Best Boil Over Poems
My love for all on Poetry Soup
like a tasty broth group.
Cook and stir
* 2 pounds lean Lebanon ground
in Dutch oven over medium-high heat,
breaking the Lebanon meat up as it cooks,
until all is no longer pink and has
started to brown, about 10 minutes.
Stir in the
* 2 Canada onions, chopped
* 3 United Kingdom garlic cloves, chopped
and cook for another 1o minutes
Stir in
* 3 cups Africa water
* 2 (15 ounce) United States cans tomato sauce
* 2 (14.5 ounce) cans India diced tomatoes
* 3 tablespoons Isle Of Man soy sauce
* 2 tablespoons dried Italian herb seasoning
* 3 Philippines bay leaves
* 1 tablespoon seasoned Bangladesh salt, or to taste
and bring to a boil over medium heat.
Stir
* 2 cups uncooked elbow Australia macaroni,
cover, and simmer over low heat until the pasta is tender,
about 25 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Poets with golden ink and pens
that make us move forward as friends
with inspiration, kindness, and honesty,
encouragement and compliments.
A small act of caring, which has the potential
to turn a life around.
I thank each and everyone of you far and near.
3/14/2022
Like a tsunami from the ocean
I want to churn everything, inside out
But rue the fact that,
Like a bubble in the air
Have to be content with only
Being fidgety inside myself.
When the rocks try to stop
The natural flow of river, downwards
Even the transparent water, gets bloodied,
Breaking its head on the rocks,
I can feel its squirming and quibbling
But can remain only a mute spectator.
Whenever I feel oppressed, in any form
My heart seethes and fumes
My blood Inside tends to boil over
Only to become cold again, why?
Perhaps it is not in my nature to retaliate,
Then, am I condemned remaining wounded, perpetually?
Unable to do much about oppressive relations,
I pine away with my grief
Only wishing I could also free myself
And others of the oppression and the pain it inflicts
And enjoy the happiness and freedom
endowed by nature, in relations.
But looking at nature’s infinite vastness, where
Despite tight bonding and discipline in every bit
All relationships out there enjoy
Innate freedom, harmony and fairness
Then Wounds inflicted by the experience of oppression,
Fill me with jealousy and pain even harder and deeper.
Hope is life, maybe quite dreamlike
The change, which would destroy
the current forms of oppressions
and build relationships, free and fair, anew
seems to be a far cry, as of now.
the volcanoes are also destined to remain
dormant inside, for centuries, before they erupt.
Self Translation of my Hindi poem 'Parivartan'
a thin red veil
colours my perspective
pots boil over
A soup so delightful
Yet to such a waste
All that cooking
Standing by the stove
Making sure the temperature was just right
Adding all the right spices
- A little salt and pepper, some lemon squeeze, just a hint of chili and a spoon full of love
Stirring carefully, making sure it didn't boil over
Humming your favorite tune while preparing
Personalized with all the ingredients you prefer
Poured it into you favorite bowl, the yellow one (your favorite color)
Served it to you with fresh basil and a kiss on your cheek
You smile and say:
"Thanx, but I'm not very hungry right now"
The pedestrian kettle steams on to the Capitol pyre
With a weight watcher tonic; more lean legislators to sire
The Grand Old Party a taste of the aromatic brew doth require
Medicinal tonic blended to alleviate bloating gout of every Democratic squire
Preferring their watered-down, generic brand, constipated digestive tracts go haywire
The savy financiers sit on the sidelines in their cozy markets ignoring the taste test flier
The partisan grit clogs the filter producing a quagmire
The vitriolic ingredients boil over causing a rancid fire
The billowing smoke rises and streams to the patrician choir
The generic master brewer in his white house stews in the demagogic mire
Commercial winds sweep in fanning the flames causing the heat to reach dome's spire
The regurgitated grounds spewed forth to every intoxicated shire
Democratic gainsayers scare the elderly that the side effects are so dire
The rest of the squeamish plebians in their depleted hovels continue to sip their Common Roast with ire
Accents blending in the air. Southern drawl slowly mixing with Caribbean beats,,
Until the energy of the Harlem Renaissance tops it all off.
