Spicy Is Dicey
But some like it hot
There are those who cannot get their food spicy enough. It may be a cultural thing where the food they were raised on is smoking hot and they have acquired a taste for it. And then there are adventurous eaters who love Mexican, Indian, Szechuan and other foods loaded with fiery peppers. But if you like your food high on the Scoville scale you have to be prepared for seismic gastro-intestinal reactions and volcanic repercussions.
If it’s spicy food you desire,
You know farting is going to transpire.
If the entrance is burning,
Your gut will be churning…
And the exit is gonna be on fire!
About the Creator
Joel Kravitz The Limerick Guy
I am a humorist who writes short poems and mostly limericks. The purpose of my poetry is to put a smile on people’s faces.
Smiles and Laughter are what I am after because those are both wonderful things.
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More stories from Joel Kravitz The Limerick Guy and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Collection of Thanksgiving Thoughts and Limericks and a Poem
Thanksgiving is around the corner. It is a food and family festival extravaganza in America. The grocery stores are locked and loaded. There are lots of places that offer prepared Thanksgiving dinners. And, for those who want to forgo cooking and cleaning and catering to relatives that they have to pretend to like, there are many restaurants that will be serving Thanksgiving dinners. I have exercised this option successfully many times and had some exceptional Thanksgiving dinners. Had my fill, paid the bill and then went home to watch football and chill.
By Joel Kravitz The Limerick Guyabout a year ago in Poets
Upon waves' break
Staring blankly through savage waves, breaking upon worn jettied rocks. On tired tongue a salty taste, taunting spray portraits your face, In cursed thoughts, your voice mocks: "Be a man, real men don't break." Yet here stands "less than a man" poised atop crested wave. Turbulent undertows of mounted lies. Saltwater stings tear prickled eyes. Wash away by ferocious tide. Dragged out, adrift vast open ocean, Weathered driftwood, debris, discarded notions. Softly spoken lies echo through tortured mind's hell. Floating aimlessly at rhythmic water's swell. Day fades away with night, light brings day again. Cast upon discarded's land, silk fine grain white sand, Strewn together gifts of sea, randomly along the beach. Feelings return slowly, cracked open eyes. Sudden streak across the sky, fiery tail cuts black of night. Dissociation breaks to hope in light. Countless stars shine through space and time. Filling empty space..... in time.
By Ho-made media4 days ago in Poets
The Devil's Triangle
The sails ruffled in the breeze as we cruised along. The Sea Breeze was a mid-size catamaran that sailed out of Royal Naval Dockyard in Bermuda. We had booked this trip weeks in advance and were now looking at our Captain, Spike and two boat hands. Paddy and Wilson seemed like nice guys, joking around with the passengers and telling us some stories about Bermuda that only locals would know. Their island accents sounded almost British but they were pleasant to listen to.
By Barbara Gode Wiles7 days ago in Fiction
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