Poetry competition CLOSED 15th July 2017 7:37pm
Vee (Rina)
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RUNNERS-UP: David_Macleod and KublaiSwan


I Love Spaghetti

poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

Write a creative poem about eating spaghetti...simple, huh?
Please describe the fine art or not so fine art of eating spaghetti. It really doesn't matter what kind of spaghetti you like...just write about how you eat it.  If you don't like spaghetti then please don't participate. I do not want to make you sick, especially if you are allergic to spaghetti.

Not too hard, is it? Write on you poetic spaghetti eaters!!! Yum.

Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 23rd June 2017
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Spaghetti is that noble food
When times are tough and walking nude
Throughout the house cause laundry's broken
& Verily these words are spoken:
"Man, I got no money, Rasta"
ALAS we have delicious pasta!
Cook and boil tendrils toil
Round and round the heating pot
Bubble nicely, add some spicy
& let it cool! Spaghetti's hot!
Yummy, now we needs make sauces
Spicy garlic always causes
Us to say "excuse me, boss is
it okay to cut my losses?"
The meatballs got me running wild
Fast! The toilet seat is filed!

"Little less spicy, next time, Rasta"

Alas, Spaghetti's still my pasta

Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 3rd Feb 2014
Forum Posts: 1873

I refuse to write a poem
About spaghetti
I can find more important
Things to do to pasta time
So don't pesto me
And pizza me alone

poet Anonymous

<< post removed >>
Tyrant of Words
United Kingdom
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Joined 5th Nov 2014
Forum Posts: 2983


I donít like Sagetti I said
Itís spaghetti mum said
I know, but I donít like Sagetti I said
And without supper I was sent to bed

I donít like Macaroni I said
But itís just like thick short spaghetti mum said
I know, bit I donít like Sagetti, I said
Another night, no supper, straight to bed

I donít like Tagliatelle I said
But itís spaghetti that is flattened mum said
But I donít like Sagetti thatís been flattened I said
Yet another night, no supper, straight to bed

I like Dinosaur pasta I said
But thatís just like spaghetti mum said
No! cause it looks like dinosaurs I said
That night, for being cheeky, straight to bed

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Through Good and Tough Times

When times are good, when times are tough,
Or when I find I didnít have enough,
And there is too much month at the end of my money,
I rely on the frugal dinners of spaghetti and sauce,
A gourmet feast fit for a king or a boss,
It always does the job and fills up my tummy.

Even in those times when Iím not on a budget,
I still will make it, I still wonít budge it,
Itís a meal that's quick and easy for the family,
On a regular schedule it makes the menu,
Whether at home or at a diner, whatever the venue,
I wonít complain, I always eat happily.

And though at times Iíve been unable to get it right,
When the noodles are too soggy at first bite,
I prefer them al dente just because itís so delicious,
I donít care about carbs or all that other stuff,
I still prefer them even when times arenít tough,
No matter what, I always find my spaghetti so nutritious.

Thought Provoker
United States
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Eating Spaghetti

Eyes ever twinkling
And bright smile wide with only
Two bottom teeth showing
I laugh
Not at you but with, as you
Grab noodles by the fist full
Smashing them in your
Pudgy cheeks
A swallow them whole
Grabbing more and rubbing them in ur
Hair-my God girl! There's noodles
Thrown on the floor- between ur toes
Tumbling out of your diaper
I laugh again-till tears down my cheeks roll
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Written by Afroqn73
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Tyrant of Words
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The Art of Manteí (The long lost cousin of Tortellini)

There are oodles of noodles in every culture with flavors and textures as unique as our skin and fingerprints with all shapes and sizes but the only one that warms my heart and soul is Manteí. † †  
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I remember sitting in my grandmotherís small kitchen surrounded by my aunts and my mother watching my Nana knead the dough for which seemed like hours ítil it was supple, soft and smooth. †She would smack the dough on the floured board few times with her trembling hands and then place the sign of the cross murmuring something with her eyes closed, covering it with a cotton dishcloth to rest. † †  
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My mother would start preparing the stuffing, mincing onion into ground lamb then sprinkling with 7 spices: a mix of black pepper, cloves, cumin, nutmeg, cardamom, cinnamon and paprika into the red meat, blending in the complexity of the spices into smooth paste. † †  
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The aroma would fill the small room while everyone waited for the dough to rise, drinking coffee from small china cups, then inverting for fortune readings. †My aunt would start with a long pause staring in the cup calculating every angle and possibilities while we all waited in silence and suspense. †I always wondered where she had learned to predict so efficiently, turning the cup clockwise then counterclockwise, announcing some good news, a wedding, or tragedy to happen in 3 days or 3 months or 3 years she was never sure of the span of time but she would speak of a number 3 so confidently that I wished I could attend the university where such wonderful magical knowledge bestowed on impressionable minds. † † †
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Nana would start rolling the dough and I'd watch it expand thin, thinner covering the whole table from edge to edge touching my fingers. †Tempting me with sweet smelling yeast, †I'd pinch a small piece, placing it in mouth to taste the rawness of the earth.†††  
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She would catch me in the corner of her eye and smile, cutting the dough into small squares and we'd gather around the table again, methodically placing the stuffing in the dough and pinching the edges like little boats, †placing them around and around in a circle in a pan, as all things in life circling one another; planets and moons around the sun, and we gathering around Nana. † † †
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The traditions continue passing on from trembling hands to younger eager hands. †Ladeling into bowls floating Mante with tomato broth, warming up hearts and souls. †Each adding their own unique touch to Nanaís recipe of love with honor and respect. † †
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Note: Photo taken by me. † †
Food in the picture, also my own masterpiece.
Written by Vee (Rina)
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poet Anonymous

It's going to be a tough decision...all good entries thus far! How 'bout some organic noodles? Come on you spaghetti eaters...cook me up some more pasta poetry!!! It's yummy up in here & I'm hungry for some more noodles....there's still time...

Lost Thinker
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Joined 3rd July 2017
Forum Posts: 48

i like spaghetti,
but after we stared into our
own reflection for
far too long,
he handed us
our microwaved
school cafeteria grade
noodles and sauce.
they looked like
sad, thin worms
in a pool of grainy blood.
i pushed the sad worms
around with my
barely clean fork,
eating a small portion
but only because i was hungry,
lengthy, bloodied worms,
slithering down my throat
good-bye, twenty-five dollars.
good-bye, hope.
nobody can even make
quality spaghetti.

poet Anonymous

I'm a bit hungry....a winner soon!!!

Tyrant of Words
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Forum Posts: 3005

Monsieur Messier with all these delicious oodles of noodles to choose from you had a tough job I'm sure and my Nana would be very proud right now. †Congratz to David and Kublai.
Anni, amori' e bicchieri de vino, nun'se contento mai..Salute'!!

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