"We don't like you." Says the wind to the teenage girl.
"You have to much mixture,to much blend. You don't fit into any boxes."
says the rain drop.
"Change, cut two mixtures or else." threatens the lightning.
But to cut even one would leave her vulnerable to all elements. She needed
her full foundation.
"We don't like you." says the wind again.
"I don't care." says the girl.
"You will." roared the thunder.
The blend bubbled inside of her but didn't boil over. It went to slow simmer.
She smiled in calmness not anger.
"At least you dislike me, not a cheap imitation of someone else." says the girl.
Then the sun stood up.
"Leave her alone. She is my real gem." says the sun.
The sun brightened the sky above her head.
It brews
With the first arc of the sunlight
That lifts the sweltering night
It brews
Without a single cloud to offer comfort
The thick still air
Only grows heavier
A weight you can see on the leaves of the trees
As they fold to the oppression
Hot like a wet tea bag
A solid mass you can feel on your skin
Pressing on lungs scrounging for oxygen
It brews
Quietly
Patiently
Come afternoon
The mercury peaks
Clouds out of nowhere
Swiftly boil over
Liquid silver turns to slate
As a wall of wind slams into the city
With rain pounding in waves
Hailstones thrashing
And lightening bolts flashing
The trees are left praying on their knees
A moment of relief
And then it is gone
The clouds clearing out like a shift change
Sun back on duty
In a matter of minutes the streets are dry
And the air is again steeped
It is as if nothing happened
Save a few fallen trees
Composed for Brenda Chiri's
Describe a thunderstorm without the sense of sound.
Eyes dry, I look out at THEM. They crawl in the dirt with a trail of tears shedding like a
long haired dog's coat in the summer time.
Anger build up inside of me as I watch THEM.
THEY are the women children of this world.
Searching.
Begging.
Longing.
They want to be loved.
No. These poor creatures do not know what love is. They know of pain.
They know of rising waves and riptides of anger and desperation,
but not love.
To find this treasure that they have heard about their entire life they change.
Change like the leaves on a tree. With every man that comes their way the colors change.
Green.
Orange.
Yellow.
Red.
Brown.
Bare.
I hate the sight of them. They sicken me. Why?
Once upon a time I was one of THEM.
Once upon a time I was lost too.
That person is dead now.
Now I have the skin of an Indian woman, but my heart remains soft.
Looking for happiness, these women children turn to him,
the one that brings nothing but pain. Their Frogs they try so hard to keep on their lily
pads. He swims off to the next one when he wants to get his feet wet.
Yes. My skin has grown tough, but my heart remains soft. He will not take that from me.
I stand strong and proud. May the fierceness in my soul boil over and illuminate the
passion that is me! I hold my head high and walk out of my house knowing.
I have that. I know that everything I have been through.
Every trial.
Every lie.
Every mistake.
Every tear.
Every scar.
Every rumor.
Every hurtful thing.
Every careless word.
Every scream.
Every man...
has made me what I am today.
May the light shine on my face as these tear tracked cheeks raise with smile. May the
strength within me help the others around me. For I know what I am.
I AM A WOMAN. Proud and Free.
This world is ours
If we put our heads together thats cleverer
The Media pins the masses down like wrestlers
Biased to the westerner
Showing of the worst of Africa
Reporting Ebola to Malaria
But missing out the beauty
with intentional duty
Recording wars and mass hysteria
They show the poor with bowls on the floor beggin like Oliver
Like they are unlucky
BBC stands for Blacks Built this Country
ITV stands for I Try Very hard to keep propaganda out of my yard
Scaring us because
To them a revolution would be scarier
They want our melting pot to boil over
Putting us in the middle like Moldova
Controlling tax paying dogs
Different breeds of terrier
Groundhog day, CD skips, Playback Error
Same phrase everyday 'War On Terror'
They want to fight a word
They must think i'm dumber than i am
They have transparency in their NWO plans
Young Ukrainians dying by Russian hands
The Kremlin is too deep into the elitist pockets
Who are we to understand?
