"tofu" poems
I'm a Tree Huggin', Soy Chuggin',
I won't eat no meat
I'm a vegan of convenience,
Still, there's leather on my feet
I don't believe in lots of things
I'll protest and attack
But you won't find me out in front
'Cause I'll be in the back
I give money to my causes
Save the whales, electric cars
But I'm not one to lead the fight
"Cause I don't like the scars
Bricks get thrown alot you see
And those things ****** hurt
And I'm not a happy camper
When there's blood upon my shirt
I won't eat seeds of any sort
They get stuck in my teeth
My clothes are all from LL Bean
Except what's underneath
Way back in the sixties
I lived communaly
We ate only what the earth gave up
We didn't watch tv
As years passed by, our voices died
Our causes became much rarer
We sounded more like Manilow
Than Phil Ochs or Tom Lehrer
I choose fine wine over wheatgrass juice
I like leather and wear silk
I no longer go and get the goat
So we can have fresh milk
I'm a Tree Huggin', Soy Chuggin',
I won't eat no meat
I'm a vegan of convenience,
Still, there's leather on my feet
I don't believe in lots of things
I'll protest and attack
But you won't find me out in front
'Cause I'll be in the back
I've changed lots since the sixties
I'm a capitalist blood hound
If I said I'm a true vegan
My board would see me drowned
I used to wear just cotton
Hemp and caftans and blue jeans
Leather shoes and belts and jackets
Were just not part of my scene
My friends, well, they grew up
And others stayed in touch
The ones with money see me
The others not so much
I used to go out jogging
Through the park in puma shoes
Now I workout in a private gym
Wearing nikes and with my crew
You see I'm still a vegan
When it suits me, don't you see
My new girlfriend likes organic
And she's only twenty three
There's forty years between us
Though I've done it all before
When my girlfriend is not with me
I am a carnivore
I support all of her causes
Though most things I don't attend
I'll be a vegan of convenience
Until our courtship ends
Who knows, what then will happen
Will I eat Tofu or some chops
I know which way I'm leaning
We'll see how that one drops
Like I said when we first started
I am a vegan, so I am
But instead of eating quinoa
I'll stick to eggs and ham.
I'm a Tree Huggin', Soy Chuggin',
I won't eat no meat
I'm a vegan of convenience,
Still, there's leather on my feet
I don't believe in lots of things
I'll protest and attack
But you won't find me out in front
'Cause I'll be in the back
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 2:46 PM UTC
deli meats and cheeses
i look past them at soft crinkling smiling faces
and i drink my java
warms up my hands and ******* and i sweat
in my coat
walking up and down the isles
I see trail mix
and sunchips
and sweet sweet sweets
the yummies
that i adore
chocolates
especially
dark chocolate cocoa orange cherry strawberry berry red brown
it's the sweetness and saltiness
of summer time ice cream
It's the cold crispness
of carrots and snap peas
It's the warmth and comfort
of big muffins and a plate of hashbrowns
at Perkin's
after a stressful morning
spice smells
of pad tai noodles
sourdough bread, fresh baked
crunch crunch on the outside
soft hot squish
inside
(save that part for me, i eat them separate
-you laugh)
how many times did we
laugh
about how you ate that bug
and we were never picky
*cherries
all those cherries.*
we ate nutella
on bread,
washed it down with cold organic orange juice
from a cafe neither of us had ever heard of
and tofu
tofu tofu
always cooked perfectly (we wondered how they do it)
(i still don't know)
chocolate, melting slowly
"you missed some."
-------just an excuse to kiss me.
i giggle
peanut m&m;'s
turn my tongue colors.
Watermelon at a potluck
wedding cake
cheesy potatoes
and an extra helping of bread
(we laughed so hard at the white bread, squished into a cube)
ruby red
made you wince
I drink it straight from the bottle
and smile
remembering every kiss
that tasted of grapefruit
in that tent
every kiss that tasted of salt
from the eggs?
or from the sweat on your lips
the sweat on your lips.
we kiss more
i smile into your lips
i remember that, especially
we never got sick of each other
nutella on everything, now.
especially on s'mores
i smile with every memory
i put my hands in pockets, the cold rushes to meet my face
in the ice cream aisle
i cool down as i graze
through the tubs or corn syrup and double churned triple churned
cream with extra fudge
sherbet
i chuckle to myself
memories memories
of sitting up high
with you,
sand on our toes
chocolate caramel fudge coffee
on our tongues
love
in our hearts
you remember.
the taste of that summer
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 8:12 PM 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
If we lived in a non-judgmental world,
where social norm were a blank slate
free of preconceptions and expectations,
a world in which it was traditional to be liberal,
what would you do?
