My Mother Cooked A Mean Barley Soup


My mother as a cook was world renown
When she cooked, diners panicked and fled our town
In their need to survive
Tourism thrived
As tales of her cookery spread all around

My mother cooked a mean barley soup
That could make the hardiest of men droop
This liquid and barley
Was moms' soupy folly
From which its' imbiber could never recoup

Her barley soup is just one example
And can be viewed as the preamble
To my constitution
That her saline solution
Was so easily able to trample

Now don't misunderstand, mom's loved and still cherished
Though she cooked, like Custers last stand, I haven't perished
I was lucky to savor
Her non-cooking flavor
That lent spice to my life with her fondness I relished

by Stan Cooper...1/25/09 graphic by Don Hunt





Poetry by Stan Cooper The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 469 times
Written on 2009-01-28 at 18:35

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Phyllis J. Rhodes
Now that's what I call an original poem! We all know our moms are the best cooks in the world. This is the first I've heard that would send people skeedaddling at the first whiff. Well, I take that back, when I smelled a certain smell, I did want to bolt my mother's kitchen. Brains, every so often she would cook brains. No matter that her left overs were better than most peoples first overs, I could not be tempted, prodded or threatened enough to eat brains!
Loved this poem Stan.
2009-01-28