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Friday Poetry for 15 December 2017
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Another from the deep vault, the date on this silly piece, according to the original file, is 02 November 1999, and it concerns possibly the greatest food ever created, pizza. Once, years before this poem, while a university student, I ate pizza for twenty-three (that’s 23) consecutive meals. Oh, not all from the same pizzeria, and not all with the same toppings, and not all at the same temperature. It is, it is, a glorious thing to be the pizza king.
Ah, pizza
Food of the gods
But no other food
Puts more people at odds
Anchovies, sausages
Mushrooms and cheese
Onions, green peppers
Pineapple, chick peas
Toppings galore
A list without end
How to decide
Between you and a friend
Tomatoes and ham
Ground beef, pepperoni
Baked in an oven
On a platter that’s stony
Or perhaps in a pan
Or a hot barbecue
One thing about pizza
There’s no limit for you
To cook or to slice
In sauce or in spice
The food of the gods
Is never the same twice
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Friday Poetry for 08 December 2017
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From the vault. The note in the original file is that it’s on the occasion of my almost ten-month-old son’s third cold. He’ll be turning 19 shortly.
Few things shake your soul
Like a baby with a cold
Pick me up, put me down
Turn me over, turn me around
Go away, come here, go away
No, wait, I want you to stay
I’m tired, can’t sleep
I’m hungry, won’t eat
I’m thirsty, won’t drink
Just pour the milk down the sink
Short naps in the bed
Rub my tummy, rub my head
Daddy’s tired, needs a rest
Mama-mama (likes her best)
Cry and scream, scream and cry
Daddy needs a quiet place to lie
Mommy’s home, at last, at last
Pass the baby, quickly, fast
Daddy sits and sighs, he’s rather glad
Then comes the scream, I want my dad!
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Friday Poetry – A Blank Verse Sonnet
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Tell me again how there’s no global warming.
Oh right, we’re supposed to say climate change.
I see, it was cold where you are today,
And god is taking care of everything.
Sorry? It’s warm and it’s supposed to be?
Well, of course, you must still be correct then.
What difference a few billion humans,
A few thousand years of shaping the world?
Isn’t it nice to live consequence-free
And know nothing you do really matters?
Your kids will inherit the same old world,
Still turning the same as it always has.
But if you’re wrong, maybe clean up a bit?
Or at least try not to shit where we eat?
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You Were Expecting Something About Bad Luck?