• Life,  Poetry

    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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  • Poetry

    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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  • Poetry

    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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