What reasons ring true for invading neighbouring lands
All we see is the devastation of the bombs after they land
War all over our world
I don't need a revelation verse to see
Your better with a Holy book than TOWIE on the TV
Move Teflon minded take nothing literally
Believe half of what you hear... none of what you see
They fly bombs over seas for war creates a sea of cash that we never see
Billions of dead bodies floating in the sea from past War
Through the eyes of the World i see misery
As the media work for the Elite
And graciously **** you and me
Kirk Jones
Don't stop the CHOP
dash the glorious bits of foam and froth
let the leeward side fill
let the fertile delta pray
for mercy from Poseidon
All hail the storm God...
Angry, black-and-blue, bruise
the coast, claim the futile calm...
meditate on the black hole of the abyss
Can’t STOP the chop…
Brash and brazen tentacle of DOOM
destruction stirs the devil’s cauldron
Watch the witches brew boil over the
capes of man
removing the zen garden
prissiness of the pandering fools
Batten DOWN the hatches boys
There BE a BLOW on ‘er…
ships flail like paper boats
RALE against the dieing, FIGHT
Ride the crest on boards LIVE the fright!
Love
Or hate
A feeling of
Burning, blazing mortal devotion
Almost ready to boil over,
Run wildly free for eternity galore
And scar all in its ruthless path
Like a torched fire of emotion
Taking over mindless, passionate fools
With a taste of
Love or hate
Or both
Intertwined
Across Realms
Across vast realms
Where clouds collide
Like scarred chariots
In rush hour traffic
Storms boil over
Fed by fiery wombs of dawn’s inferno
With flames of sunrise fire,
As thrashing rain
Plants rainbow seeds
In metaphoric soils
To harvest far flung sunbows
From cerulean fields.
Sun and storm wedded
Hopefulness
Whispers
A haunting covenant
Drenched by hues of hope
Shielded by the sun.
Binding misty edges
Of edgeless domains
Revelations
In beatific splendor soar
Kaleidoscopic pergolas
Highlight sky bound wings
Tinted by ethereal arches
When shimmering puddles
Unfold across Heaven’s doorstep
Across realms
Bathed in mystic grandeur.
5-2-23
Contest: This or That
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Theme Chosen: Across Realms
She was a ticking time bomb.
Ready to explode at any moment.
Her temper was ready to boil over,
at any given time.
People could see her coming.
And then one day it was too late.
She exploded! The time bomb went off.
And we never heard the end of it.
She shouted at everybody.
She screamed at the top of her lungs.
She was a ticking time bomb.
And she exploded!
Boom! The bomb went off.
Finally! The police were called in,
and they dragged her off to jail.
Nobody knew her name, and nobody
knew where she came from.
But everybody knew!
She was a ticking time bomb.
Ready to explode at any moment..
Society Poetry By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2003,2014..
ALL rights reserved..
Santa went out last night dressed as mutton.
Partied too much; was a real butt on.
Woke with aching hangover.
Mrs. Santa, boil-over,
Threaten to punch in his bellybutton.
You need to deliver the children's toys.
Or you'll ruin the joy for girls and boys.
Sleigh and reindeer are roundup,
Leave Before children wake-up.
Santa mumbled, stop making so much noise.
Feeling awful, asked, give me till sixer.
Mrs. Santa did mix an elixir.
Santa drank till he tossed up
His cookies and liquor sup.
Weak with sore belly, sobered up quicker.
12/7/2020
Never underestimate this opponent,
While he's busy rolling up his sleeves.
Though he looks like he isn't focused,
Soon you'll be falling to your knees.
I've watched him from a vague distance,
He visualizes every single, lethal blow.
In his mind's eye he quietly meditates,
Carefully strategizing how this fight'll go.
Like a pot about to boil over,
The rage deep inside him slowly grows.
He witnessed so much through horrific scenes,
A well kept secret no outsider knows.
He constantly replays this life's traumatic moments,
Holding back the painfully silent tears.
He'll never open up, to publically display,
Haunting memories inflicted over the years.
Although his mind and views are tainted,
Because of the situations beyond his control.
The Boxer's indestructible spirit is mighty,
Protecting his heart and shielding his soul.