goulash

beef
green cabbage- sliced small
onions- two big ones
celery- a few stalks
caned tomatoes. 
garlic
sause- jar
peperika- teaspoon
elbow noodles
salt and pepper
parlsey
grated Parmesan


 also consider using italian sausage with the beef

Gold media

Yellow aggravated fists of rain like palm tree's without thoroughfare.  Aggression escaped in front of the sky with clouds of smoke lamenting anticipation.  Traced to a halt, the desire to dance opened up fruit stands with church isles. 

Your famous

A bunch of muddy cluck cluck boots
People doing stand up on life rafts
There was no water and he was made of mud
Sliced like a turkey, the passengers were told of the exit sign
The recording should have been daunting
You should have needed the attraction

The big guy

The clothes are straight off the line.

The animal is wide enough to fit a car. 
The thumb tacks make Nazi speakers dissolve.

The friend list, A bunch of cynical terrorists.

Help is a radiant vision of laughter parting the seams of a 

broken ladder. 

Translation

The slide burped a cooler that antiquated footsteps.  Grown arms traveled like wasted space before shelter.  The picnic table was removed for a blanket fort,  a collection of potato chip bags lubricated family members.  The ingredients of outer space planted razor sharp chains of light. The spirit of man, demolished over carrying an umbrella.  

Magic mud

The piñata was a vast universe of hula hoops, with no notes taken, i was on the receiving end of a shower full of candy.  It was a bunch of unfamiliar brands feverishly answering the call, yellow, black, red;  each one a new translation of outburst. And like major leaguers we all stood apart but with ordinary colors and no uniform. The branch could have held everyones arm at the time but it had mine. I was drowning in enjoyment as each swing came so close to shortening my reach.

   The roots of the tree navigated a frenzy of heads like alligators in a mosh pit.  Was the blind fold the source of confusion or perhaps the anticipation of not having anything left? They put me in charge of ridicule and my actions were appropriate, tug the rope up, tug the rope down.  As enthusiastic as probable rope burn could be, i figured that it was better to have something to hold on to then be the responsible adult telling the children not to swing so hard. Candy fell from the sky while friends circumvented without shoes. The tree still yearns for that sweet sugar mud.

Chance

I am simply a tree that has been transplanted location to location in order to bear fruit. The indecisive nature of the sun’s rays is your shovel and my pants are wet because you have not noticed how root bound I am.  With each hole you place me in there is a chance for complete disaster. But I succeed because your knowledgeable of climates and fertilizer. 

It is my responsibility to grow hearty leaves and branches towards the sun.  Questioning my direction and drawing conclusions about the nature of my outreach is something your inexperienced in. Your job is to keep people off the branches.  There have been instances where you have failed me and they were broken.  You tried to solve this issue by putting up a fence but that only blocked out photosynthesis. With no concern for broken branches your lazy rope swing like mind succeeds in eating fruit but has no need to follow the path of the sun.

I took one of my branches, you know  the one you wanted trimmed from several summers ago.  I gave your precious,  recently stained fence a peace of mind, SLAM with all the forces of nature behind me.

Now out of reach, the clouds disappeared beyond the permission of the sun.  The earth had been up rooted as fence posts laughed at their intention. The new arrival of photosynthesis seemed to accelerate time towards its normal collective.  My branches were only a copy of some previous direction and they made excuses for what they saw as a location. Mounds of fertilizer and beyond that fields of trees with missing branches. I was the only one alive.