Scrumptious Sonnets

Posted on Apr 30 2014


They sold me, right after I cooked, because my smell
To them seemed piquant and delicious in the air
That aroma slowly wafting everywhere
With its warm succulent fragrance casting a spell
All around until no nose would have a nostril
That had not had its nasal passages stirred.
Then its neural receptors in the grey matter
Sent everyone a most mouth watering message
From me. Pile those hot dogs high on a platter.
But this boiled world is not my only visage.
Indeed one might say, This Frankfurter sometimes frys,
I should acknowledge my Viennese heritage
And love of Italian-Polish sausage allies
Perhaps, once, with sweet relish, I dreamed of mustard.


Kernels! Kernels! Frying hot
In the bottom of the pot,
What helping hand or eye would stop
You and others from starting to pop?

What distant field or garden meadow
Grew the cobs on which you grow?
On what stalk in late July
Which plant plucked? Which ripe to try?

And what popper and which pan
Brings pops and kicks like Jackie Chan?
And what extremes of heat explode
A bag of popcorn ala mode?

Kernels, kernels keep on popping open
We love to taste your insides when broken


When ripe watermelon bursts its rind
And juicy red flesh can be seen
All the fruits of summer come to mind
And watermelon is the Queen
The crowning glory of any picnic
Just what every barbecue needs
Thump for ripeness to get the right pick
Have fun, spitting out all the seeds


When you plant your feet on the fast food floor
You’ll find fat food from door to door
If morbid obesity you despise
Stay away from burgers and fries
To not get fat just put on the brakes
Stay away from pies and shakes
As with drugs you can just say no
Start walking fast and the weight will go


Custard inside Boston cream pies
A target for blue bottleneck flies
Dead wasps inside the pastry shell
Don’t change the sweet delicious smell
Took a bite from a chocolate eclair
And found a two inch cockroach inside there
Though my delight in pastry did dissipate
All that pie and ice cream kept on the weight

*after Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s The Arrow & the Song

I threw some dough into the air
It fell back down onto my hair
Trying to look like pizza pros
Got yeasty gobs on all my clothes
Rapping freestyle with an old friend
I didn’t quite know when to end
My mouth did run , my lips did flap
Rant and rhyme, ridiculous rap
With more practice and sleight of hand
Pizza dough landed in the pan
And the rap at last found an end
Straight out the mouth of my old friend


Why do I cook? What dish to me unknown
Fried in a pan with a batter homegrown?
As yet an uncooked spicy recipe,
I add chopped nuts, put on a pot of tea.
I leave no room for error in fried cakes,
No eggs unbroken, no cooking mistakes.
The cruller served and dunked in a coffee cup,
Rolled in powdered sugar, eaten right up…


“Who ate the pepperoni pizza?”
“I” said Joey Connolly,
“ the whole thing by me only
now I smile like Mona Lisa.”

Jun Dayao Dayao
This post is published under the Contributing Author. He/she does not normally work for Saipan Tribune but contributes for a specific topic or series.

Related Posts

Disclaimer: Comments are moderated. They will not appear immediately or even on the same day. Comments should be related to the topic. Off-topic comments would be deleted. Profanities are not allowed. Comments that are potentially libelous, inflammatory, or slanderous would be deleted.