ramblings and things

1,019,945 poems read



She stands there an almost

Mad look in her eyes

Quickly replaced by one 

Of pleasure and  surprise.

They place a dish before her, 

Not food really, more a work of art

And she and her co presenter 

Knife and fork it apart.


A slice or two of beef,

Just this side of raw,

Two or three bits of carrot

I swear not many more,

With odds and sods, 

Bits of sour and sweet, 

Outlined with a smear

Of a Jus made from beet.


They roll their eyes

In an ecstacy of taste

Mop up the lot so none

Will go to waste.

Now I don’t need telling

That I’m just a peasant prat

But if thats Haute Cuisine

I’d rather eat my bloody hat..

Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem