreeding infinitely as electricity's
treaty permits
into a smorgasbord whirl of
processed plastic white
A remedial sun I compose
to counter outside's oven bulb
in the world I do not fathom
Heat's ****** of humidity
is not lost on me
with no canonized sense
even to establish it with
And even my own remedial sun
restricts a reality-knighting touch
with its ozone cage pried open
in unseen haste - a victim
of college's fugitive waltz
encased in the jazz fusion dance hall
of the world I cannot fathom
Is there a dual left-footed
interpretive dance of a carbon dimension
outside of reality's steaming kitchen
to fathom me?
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
it was the
summer
of 13
when a city
consumed in a
Cronut crazed
heat wave
amped
the tenderloin
slicing the underbelly
of Hell's Kitchen
packing meat for
Russian oligarchs
pouring fistfuls
of petrol rubles
down the
thirsty gullets
of glutinous
developers
their distended
bellies welling
with aching
avarice
from an
extended
stay at an
All You Can Eat
zero interest
smorgasbord
courtesy of
Uncle Sam’s Diner
somewhere off the
West End
getting fat
on the land
reclaimed
and rebuilt
on the dust
and detritus
of an expired
Great Society
Bloomie's metropolis
rising on the rubble
of razed neighborhoods....
the vertical leaps
shooting ever upward
the heady windows
framing portraits
of endless replication
offering the amenities
of the vain comfort
found in ghettos of
soulless high rises
and the billowing
gray perspective
of blanched out
street cafes
brewing $9 lattes
and big box
boutiques busy
busking the
latest rage
of sweat repelling
yoga mats and
wearable apps
America’s Mayor
Giuliani paved the way
he arrested all
the squeegee men
confiscated their Windex
dumped it down
the sewers and filled all
vacancies at Rikers
a year after Sandy
rolled up the Hudson
breaching the banks
of West Street
licking the streets
clean of urban
flotsam the
surging boom
bloomed
Bloomie bankrolled
a red carpet
for his global
fraternity of
plutocrats
unleashing a
tsunami of
shekels
washing away
the fading
memories of
Captain Sully’s
cool headed
lunch pail
heroism proving
that 727’s can
walk on water
was now passe
Lou Reed
left town
the wild side
monetized by
the belching
banality of
Urban Hipsters
millennial
babes in toy land
embarked on an endless
shopping spree
where credit limits
never expire and
giddy narcissism
greased with entitlement
orders up room service
as the next course
in this endless
movable feast
Music Selection
Philip Glass
The Hours
9/8/13
NYC
jbm
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
Los Alamitos
is where I learned
where kittens come from
babies too
I also learned that ivy
when used as a groundcover
is an excellent place to hide
when playing army
Until the old lady
whose ivy you are hiding in
comes out and chases you off
Los Alamitos
is where I found I could play
The Professor
from Gilligan's Island
with just my dad's white shirt
sleeves rolled up
tucked in to my khakis
my friend
a boy
always wanted
to play Ginger
Los Alamitos
gave me a picture
of my brother on his new bike
free and happy
and gave me a sister
a love of enchiladas
the word Smorgasbord
and two cats
Smokey and Signal
Those where the cats
My sister we named Wendy
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
There are two of me out running loose
One that tries to do what's right
While the other acts the fool
It's been that way from the beginning
A smorgasbord of who is who
With the two of me out running loose
There are two of me with nothing new
One that says yes I can
With the other never sure what to do
While one is often called the winner
The other is bound to lose
With the two of me there's nothing new
There are two of me feel free to choose
The one that's made to play it straight
Or the other, cannon loose
You can clearly see the difference
There's no need for a clue
With the two of me feel free to choose
There are two of me and one of you...
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 8:38 AM UTC
I cannot stand it, it weakens my core, it stifles my breath
The thought of him, forcing himself inside you
Making you whimper, unutterable sounds
Your unconditional complicity a gift, a given
Your abandon knowing no bounds
My manhood shriven
While I have dropped off the edge of your world
Your shapely limbs around him furled
And he, firmer, faster, harder, smarter, younger
Scoops up your jewels and riches with ardent hands
And hungry tongues, to burst your lungs
And all you can eats from your smouldering smorgasbord
And I don’t know him, nor where he lives
But I know he lives
And dies, and dies again in your scented garden….
