The Poetry Marathon

say cheese

poets have been mysteriously silent
on the subject of cheese
a great man once wrote
hence my attempt to set
things right
for cabbages and kings
have been mentioned
in the same poetic line
why not cheese and the president
surely one eats the other
and which one that is
we can be quite certain of

matters of state
cannot be decided
on empty stomachs
and MacCheese was a favorite
with one president, it’s said

but an internet search
reveals far better types of cheese
brie, camembert, gruyere
i learnt of them in my French
lesson many years ago
and there’s goat cheese, i’ve heard
someone (famous) swear by it
and blue cheese
though it did not look
blue to me

if you asked me
(and in a way you have)
i’d say cottage cheese
is by far the best
and sweetest kind
so when you shop next
in the cheese aisle
do remember to pick
cottage cheese
aka paneer
and do a light
marinade and grill
nothing better
for worse, there’s always MacCheese

prompt 23- image

everything is connected
even castles are
from an idea

tall and majestic
full of round rock, and lava
its mighty
and full

radiant in all its glory

Series of Low-Brow Limericks

1.
There was once a chick named Jewelz
Who rarely followed the rules
When she opened her mouth
The conversation went south
She made idiots look more like fools

2.
There was once a broad named Karen
Who everyone thought was barren
When she opened her mouth
Stupidity ran out
Some wonder how her spawn was farin’

3.
There once was a dude named Lass
Who wouldn’t get off his dead ass
He wouldn’t go to work
Said his boss was a jerk
He was the poster child of a complete jackass.

4.
There once was a guy named Duck
Who honestly didn’t give a fuck
He did his own thing
And had his own flings
He nods when he’s called a dumb schmuck.

5.
There once was a lady named Lit
Who really didn’t give a shit
She bottled it up
And closed her cheeks shut
And now she has bowels that won’t quit.

Hour 23: Favourite Snack at Night

I am always hungry at night

But, I don’t want to eat main course

I want snack,

But not sweets,

My last resort,

As always, slice of cheese,

Not to sweet, not to sour

Perfect for late night snack

Perfect for additional flavour in pasta, bread, spicy food,

Oh cheese, you are so multifunctional,

I love cheese

HOUR 22 Haiku 4

You were never alone,
You will never be alone,
You determined that

Hold My Hand

I stand beside the bed

O’ mine, pat my shoulder

Mean no mean my O mine in me

It’s about half the clock

To watch the cornices remain clear

 

Midnight Poetry

Midnight Poetry

Desire takes me to a galaxy of stars,
newborns, not yet named,
and I can only hover in waiting.

Desire guides me down a mountain
landscaped with still-life moments
I’ve nearly forgotten; my brow collages
with a sweaty yearning I cannot control.

Desire refuses to allow me to stop
on my journey to fall into an abyss
of grief, a bier of stones rises from the pit
of my stomach to lodge in my drybed throat,
choking me.

Desire drives me to you, pulls over
at the curb and throws me to the street.
I crawl to your door, pound to let me in,
let me be all that you need, one more chance,
but your chilling indifference sends me back
to the stars, calling me to name them after you.

~ J R Turek
June 27, 2021 Hour 23

 

(Hour 17 of 24) “into the unknown”

this long road ahead

presents opportunity

I leave all behind

 

© 2021 S Phua

Self-Portrait

Baseball: The Surrogate Father

 

Baseball is a surrogate father.

Every piece of advice

which I expound to my children –

that goes in one ear and out the other –

gets reinforced

every Saturday

for three hours

on the baseball diamond

after the umpire calls,

“Play ball!”

 

As I stand at the fence

and shovel peanuts into my mouth,

I can hear Terrance Mann whisper,

“The movie got it wrong, you know.”

I nod my head in agreement and reply to no one,

“Don’t need to build it, kids will play anywhere.”

Together we blurt out,

“And the parents will drive them! Fools!”

 

After the fat lady finally sings,

we stop at 7-Eleven for a Slurpie

before making our way home.

 

After replaying the game

for mom,

I have a date

washing the kid’s uniforms

knowing I’m never, ever

getting those grass stains

out of the knees.

 

I just hope my children

remember

both

the joy and frustration

this game has taught them

about life

as they grow old.

Cheesy treats | Surya T | Poetry Marathon Poem 23

Cheese puffs, cheese balls, and nachos with cheese
Cheese spread, cheese slices, and cheese blocks
Cheesy garlic bread, and pizza with cheese burst
Mac & cheese, cheesy pasta, and string cheese
Mozzarella, shredded, and cheddar
O, the many variants in which you exist.
Never have I had a scrumptious meal without you in it!

–Surya T