Hey, in all seriousness now... have you ever had breakfast in the morning, soft-boiled eggs on toast, for instance, and then when you were done eating them, you stared at the Abort-o-Carnage© on the plate and it reminded you of back when you were a kid and your mom would totally make you soft-boiled eggs for breakfast all the time, and more specifically, there was this one time when she made soft-boiled eggs for you and a bunch of your friends that had come over because their own mothers were not the kind of mothers that even made breakfast ever?Yeah, I know.
I think about this all the time, pretty much.
So I was staring at my plate and then I wrote a poem.
I will post it here, but also, I will add it to my poetry-page at Poetrypuddle.
Wishing you all a great, relaxing, Sunday!
Soft-Boiled Eggs
We love soft-boiled eggs.
All soft and all runny
All leaky and sunny
For breakfast for supper
With salt and with pupper.
We love them on toast.
At least one maybe three
And we tend to agree
That it really don’t matter
If the toast has much batter.
Please make us some more.
We have not had enough
Of soft-boiled-y stuff
And then me and my pals
Will dispose of the shalls.
© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006
*********
9 comments:
I HATE soft-boiled eggs. My eggs have got to be rock solid hard, either when boiled or fried. Any bit of runniness and my stomach lurches. Icky-poo.
Hmmm... I don't recall inviting too many kids over for breakfast, or eating breakfast at some other kid's house, unless I slept over. Egss was kind of a weekend meal for us kids; during the week it was cold cereal or oatmeal or red river cereal smothered in brown suger.
Why am I telling you this?
Anyway. Cute poem!
Why are you telling me this?
Because today is International "Discuss What Kind of Morning-Food You Eat" Day!
That is too funny though. I eat that Red River stuff too!
It's awesome. Like human birdseed!
Besides keeping me as "regular" as a bird, I've noticed that it does wonders for my plumage!
I have perfected the art of making it, even.
I went to this turn-of-the-century Millennium party, like you know... from 1999 to the year 2000? New Year's Eve, like.
Anyhoo, they handed out these gifts and trinkety things, and one was a tall shot glass and I took it home. Well, wouldn't you know it... if you fill this shot glass with hot water and pour this in a bowl and then fill a wee plastic Starbucks tester cup [which I keep in my Red River designated tupperware container] with the Red River birdseed, and add a pinch of salt and put this all in the microwave for five minutes, and then when it's done, slather it with REAL Canadian maple-syrup that you bought down in the Market from the actual French people that own the trees and all, and then [of course] add milk.... well, you've got the perfect Red River breakfast.
Happy International DWKOM-FYE Day to you, Patricia!
Oh dear, s william, that's too bad. We were not allowed sweet cereals very often as kids, so whenever we (rarely) got them, it was a real treat! (In fact as an adult, every now and then I'll splurge and buy Captain Crunch, eat two bowls of the stuff and then feel royally sick).
Hey Cip, sometimes my mom would fry us up kippers for weekend breakfasts. Did you ever have those? I used to LOVE to eat the hard crunchy fish eyeballs. I'm not kidding. No one else could stomach that part of the fish, so I'd get everyone to pass their eyeballs to me. Yummmmm...
Patricia, I am going to go to work now, after eating a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, and I am going to NOT believe that you used to eat a bowl of Kipper-Eyeball-E-O's for breakfast.
No, it cannot be true.
Surely you are grandstanding here!
I thought there was even laws against this eyeball eating thing!
I'm with you "s william" [hey, interestingly enough, I am currently reading a biography of your corollary namesake, the one and only "william s"]... but yeah! Eating eyeballs of any kind, much less fish ones, does not appeal to me.
That's Fear Factor© stuff man!
I'll stick to birdseed and eggs.
And Patricia, all day I have been thinking that you are retarded, and then on the way home from work, the old Supertramp song "Breakfast In America" comes on the radio, the second verse of which pleads:
"Could we have kippers for breakfast Mummy dear, Mummy
dear. They got to have ´em in Texas... 'Cuz everyone's
a millionaire."
And I laughed.
[And I STILL think you are retarded though!]
Ha ha. You could be right. Must be because of all those darn kippers years ago! And I remember that Supertramp song! So long ago.... just like those kippers..
But really, if I was offered crunchy fish eyes now, I'd probably still eat them. In FACT, a few years back I was at my husband's half-brother's wedding, and he married into a Chinese family, and they served a whole slew of things that were quite bizarre, and when they served the chicken, there was even the full chicken head on the plate. And.... I ATE IT!!! (minus the beak, of course). Wasn't bad. The whole Chinese family was very impressed with me. I confess that my motto is "I will eat just about anything....ONCE."
Now I've heard it all.
And I don't care, beak or no beak, you are some kind of gastronomic Houdini.
I would have so hurled.
Are you sure you are hooked up right?
I confess that even the hubby was shocked at the chicken head thing. Every now and then he'll bring it up (the story, not the chicken head) just as a "I can't believe you did that" kind of thing.
Ummm... he's probably got a few of those kind of stories tucked away, to use as ammunition...
Still on the subject of food, but back to poetry, I will leave you with this silly poem I wrote many years ago. It's about a time when I was a kid that I ate a crapload of pancakes (yes, I LOVE pancakes. No wonder I was a chubby kid, and battle my weight now!)
Patricia ate fourteen pancakes
One-Two-Splickity-Lick!
Patricia ate fourteen pancakes
(I think she's feeling sick)
Patricia ate fourteen pancakes
While sailing on the Humber
I do not think that fourteen is
Patricia's favourite number.
Patrica, that's quite the feat. 14 pancakes.
When I was a kid my friend Al got one of those total cheapo tin frying pan sort of camping sets and so he and I set out to fry eggs with it.
I ate 18 fried eggs.
He ate 16.
Till today, I don't know where we GOT them all, but we did, and we fried 'em.
And ever since then I've had this wild urge to sit on fences real early in the morning, and scream.
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