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 12:56 AM UTC
They walk—no, more likely, they saunter,
Embassy functionaries, associate profs at G-Dub,
A smorgasbord of polka dots and vitae,
Leopard-print and Linkedin pages,
Sufficent and necessary in their presents and futures.
I occupy a bench in my own shambling manner,
Denim-clad most days,
Perhaps affecting a less humble khaki
If I am feeling particularly grandiloquent,
Redeployed here from more rough-and-tumble of more avenues,
Among the bar-and-concrete hosteled llamas and coyotes
(Probably closer kin, if one is being honest)
Simply an ornamental thing, overgrown garden gnome
Or bowdlerized lawn jockey, unobtrusive and unnoticed
By those who would coo at the macaos and mandarin ducks
Or shudder at the offal left uneaten by black bears and maned wolves.
And so such days proceed, from my convenience-store coffee arrival
To such time that something approximating dinner
Must be conjured or cadged from somewhere,
My thoughts tend to stray not to the lionesses
Nor sleek Catwoman-esque jaguars,
But to the unpretentious turkey vultures of the fields of my youth,
Circling warily, inexorably in threes and fours above
And I know there is neither ennobling nor annihilation to find here,
No outcome but to simply await.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 9:36 AM UTC
You’d think us all farmers who toil
At this vast fertile soil
Tapping each network of roots
For the system that bears the best fruits
Though this is how we communicate
There are better ways to tend
Than seeing trees as disposable saplings
From which to ****** a date
With this smorgasbord of choice, I find
We all suffer a tell tale fate
Of being plucked from the stem
Half-heartedly nibbled upon the rind
Then silently thrown upon the rest
A wave unable to crest
Why not show some purpose on the ranch
Consider the date that was once on the branch
Instead we hear the same sad song
About the forgotten fruit of the palm
Condemned without a word
Left to their thoughts inferred
So maybe farmer’s the wrong term
They care for each flower, seedling, and worm
Creating darkness and dead air
Only leaves one famished and impaired
That said, I never hold delusions of hope
Thinking thumbs are stiff or broke
I’d rather pour myself a glass and toast
To all of the liches, nymphs, and ghosts
Jul 23, 2019
Jul 23, 2019 at 8:51 AM UTC
You may not entirely understand the reality of a 'dank existence,'
As the ranks of society have used interpretive dance as resistance
To the lime-green light that illuminates that room in the brain,
Where interpretation of thought drives explanation insane.
You may not entirely understand what is real;
From the epilogue clearing fictions fog to what makes an orange peel,
As it's not a simple way to live every day,
But it's found that, quite obviously, it is the best way,
Lacking the patch of reality's seal,
It truly is the only real way to feel.
To say that my mind has gone mad without power,
Is like saying pop-rocks from '67 aren't sour,
Or a Peoples Republic won't rise like a tower,
Over Western metropolis, and the President's glower.
And to say that my brain is subdued within chains,
Is like claiming humanity never made it to space.
It's a possibility, but from any value of face,
The assumption is old, and conservingly fake.
Lets say we randomize all events in our lives;
From the time we wake up, to where we close our eyes,
And the constant adventure, as to 'where to go next,'
Finds that our past is quite static once the next second is vexed
And the constant thieving of the ideas that we steal,
Makes life an existentialists ideal meal,
With the past, and the present, and the future entwined,
It's a smorgasbord of endeavor drawn outside the lines,
And we love it.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 4:53 PM UTC
*Gazing up at the smorgasbord of stars
makes me all the more fonder
of the darkness,
Connecting light dots
above my head
on a magical canvas
which is never, ever, artless.
Vivid images
constantly taking form,
impeccable masterpieces floating
way up above me,
Heaven's art gallery
with such divine work on show;
hung--for all of us to see.
By Lady R.F ©2017*
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 8:39 AM UTC
Life is a smorgasbord.
A cheese plate.
A puzzle.
A cheapskate.
A muzzle.