Would you work this hard or drive fast cars?
Would you read 50 Shades of Grey in the train?
Would you still cry in the rain?
Would you be outgoing or spend more time alone?
Would you laugh at funerals and never mourn?
Would you wear your pyjamas for Sunday mass?
Would you identify yourself with the working class?
Would you use two forks or wear socks with flip flops?
Would you avoid dating jocks?
Would you take up smoking or marry young?
Would you tattoo your face and pierce your tongue?
Would you work as a stripper whilst being a nun?
Would you form a jihad against wars and guns?
Would you become straight, forget how to pray
or wish your first born son were gay?
Would you ever fake an ******
or admit you like it rough?
Would you follow the stars and lucky charms
leaving all life's decisions to luck?
Would you believe in evolution and gravity,
or argue we're heavy people with sticky feet?
Would you avoid salad or order tofu?
Would you try to go up a dress size or two?
Would you give to charity or take up a sport?
Would you sell your house and buy a boat?
Would you order expensive wines or
write poems that did not rhyme?
What would you do?
Perhaps you simply wouldn't have a clue,
for we appear to have forgotten how to be true.
So when ever a Miley comes like a wrecking ball
we unite to share our disbelief and loathe.
As we did to Snowden and Jesus Christ,
we mock and torture and crucify.
The UN, CIA and the Vatican unite,
to teach us how to lead our lives.
For when someone somewhere breaks a norm
that someone somewhere has formed
it has become a universal priority
for the former to be conformed.
Perhaps in this non-judgmental world,
we might decide to start judging each other...
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
Hate is a coiling gust of air seeking it's way out
Apathy sags,
murky and cold
in complacent instinct.
While hate can be tofu to a child expecting sweets,
apathy is nothing but the silent flickering of a neon vacancy sign.
Hate is bottled
yet bursting.
Apathy is free,
but sedentary.
Hate is muscular
it shouts and threatens
while the other beckons,
just to push you away.
One: lava fit into a mold.
Two: so hot it becomes cold.
Hate is the fire
and apathy the barren field of ash
from which no phoenix shall rise.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 1:22 PM UTC
you are like black magic,
a hidden lip underneath a night of grace; underneath the canopy
of old soul trees, stretching out above
to protect hearts from being
hurt;
but you,
you are like black magic
and cheeky lick kisses under ****** blankets.
you were a secret
you were a shame
you were a dose of mortifying pleasure;
a sore amount; a quarter of a cup; a batch of chocolate chip cookies
with just one egg,
splenda, not sugar,
tofu, not meat,
never enough;
but I’m a sucker for vegetarianism and anything
orthorexic – I’ve compared you
to my biggest demon
too often; so I should really know that
you’re toxic –
I dance alone
with my eyes closed
and you’re there; step step, close.
your fingers slide into the gaps between mine
and now we’re interlocking,
like a devil on my back;
I move with you; dancing to your heartbeat
step step step, hold me close
and never let me go
-- oh please let me go
-- oh maybe I should let go.
We’re Getting Older,
the lyrics in the song I am listening to
tell me;
but I feel young under your gaze
a time machine; taking me back to a year ago
in the winter
in the cold
under the open, black sky
because the trees are broken and little in the winter,
leafless,
and don’t have enough life in them
to protect my heart
from being hurt
(by you).
oh you,
you are like black magic,
and I am like a baby lioness,
proud and easily tamed.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
You have always found a way
to inflate yourself,
a thunderhead of you
a rainer upon parades
keeping your own side dry.
Praise your portolio,
record yourself accomplishing that,
but wait, there’s more of you
the lost boy
dressed as a hero.
