LPiA Nov13

[Tiger the Lion]

Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 13

Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for the month of November. 


Topic : Write a poem about food.
Form : Any
Line requirements: Eight or more

Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish. 

Questions?

[RiverNotch]

I gotta say
you're much too moist
at night. Maybe you're more
like pizza or lasagna:
you're better left over
for lunch, all your sweat
dried down to seasoning,
all your excitement
reduced to moaning.

[TranquillityBase]

Dinner is a crapshoot
here along the Tiber,
we weren’t invited to Trimalchio’s dinner-party
we were sucked in from the street
out of desperation
and mistaken for guests:

pork meatballs sprinkled with honey and poppy seed,
steaming hot sausages with plums and pomegranate seeds,
plump fowls, sows' udders, 
and a hare with wings to look like Pegasus,
meat puppets of Marsyas made of little skin bottles 
that let a peppery sauce go running over some fish, 
which seemed to be swimming in a little channel,
then a zodiac of finger food:
chickpeas, a beefsteak, chicken testicles and kidneys, 
African figs, a young Sow's udder, a cheesecake, a sea scorpion, 
a sea bream with eyespots, a lobster.

Main course was a Trojan boar:
a wild boar stuffed with sausages 
from its tusks dangle two baskets full of dates,
little piglets made of cake are all round as though at its dugs
and for dessert
baked apples with saffron honey,
saffron custard.

We’re not complaining.
The conversation kept us eating.
Where will we be sleeping?
Under a bridge, somewhere along the Tiber.

[Tiger the Lion]

Sundays

On Sundays 
Dad would start early.
By three he was terrifying. 

My sister would hide 
in her room
and leave it for me to watch

Mom, 
anxious in the kitchen;

knowing her value
would be decided 
by how the roasties 
and Yorkshire Puddings
turned out,

preparing custard slices
we might never taste.

[CRNDLSM]

Hard to beat bread
It keeps your hands clean
From piles of flavor
Even adds to the flavor
Edible plate

Fruits pretty great
Sugar
Flavor
Sugarflavor

But goddammit meat
Meat is so good
Meat and fruit on bread

I hate food

[dukealien]

The Purple-Eater People


Morning at the breakfast restaurant
wondering about what could be said
concerning food.

Then my egg-white omelette
with fatless cheese
cubes which at some point might
have been part of a turkey
and purple cabbage came.

Purple in this case being
somewhat euphemistic since
the cabbage had assumed
a fluorescent turquoise shade
around its edges
(which also dyed the egg-white
innards of my omelette).

When consulted, management declared
that sauteed purple cabbage
oft assumes this coloration
which reminded me of copper salts
with a hint of zinc chromate–
attractive, certainly
in rare lapis lazuli
but not, perhaps, for breakfast.

At least it wasn’t Prussian blue
so cyanide could be ruled out.
Then back to mulling on
a poem regarding food...

I got nothin’.

[Mark A Becker]

January 18, 2020

It was a baking kind of day,
with the welcoming aroma
of walnut brownies wafting
from a warm kitchen.

As icy streets kept us frozen
in place, out there, boldly braving
the cold, thousands of women were
marching for a kinder world.