Cocooned in Time, at this inhuman height,
The packaged food tastes neutrally of clay.
We never seem to catch the running day
But travel on in everlasting night . . .

John Betjeman

Ode to an awful airline meal


The kids are asleep /
We drink white wine together /
Watching the TV

by Tim (Sydney, Australia)

I come with no wrapping or pretty pink bows.
I am who I am from my head to my toes.
I tend to get loud when speaking my mind.
Even a little crazy some of the time.
I’m not a size 5 and don’t care to be.
You can be you and I can be me.
I try to stay strong when pain knocks me down.
And the times that I cry is when no ones around.
To error is human or so that’s what they say.
Well tell me who’s perfect any damn way.

Family Friend Poems


Tastes like barnyard
I say obviously bad
You say its complex

Funny Wine Haikus

Fred’s Preamble

by Ted Akos

A simple line can be
Laced into written words
To have sides, parts
And unforeseen dimensions
And opposing comprehensions
Implacable dissentions
Not to mention Umbrage….
To instigate these thoughts.
Judge them, then,
Or me
And make a gamble on
What is behind this preamble.

What? you ask
What is a calabash?
A calabash is so round
It has a hundred sides
Or one, if that’s the case.
Call it pretty
Cute or
Not poetically astute.
But who’s a poet every day?

What calabash could echo as a hole
The words met out on every occasion
Each persuasion
Of a round knobby fruit.
But it’s not a fruit
(Fred would say)
But an addlepated animal
Who’s fuzzy wuzzy tale
Sets off its head.
What rubbish! What confusion!
An abominable intrusion
On this guy (you’ll see)
This Frederick
A calabanic calabash in angelic reverie..


Fella goes into his favorite deli where the waiter immediately brings him a bowl of matzo ball soup. The customer signals the waiter to come back.

Taste the soup!” he commands.

“Why?” inquires the surprised waiter.

“Taste the soup!” comes the reply.

“Max, you’ve been coming in here every day for ten years. There’s never been anything wrong with the soup.”

“Taste the soup!”

“What’s wrong, too much salt–not enough salt?”

“Taste the soup!”

“What, the matzo balls aren’t fluffy enough for you?”


The waiter finally agrees, “All right all right, I’ll taste the soup! Where’s the spoon?”

“A-HA!” chortles Max.

Daily Haiku – Bread

July 13, 2014

Haiku for Bread

Don’t char me again –
I never wanted a tan
in your toaster-box.

Mary Perth