The prison of ego comes first,
then the crippling psychic wounds
and the inevitable chaos
that just ****** you off
because there is just too much to manage
and you cannot do it alone
but you don’t dare tell anyone
so you fake it
and you don’t make it
and one day
while you are too busy
refusing to be grateful
for the awesome mystery of your own chi
a tagger defaces your BMW
in the parking lot of Whole Foods
and you weep into your tofu.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 7:28 AM UTC
The stove tops warm
The chattering of dinner conversation fill the air
We would talk about our day, or something funny that we found
Sometimes our hands would smell like newspaper ink
from an article you shared
Or you would make fun of the chubby catfish in the tank
The food warms our hearts, no restaurant could compare
The softness of the rice reminds me of the softness of your heart
The vegetables remind me of your love
The meat and tofu remind me to stay strong
and that you are someone I can rely on
Friends may come and go
And all of us grow old
But your laughter at the dinner table
Is something my heart will always know
Nov 24, 2021
Nov 24, 2021 at 9:40 PM UTC
Last birthday you hadn't uttered your words yet
Now you are nearly two
You were half asleep uttering those words I craved for
Happy birthday mama
It was sweeter than sugar
You clinged onto me and were in your sleepland again
We wore matching attires
Mellow in yellow
Lit the candles on the luscious chocolate cake you chose for me
As always I made a wish for you
Off we blew the flickering flame
I held your hand and we dived into the cake gently
You loved it the moment it touched your lips
And asked for more and more
Mama chose your favourite cuisine for the afternoon, Chinese
You couldn't resist any longer
The moment food arrived, you slurped in every strand of Hakka noodles with some tofu
After a quick nap, evening was playtime
The ball pool area was awaiting your entry
Up the stairs, down the slide; up the slope, down the stairs
It was all yours
More fun time with sand play sets, alphabets, shapes and many more
I stood there watching you enjoy the day
I wanted it to be your day
I don't remember what birthdays used to be before you
I am glad I am not alone anymore
Love you baby
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC
This is for those hemp clad allotment dwelling new-age professionals,
riding the crest of an organic wine wave,
with heads tilted so far back,
showing off their vanilla white, Dulux painted nostril showroom.
11am, it's not too early,
community centre trip,
twisting and stretching,
kneading and rolling eighteen-month old Oscar into a morally righteous,
gluten-free,
linseed loaf of faux intelligensia.
Tofu and thai veg stirfry please,
healthy and nutriousness,
Nah!
it's greasy and delicious.
Cultured, not truly,
it's Anglicized cuisine really.
Less like a political activist,
more like the organic bourgeoisie.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 8:10 AM UTC
vegetarians rock
we don't derive satisfaction
in skewered meat, spit kebab, meat buffet or a banquet
we are told of how much we are lacking in nutrition and protein
we don't mind to eat tempeh,tofu,lentils,eggs,diary or skewered vegetables
we are vegetarians of family preference, religious reasons, animal rights or health issues
researches found that your love takes twice more
requires so much energy to digest
more energy less fatigue and stress
to live long without stroke, heart attack, high blood pressure or diseases of kind
well I'm not cynical, eat small pieces
just because we don't hear
just because we don't see
doesn't mean it's not there
the pain these creatures we domain over feel
heartless humans without hearts to feel
maybe we open blind eyes
maybe we turn deaf ears
to them
but I tell you it's there
we hear and
we see
we are different from you
we are different from the ways of the world
we love it
we are vegetarians and
we rock!
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 5:07 PM UTC
Traditional warmth
Mix of seaweed and tofu
Appetite whetted
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
Is there a doctor in the house?
I think I'm having southern withdrawl symptoms
shakes and such
brain a blubbering mess
why give one so much feeling
if they can't get rid of it healthily?
Too much for one body to handle
maybe throw in another personality
nothing bad ever happend
just a technical problem during manufacturing
a wire connected wrong
or not connected at all
amygdala super sensitive
looking for comfort in wrong places
stupid faces
blazing aces
therapists are kind but really need a map
words only convey so much
can't help if they can't understand
whose fault is that?
Probably the broken robot
me
doesn't speak in proper vernacular
accustomed to being freakish and safe
greasing joints with *****
circuit boards of tofu scramble
electric feed back every once in a while
when I cough
perhaps new meds will calm overactive internal reactions
or maybe being all vulnerable to candy hearted young men
spilling secrets and insecurities to friends
but they'll all leave
right?
Europeans had no problem taking over lands
staying with natives
eating their foods
but if the natives had shared their deepest secrets and feelings
pilgrims would have gladly returned home for persecution
than to put up with an emotional Squanto.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 1:16 PM UTC
My mother is a vegetarian
I grew up on tofu and kale
We eat meatless meatballs
And always try new organic foods
I know about healthy
Your are the candy
I convince myself I don't need
But still eat anyway
You poison my body
Spreading through my veins
Infecting me
From the inside out
You chip away at my strength
Deteriorate my self esteem
So I'm convinced I need you
I know about healthy
So how did I end up
In such an unhealthy place?