That confuzzles
And confounds you
Bounds you
Astounds you
That the bind is to
Liberty
In the hopes you'll see
You're nothing but free
In this mess of a sea.
Spirit hears your plea
So don't be afraid
To just
Be.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
As I taking a step inside my journey
it reveals within conscious breath
a smorgasbord of possibilities.
Food-like dreams surface to digest
in heart, in mind in self to dance.
Aromas fill moment,
as heartbeat takes center stage,
as sparks of excitement catapult me
into new roads of reality.
Words like can’t, fear, separation no longer fit,
as my 3rd eye view intensifies to create a new life.
No GPS is needed just positive thoughts
and the breath that aligns with heart
is enough to shift me into harmony.
Come along and become the architects of this New Earth,
where a feast of love, is present every day.
Come to create the life you have always dreamed.
Choices are unlimited.
StarBG © 2017
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 9:03 PM UTC
There's no secret
just stories to be told
of Love anew
or lovers of old
Not just of people
But love of things
Perhaps a flower
Or bird as it sings
Whether it be nature
Or matters of the heart
The simplest of occurrences
Has a poetic spark
Observation
marrying fantasy
experience
begetting reality
A poet's table
Is a smorgasbord
Consume all you like
There'll always be more
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
The crack across the glass screen calling time
Chimes out the screeching to a halt.
A full stop.
The end
of another
fallen
friend.
Sweet suicide?
I call it the theft, that left my heart bereft
My life without the shape and texture of a love
That only one could give.
And a pain that can never be soothed
And a wound that can never be healed
And a reality that was never more clear than in these times
In the lingering of this tongue on trite futile lines
Because these acts that took those lives from mine
are the smorgasbord from which I will commit my crime.
And the days will be numerous between this day and then
But the measure of life, is when I say when.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
We turn on the T.V.
When we get hungry
But all that they feed us today are more lies
We keep on eating
The garbage they're feeding
Losing all meaning to the gourmet of life
So open up wide now
And take what they're serving
Cause what they are serving you'll soon grow to like
With a smidgen of truth
To sweeten the lies that are bitter
That go down much easier when it's tasting just right
So turn on your T.V.
There's a smorgasbord of choices
Grab the remote, choose your poison on the channel of life
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
Concentration on a visual smorgasbord
Is quite hard with unknown colors
All holding hands, just passing on through
Behind the window, I’m finished with you
Though your style still rests in my mind
Manifesting itself through my actions
Here and there, every once in a while
There aren’t enough crumpets and tea
That could fill my dissatisfaction with me
Seeing you, just passing on through
Behind the window, with a smile and a wave
Watch as I now begin to decompose
Tenfold
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 1:52 AM UTC
Please! Wait
Feeling so low__
Like his (Blowfish)________ bait?
Jazzzzeeeey_____
Only temporary Oh! geez
Robin Razzamatazz
What!! All about Love
Candy Pez
((Enter me Expandable))
I need to fish
around so flexible
He
comments
You're quick______**
The Vampire Garlic
RIP I have young-blood
I will just relive again
To expedite
what remains
Love unconditionally
All hired with conditions
The restless young
outbreak
Native New Yorker
The busy talker
draw flush
In the Navy
Fleet week Baby
meeting crush
The Quickie
interview
Gift of gab
stalker
Or the hermit of Hermits
Languages
No demerits
Racing down
her wicked
thighs shower his
muscles
Sprinkle cone
Iced me
mortgages
get
me sick way to
quick to even sigh
Whats up with
patience
Include the Immigrants
Somehow American
women
Not very productive
They had Robot
watchdog like Gods
The money
where your Apple
Mouth I-Yahoo computer
And follow me
All followers
Kevin Quick morning
Bacon
Stallone Rocky_____
____ Expandable
In the native lands
Over the border
The Ventriloquist
Nesquik
Emigrant exhibitionist
Deviant outsider
The Spy Breadwinner
The I pod doing
the podcast
Outcast lady
The rain in Seattle
Hanky Panky
Snoopy hang on
Aboard love boat
so foreign
Her kitten tongue
was wide open
Eye wide but
quickly minds shut
Did it say?
