NaPM April 8 2013

[milo]

Rules: Write a poem for national poetry month 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 National Poetry Month.

Topic 8: Write a poem inspired by food!  (Easy one, let's get creative)
Form : any
Line requirements: 10 lines or more.

Questions?

[justcloudy]

soooo I'm sorry if this is more of a rant than anything else, but hopefully it'll draw some smiles. I've been feverishly (literally) churning out poems today... hopefully I won't be too embarrassed by them tomorrow. ;p
-cloudy



If you live with food allergies,
live by these tips:

Never go out to eat. Your waiter will hate you;
[ind] you’ll hate the menu.
You hate your siblings/spouse/kids for their boundless options;
[ind] just accept it.
Don’t accept food from potlucks, parties, or strangers;
[ind] you’ll simply invite suffering.
Never invite yourself somewhere close to mealtimes;
[ind] you’ll go hungry.
Go hungry, when grocery shopping;
[ind] it makes your choices look better.

Nice to meet you, let’s commiserate!

[billy]

i'll try and do one later.

Go hungry, when grocery shopping;
it makes your choices look better.

it's actually a bit sad as well as funny

[NakedBear]

Oh god, what’s wrong with me!

It’s you black ones I like best,
shining bright as oily leather.
Come close sweetie, let me grip you
tightly with my shaking hands.
Let me draw you to my eager mouth;
I will let you come inside.
No. I insist you flow inside
like before,
when last I swallowed all you had within.
My tongue had swum in joyful flow
and tickled sweetly then.
My greedy lust was not appeased,
though from your hole I shook the last
of sticky drops upon my lips
and loosed your can, then fully spent.
So soon now after do I need another:
it is all rather too obscene,
this love of mine for tasty coke!

~~~

That isn't a title. That's a question!

Oh, and I totally feel your pain, Justcloudy. I also watch what I eat, though for different reasons. This one's about my favourite, Coke Zero -- the shameless love of a chubby man.

[cidermaid]

Fruity syrup sponge

Turn me over, flip me out.
Let me be adorned…
Slather me with cream.
Running down my spongy form,
Every kink and dimpled dream.

Spoon me out. Scoop and lick
the sticky sweetness, glistening
before your eyes. Admire
the luscious fruit, shivering
in folds of steamy piles.

Our shared Over-indulgence.

[milo]

Copy Girl


I saw that pretty girl today
although I think she thinks me odd.
My words are smooth as creme brulee.
I saw that pretty girl. Today
she winced at me to my dismay
as at pot of day old cod.
I saw that pretty girl today.
Although I think she thinks me odd

---

The Tourist

Summer will find you dining on brie
and boxed merlot on the roof of the Met.
Before you forgo all modesty
for graying temples and bespectacled
eyes, he will feel obligated to ask,
"Is there something on your mind?"

You will not reply with crispy duck
in Chinatown or seedy groping
in the sticky-floored second-runs,
or a cross town pad without a view

of the river sharing chewy crust pizza
and a six pack of Michelob
we had delivered. No, your eyes will
fall away, then shortly after meander
across the street to marvel at kites.

He'll be amused at the naiveté of
a girl as he brushes away
notions of flying yet fails to notice
a child's laughter.

milo

[Todd]

The last strophe is amazing Milo. I'll try to catch up today.

[neena2504]

A 'Bong' and 'Ilish fry'

It's a ritual,
serene,
divine.
The 'Ilish' cut into slices
resembling a peacock's gems.
The oil not just any,
but mustard alone will do.
Slip, slip, slip
in go the slices, dip.
Slush and splutter.
Golden and crisp
when they are done,
you can see the glowing pride in her eyes.
She takes a whiff and smiles to herself.
'Chole esho shobay' she calls.
The eyes get the privilege
to the elixir first.
The tongue is eager to savor.
It's a tradition,
a celebration,
a bond,
passed on from generation to generation,
a relation,
a 'Bong' and the 'Ilish fry'.

(Ilish is a fish found in the Bay of bengal and the Bengalis in India are crazy for it).

[milo]

A 'Bong' and 'Ilish fry'

It's a ritual,
serene,
divine.
The 'Ilish' cut into slices
resembling a peacock's gems.
The oil not just any,
but mustard alone will do.
Slip, slip, slip
in go the slices, dip.
Slush and splutter.
Golden and crisp
when they are done,
you can see the glowing pride in her eyes.
She takes a whiff and smiles to herself.
'Chole esho shobay' she calls.
The eyes get the privilege
to the elixir first.
The tongue is eager to savor.
It's a tradition,
a celebration,
a bond,
passed on from generation to generation,
a relation,
a 'Bong' and the 'Ilish fry'.

(Ilish is a fish found in the Bay of bengal and the Bengalis in India are crazy for it).

yah, those crazy Bengalese! Nice sounds throughout neena.

[Todd]

Spam

I get my meat from a can,
as God intended.
Grandpa used to say meat
was parts of animals.
If you pay attention you'll notice craziness
like that has a smell.
For him, it was wet socks,
and that plastic wrapper cheese,
when you leave it out on the counter.
His mind was like a plate of spaghetti.
Tiny worms burrowed in and out.
Everyone knows people is animals.
Spam isn't people.

[neena2504]

yah, those crazy Bengalese! Nice sounds throughout neena.

I personally know many ....
Thank you milo

[billy]

it's abit of cheat, i'm playing catch up so slipped this old food related one in.,

Shortly After My Heart Attack
Spread like a vestal virgin,
an offering for the altar
of medicine. The Filipino orderly
shaves the wire covered testicles.

Depilation comes at a price
as balls languish purple,
aubergines in tomato ketchup
bled from the twin sachet.

Bluntness of razor and lack
of Gillette shaving foam leaves
an unscratched itch no caress
could soothe. Piss whizzes
amber through a clear catheter like a train
ploughing through the underground.

R2D2 fucks my flattened lungs to life with oral
forcing oxygen down a parchment throat.
Cannula stick me, pierce and prick. Ready
to suckle at me if I sleep.

[brandontoh]

Instant Noodles

Open lid,
add in sachets' contents,
add hot water,
close lid,
wait 3 minutes.
Enjoy your robot noodles,
artificial to the last bite!
May you last another month,
dear student.

[Todd]

soooo I'm sorry if this is more of a rant than anything else, but hopefully it'll draw some smiles. I've been feverishly (literally) churning out poems today... hopefully I won't be too embarrassed by them tomorrow. ;p
-cloudy



If you live with food allergies,
live by these tips:

Never go out to eat. Your waiter will hate you;
[ind] you’ll hate the menu.
You hate your siblings/spouse/kids for their boundless options;
[ind] just accept it.
Don’t accept food from potlucks, parties, or strangers;
[ind] you’ll simply invite suffering.
Never invite yourself somewhere close to mealtimes;
[ind] you’ll go hungry.
Go hungry, when grocery shopping;
[ind] it makes your choices look better.

Nice to meet you, let’s commiserate!

I thought about someone I read awhile back that you may like. Have you read Sandra Beasley? She has a collection called Theories of Falling (which is all good). There's one long poem called Allergy Girl that was especially good. I can only find portions of it on the net or I'd send it to you. She also wrote an autobiography called Don't Kill the Birthday Girl. Just wanted to pass that on.

[justcloudy]

Thanks Todd! I'll look her up! =]