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
I used to hang out with a bunch of food radicals
this was back in ’78 or so
popcorn with brewers yeast, loads of pepos
dried apricots that looked like vaginas
blocks of cheese, raw nuts, 80 grit corn meal
I belonged to food coop and read diet for a small planet
it was a constant indoctrination
as soon as you thought you had this nutrition thing
settled
bam
some new roughage was required
it must have worked
I thought
as I added tofu to a wok filled with seven count ‘em seven
steaming vegetables
this very night
overall I do eat healthy and I always have
now get off my back and make me a double bacon cheeseburger
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
A leitmotif of your average smug **** is a proverb here and there.
Spouting them off like the receptor has no care.
Their evidential naivety is blatant and almost impossible to bear.
As an audience member you can do nothing but hide your malevolence and stare.
******* in maxims that are apparently laced with benevolence and care.
You know the kind of oxygen waster I’m referring to.
The type of person that watches BBC 4 and likes tofu.
The kind that does the Financial Times So-fucking-Do-Ku.
Look I’m just saying that clichés annoy me.
I’m not asking you to love me, give me a reach around or employ me.
In fact you don’t even have to enjoy me as I tell you of things that matter not.
Suture yourself hypothetically to a geographically different mind. That mind being mine, oh that maverick-esque mischievous mind of mine, looking at this from my perspective.
In my transcendental endeavours to rid the clichéd ridden world of the afore mentioned adjective.
In the opposite of anachronistic times, we might successfully, surreptitiously rid the world of moral coated rhymes.
We can do this; all it takes is a few. One of which needs to be you.
Break out from being solipsistic, even the blind, the meek, the autistic, those that besmirch the edge of coffee cups with their lipstick.
Yes, I mean you. Here is what to do…
The next time someone spouts off a cliché, punish them, make them listen to an album by “Hearsay.”
If someone says “An Apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Then simply say, Steve Jobs had thousands and the here’s the definite answer, that consumerism inducer still died of cancer.
If a woman says “When I say jump. You say how high!” Don’t even cogitate to pardon her.
If the grass is always greener on the other side – shoot your ******* gardener.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 8:03 PM UTC
You know
they say that
you should be careful
of the
things that fly out of your mouth,
because you never know
how how it might land.
Just like
how airplanes
try to land on
gusty airports,
trying to
land on the tarmac.
There are chances that it might
just instead of landing
like a kiss of a woman on
the lips of a man she loves,
their teeth and nose get in the way.
Your words,
can land improperly
the airplanes that carry the best of feelings,
turn into dynamites.
Exploding violently.
Misguided missiles
that does nothing but destroy,
just like how the army promised us,
that this will bring us happiness and safety,
but
only at the cost of the nation its bombing,
leaving its soil,
turmoiled,
disfigured,
and produces nothing
But
radioactive plants,
we have come up
with a classification for it,
we call it
insecurities.
So don't ask me if I'm ok,
if you did nothing but
toss explosives at my feelings
cause clearly
I'm destroyed.
So no,
I'm not ok.
You
cannot stitch
tofu
back together,
after being sliced into two.
That
a sorry
will not be a substitute
for superglue,
using it to stick back
broken pieces of me.
So remember this,
that
the next time
you release statements
words,
phrases,
that you have the
power
disintegrate
the person receiving them.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
The other marjoram and the clothes
Are chimes inverted for her story,
What if we had chives, asparagus?
And what, asparagus, if we had chives?
Why did all that rain fall
All day in the grounds
And on the bird feeders,
And through the clearing?
The neatest patrons are back,
Their statue tortured by your autumn sweater.
Then there is the storm of receipts.
The salad bowel needs sanding, but not this
Fall. Scatter the remaining marjoram like dust.
Sweet peas from melancholy gardens
Sautéed over her faux tofu.
Fruit flies like a banana.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 11:36 PM UTC
Supermarket celebration
shoppers are cytoplasm searching
for cellulose, muscle, photosynthesis.
Oils, petrochemical and vegetable
love: faith and trust
for instance, the Food and Drug Administration.
In America, the custom is
to avoid meeting the other shoppers' eyes. We graze
like cows or wander as zombies to the oldies played over the aisles.
I've always liked it here.
Cornucopia, yes. Also
a place to be alone and depressed, or cool off.
Water and bone
and the known ingredients. Neurons
for remembering, calculating, touching stuff.
I have a favorite bagger
who has the smile of a lover,
wouldn't rather be elsewhere.
Like glamour stars in bikinis
(but unlike tomatoes and bananas)
cashiers and clerks are admired from afar.
Joe says What's not to like? Ice cream, yogurt,
profit, tofu.
To eat your fill is a blasphemy against God.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
I want you to take as long as you need to decide what you really really want.
I want you to make your decisions without pressure from me .
I want you to know there's no need to starve yourself back to a size zero.
You are special and always the right size to me and I love you unconditionally.
I will love you to my dying day and I've never cared what others thought of me.
I know you know that but I wanted the one who wrote a nasty poem to know.
Not a poet and know it and know what's in your pure and unprejudiced heart.
You are sweetest and the most interesting and fun lady I've ever met and you
still are the only one I want to read to, have snowball fights with and sit by a
warm fire to to stop the chills, spend endless hours talking to, the one with the
gorgeous smile that brightens my day, the one who I love seeing walking in
without an appointment, the one I always put calls on hold for, the one who's voice
makes my heart race when I always answer your calls, the one with the musical laugh
that I can't get enough of. You are the one I want to be in my life even if we are
just friends. You gorgeous one are worth waiting for and growing old waiting for.
All I want for Christmas is your happiness now and forever Betty Ponder.
Never ever forget this, you are the only one I'd eat tofu with and for AND
you are the only one I will ever call a beautiful storm that blew me away.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 6:06 AM UTC
…i am
the best looking pair of jeans
sold and re-sold at thrift stores.
i am the collaboration piece
of the world;
so ugly im beautiful,
so confusing i intrigue.
i am modest tofu.
i am an ugly hermit crab
with the most beautiful shell.
i am the pencil that never goes dull
but isnt used enough.
i am the under rated
under appreciated ceiling fan.
i am the worn out shoes
that go with every outfit.
i am
the three hundred year old tree
that is getting cut down tomorrow.
i am the book
that you never finished reading.
i am
the best lasagna
that got pushed to the back of the fridge…
and i have to be,
or else i would be
the word “love”
tossed about
with no more meaning.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 3:22 PM UTC
I am pansexual
There I said it
I am pansexual
I love all of the pans
Every single one of them
I don't care if they are
Shining stainless steel
Or rusty and burnt
I don't care if you use them
To cook
Sizzling bacon
Or extra firm tofu
I don't care if you put them
In the cabinet
Or leave it on the stove
I don't care if your pan
Is really
More like a ***
Or doesn't have a handle
I don't care if you
Put a lid on it
Or leave it on an slow open simmer
I don't care how big
Your pan is
Or if it's better suited for soup
I don't care if your pan is
Really just more decorative
And you decide not to use it.
I don't care how may times
You've cooked in your pan
Or if you've never cooked at all
I just want to say that
I love pans
And I am pansexual.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
Traditional warmth
Mix of seaweed and tofu
Appetite whetted
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
I made it so far
But then I got to the beach and craved
Insanity.
From there to the end
My natural getting-home-from-work reaction was to
Crack open a beer
I think I felt like at that point
The fumes knew me better than you did,
And for them at least I didn’t have to
Explain myself.
I ****** up enough meals that I gave the cooking duties
To you.
Maybe if you pay attention to the stove you won’t look at my face not looking at you
Not knowing what to do,
How many times I avoided eye contact
Always trying to find something to point out
So it looked like I at least had some sort of reason
Just covering up the treason
That I probably should’ve felt bad for.
Feeling bad and feeling paranoid
Are not the same thing
And I only felt one of the two.
Flat beer
Old wine
Lukewarm liquor
I never knew a sink full of ***** dishes could spark such a fire
Scars left from burns can still feel phantom warmth.
The smell of burning butter
Not even a diet change could fix what was going wrong
A suggestion made for “health reasons”
You’ll never know what I was patching up.
I never knew how much hope could be contained
In eight ounces of soybean mush.
Now I’m back to where I was before
Only sometimes self-medicating to the point of remembering what it’s like
To not remember
But never sad to remember
What it’s like to wake up next to her.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 11:49 PM UTC