((Too Quick))
((White Doves)) website
Riders of the Morrison
dorm
Ouija board storm
Him hungry
for her
smorgasbord
Stars flu
* Planetarium+
Miss Tory friend
Terry's mouth
of Sherry
Met all their lovers
Sweet Cherry wine
In the Sanitarium
Your words are
not to hinder me
Kiss of an angel
You compelled me
Such a coincidence
The spell too quick
No heart of
citizenship
Walk like a man
Talk like a
foreigner real slick
In another land
Dance like an Egyptian
From the Godly land
No man is
quick enough
To expedite
The quicker man
Beaten by the
bodyguard
No God this is a
Ladies Island
Pulp Fiction absurd
Vanilla milkshake
Saturday Fever
Cons
So many Johns
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
It was buses you don’t see around anymore
The date was June 3 at the Museum Of Bus Transportation where one can forever explore
Fishbowls that once dominated City Streets
Summer heat with air conditioning aboard no one could beat
What do I-78, 80 and 95 have in common?
Highway buses of many kinds
Capitol Trailways GM PD-4104 AND 4106, Greyhound buses which still do today and the list goes on and on.
However, I want to make a special announcement of the GM PD-4501 Scenicruiser being the most famous of the Greyhound bus family and among other Motor Coach Carriers
School buses of the past
The name Thomas buses that will last
All the buses were all parked with bus company names of who could forget
Continental Trailways with the Beige Tan and red being the Silver Eagle
There was a Flea Market Spring Fling comprising of buses among buses along with many other memorabilia
There were stops along the way such as Harrisburg, York, Hershey, Pennsylvania visiting Transit hubs
We ate dinner at Shady Maples Smorgasbord in East Earl, Pennsylvania
Buses being still around, but they are vintage being museum bound.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC
*i remind you of the beauty that never turns
it sits and drifts from place to place
but its gone before too long
hundreds of sparrows nest
inside the shadows you kept secret
your eyes were the wells i dove naked into
through pools of empty mystery
undulating divers
swam for a moment
upon the backs of your hand
long slender fingers
lifted the roots of whimsical stranglers
i choose support over form
your strong tone of voice called me from the moon
hold me to your question and press me in your room
undercover berry-keepers hidden in a sack
our threadbare beauty is already where its at
limitless trading so we set up a deal
make all our engagements equal
and we will feel how lucky we are
to know the only one that's real
distant and sweet like cotton candy
i once held her in my pipe
but the barrel split
before i could inhale her scent
and become immortal as the rags
long before time was kept
she vanished from our charms
to dwell inside a noosphere
in the shell of a street urchin
or underneath a rock
we hide our clothes without passion
for our brother's many lovers
to expose their unique throes
i ultimately agree with your idea
the notion of our brokenness
is coming nearer and nearer
i cheer your flame
i steer my ship upon your spray
in the wake of beatitude
the dalliance of a lover scorned
your thorns and your thimbles
all are wild and necessary
in the meantime i run and dance
upon the headless waters
jolts of electricity in feverish spurts
hit the earth and spray our shirts with blood
splattered like honey comb
a smorgasbord of tragedy and unclean similarities
your self-same regulars
threatening daily to outdo you*
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 1:49 PM UTC
Verdant epidermis
rolling silk
farther than eyes
Veritable smorgasbord
twice removed
Coastal pull has
stretched you
bled you dry
forgotten plains
Do you still keep secrets
and give away bread?
Do you still keep God company?
Vested sustenance
true as earth
impervious to time
Velvet sodded canvas
I am moved
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
there is a buffet of unkept promises underneath your bed
and you feast on it constantly: that must be what keeps you alive.
hiding in your room forever, a glutton.
i starve over here, cause words are hard to come by and i do everything i say i will,
which leaves me looking underneath my bed for the next meal.
and i want so bad to be free,
to be near you,
to know what the hell i want.
drive past your house because i want to catch a glimpse of what keeps you alive,
locked away deep inside.
and you car stays in the same spot ever day and i am relieved.
as if you are staying in there just for me
and not for the all you can eat buffet
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC