Best Glut Poems
They would ripen all at once
under a hot sun and hang
in a sugary glut only for a day
or two before starting to spoil.
I had to be quick and when
the time came,
I hurried home
from school to clamber up
the tree and seize
the fruit. Each was a warm,
engorged globe of flesh
with just a hint of give
when a finger was pressed
into skin.
No command,
not even from God,
could have held back a bite.
Mouthfuls of sweet peach
sent every pleasure bud
on the tongue into a spasm
and spilt the overload
oozing out of the corners
of stretched lips.
Great gulps
were hurried down the throat
to make room for another bite.
No savoring restraint held
me back, this was volume.
All afternoon
my face and hands
dripped a sticky syrup,
coating my shirt.
Finally I would have my fill
and sit bloated beneath
the tree surrounded
by peachstones some still
encased in leftovers
of pinkish flesh. Sorry evidence
to convict. Afterwards,
a terrible remorse always
took hold. Next day
I thought my stomach ache
was punishment from above.
Every year of my childhood,
in the heat of late summer,
I repeated the same sin,
suffered the same consequence,
hoped for forgiveness
from a wrathful God.
Categories:
glut, child, god, nostalgia, sin,
Form:
Free verse
Love is like a fire
It often expires
A comfort that revives
Your tender soul alive.
A blind joy soaring
The loveless signs ignoring
It rises high with freedom's grace
To spring a blush upon your face.
Love is sweet like antique wine
It breaks the fetters of loveless mind.
Love is loving all the time
Love is a spirit unconfined.
Love is a constant kindness
A joyful untamed madness.
Love jealous not
Or is a selfish glut.
Love is a divine quality
Expressed in purity!
Categories:
glut, love,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Leaves
See the leaf caught in the gale
On freedoms wind away does sail
Departed now, from the twigs
How brief, their existence is
Some are trapped within a rut
Some stick together in a glut
Some spend their days all alone
Others drift where they are blown
Some are destined to fly high
Some watch others passing by
Some stay firmly on the ground
Others just whirl round and round
Some are blown far away
Some near home, they will stay
Some from place to place do flutter
Others remain, in the gutter
Some find themselves on top of pile
Their purchase there is so fragile
Held aloft from underneath
By the strong and humblest leaf
Relying so on game of chance
Upon the breeze perform their dance
Everywhere the leaves are scattered
Along the way are torn and tattered
And when their journey comes to end
Back with the earth the leaves do blend
Making way for those to come
The colourful, glorious,
Next Autumn.
Categories:
glut, life,
Form:
Couplet
The neighborhood buffet boasted
fried chicken and biscuits, toasted,
creamy gravy, and smashed taters.
You can serve yourself, no waiters.
Into the long line you will strut
more than ready to fill your glut.
Bypass the green salads and soup;
run quickly, to the fried foods swoop
all you can eat for one price cheap.
Pile your plate high in one big heap.
If one plate full is not enough,
get back in line and your mouth stuff
with fried okra and sweet cornbread,
rice, beans, pasta, and liver spread.
Undo your belt a notch or two
so one more bite you can chew.
Desserts abound, cookies and cakes,
puddings, custards, tarts, and milk shakes.
Round out the meal with soft ice cream.
Maybe two cones won’t burst a seam.
You leave, with a bloated waist thick,
well-sated, and full as a tick.
Categories:
glut, food, health, self, simile,
Form:
Couplet
'Twas the night before Christmas, and ...
(THE REQUEST)
Reclining my hammock, very still
(Far too lax to persuade its swing)
I contemplate my Mai Tai's chill
And what I'll plead dear Santa bring ...
Hmmm ...
My hut, provisioned with all I need
Near enough, the white sand beach
A Tahitian wife - ravishing, indeed
An outdoor fridge within my reach ...
Big white towel, (perchance it rains)
iPhone charged and up-link fine
Fridge well-stocked to numb my pains
A seafood glut on which to dine ...
My greatest need, I have to say ...
A NUDGE ... to make my hammock sway!
(THE ADMISSION)
I must confess I've not been good
I did not send my cards this year
Declined to wassail, (like I should)
My rosy cheeks - quite tan, I fear
The palm tree never got its trim
Tahitian choir was short a Bass
My snowman efforts, pretty slim
And cookie baking, WAY off-pace
I have no place to hang a sock
Haven't wrapped a package yet
No burning need to watch a clock
Or rush the Tahitian sun to set
You see ...
When first I saw that sun, I felt ...
My state-side Christmas spirit ... melt!
(THE RATIONALE)
I know I've come up short this season
Not a perfect Christmas paradigm
And while I've not a decent reason
Perhaps he'll grant my wish this time
I try to trouble not, the breezes
Fill the ice cube trays when bare
Bless my wife whene'er she sneezes
Watch her tend the prickly pear ...
And while its meager stuff to most
A swinging hammock's bliss to me
So I don't wind up Tahitian toast
But rocking sweet, perspiration-free
So ...
While a nudge may seem a trivial thing ...
What Christmas joy ... a sway can bring!
~ 1st Place ~ in the "From Your Lips To Santa's Ears" Poetry Contest, Phillip Garcia, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 5th Place ~ in the "The Night Before" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
glut, christmas, humor, humorous, light,
Form:
Rhyme
Dipped in melted caramel
Carmesi apple
Sprinkled with nuts and candies
Chocolate covered
Satisfies sweet tooth
With sugar
Glut
!
3-11-2016
Categories:
glut, food,
Form:
Epulaeryu
As human beings, we are set a trust
Dominion over all such lesser things
Yet it's axiomatic that we turn to dust
The best of what our erudition brings
We take a fertile clay in hand to mold
The asseveration of our bright intents
To throw upon life's wheel and thus behold
The magic that our work and will relents
But much of what we strive for falls away
Our altruistic hopes and aims devoured
By all that glitters gold with glut and pay
The milk of our accomplishment so soured
Perhaps if we'd first taste that bitter cream
We'd shape a world more fit ... our childrens' dream.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Late April Standard Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Triple A Challenge - 14 Lines Maximum" Poetry Contest, Robert Haigh, Sponsor.
Categories:
glut, appreciation, hope, humanity, wisdom,
Form:
Sonnet
When the snout of lush abundance is full and flowing,
when all prey and creature-kind spill upon the verdant swards,
then it is that I worry night and day,
for the stoat, fox and hawk are at work,
they scythe in the whelm and nimiety, they hack and harrow.
The kits and chuckling’s are many, the light too bright;
for then the foragers forgoing fright, are palpable and open.
The long-eared nibblers, hairs on scattered rodents laid bare,
they scutter, skitter and twitch much in the open
greatly prone to be pounced upon;
their paltry pelts all unhidden, and being many,
and not running, they are huddled; yet not strong.
If this slew not ease, if the grabbers not falter,
if the singled-out dither, the glut not wither,
then the green snake will climb to where nestlings hutch -
they all so easily plucked and quickly snatched.
I worry for the wee brown birds; mottled shells still unhatched.
I fear a winnowing, withal a harsh hazard of gorge and sate.
I fret for the freshly delivered, the teeming,
the newly produced, all the bounding bounty
for those too easily found and so, arrived too late.
Categories:
glut, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
To fave or not to fave, is that the question
Whether ‘tis nobler to remain silent
To hurl faint praise and fortune
Suffer the pangs of outrageous doubt
Or take up arms against a sightless algorithm
And by opposing them. ..To try – to sleep,
No more: amid the angst of glory’s glut
To write, perchance to dream, now there’s the rub
For on that page what words may come
When we have shuffled off this muse’s toil
Must give us pause --- Where’s the respect
That make calamity of so long a write.
For who would bear the whims of AI scorn
Challenge the oppressor’s right or wrong
The pangs of twisted words now on display
The insolence the words themselves convey
The patient merit the unworthy take
With muted words a silenced voice to bare
To grunt and swear at writing’s dreary life
Ominous tomes unread ‘til after death
Discovered on the yellowed pages torn
By heirless patrons puzzling the will
Makes us cherish still the words we have
Than search for others that we know not of
Thus, conscience comes before the coward’s fall
And thus, the furtive pen seeks retribution
“Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought”.
And pages filled with pith and frozen moment
Without regard are read by minds awry
And lose an unsought gain
//My sincerest apology to Shakespeare and his minions//
Categories:
glut, fun, humor, poetry, poets,
Form:
Free verse
achingly ...
he still recalled
as if but a day hence ...
the air still moved, tender
the earth a-sole, still trembling
grasses parting like swells for a mighty prow
dust from bulky feet in diaphanous clouds ...
swept up and woven like a thin shuka
as if a Maasai blessing
to grace the hips of the coy Kilimanjaro ...
yet naught remained but the beautiful white
the echoes of the poachers' rifles
and the countless cries of a grand species, ghosted
lost to the thirsty Serengeti soil
shamed red by the rills of blood let
for a sake, sadistic ...
and the inexhaustible glut
of greed.
Submitted on November 26, 2020
To the "On Your Marks, Naturally" Poetry Contest
Julia Ward, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
glut, animal, farewell, nature, sad,
Form:
Free verse
violet cosmos bends with the weight of a bumblebee
its honey a sway to blissful
slow drip tucked into breakfast glee
things of no small importance
vital
like forgiving mis-steps that neuter success
or losing shackles of disappointment
to hear love-words nurturing branches of support
vital, like a baby's gurgle, language spilling
in infancy
as children outdoors skip in a fusilade of laughter
vital, like robins hopping in the surety of spring
when winter lifts folded veils of snow to a fresh brush
of green
lives from strain to festive
sometimes shaky with apprehension
in a carefully constructed freedom that respects
diversity
vital
like love transcending the glut of superficial
Categories:
glut, childhood, encouraging, joy, life,
Form:
Free verse
Ode to Morning
Yon morning, spellbound mistress of the skies
How gently all your feathers move apart
How lightly thrill your soft, eternal sighs
And feed with hope and mirth my swollen heart
How softly sway your tresses of pure gold
And glut with wealth the barren, night-sprent glade
And plump the crisp, brown hazel shells with beams
And cast a light strewn with a cooling shade
Athwart the gentle ebbs of oozing streams
Once quiet, still unravished yet. How bold
Your bubbling swells all cast their glinting charms
Across the earth’s soft cheek and softer breast
Yon morning, wrap the world within your arms
And light each mead with gloried noonday zest
And twine with passioned rays the Heaven’s steep
And cups of all the gem-encrusted buds
And feed the bowers with a web of light
And all the clouds with Lord Apollo’s rods
Of nascent shine to veer away the night
And all the evil spells of its black sleep
Return to us, gold morn with aching pride,
And wake the spirits of the sleeping clouds,
And stir the bees which in the foxgloves hide,
And let the bashful roses pry their shrouds
To feel upon their breasts the cooling breeze
Unfold from out the mountain’s stony rim
The rainbows, looming arches, sundry hued
Gold morn, when midnight’s sleepy glow shall dim
And leas no more shall be by stars bedewed
Then glow, until the lark sings with full ease!
© 2014 Gleb Zavlanov
Categories:
glut, morning,
Form:
Ode
MPG, who cared?
Nature takes brunt, oil searched glut.
Have Mercy, Please God!
*For "Tainted feathers" contest
Categories:
glut, natural disasters, sad, sea
Form:
Haiku
Flaming steaks and ice cold drinks
you thought good food had become extinct
until you ate here and gave us a nod and a wink.
Appetizers galore with soft stringy cheese sticks, artichoke hearts deep fried
with a taste of parmesan cheese and a dip to please.
bacon wrapped shrimp you might want to frame, seared sea scallops that
make you want to gallop, stuff mushrooms that'll make you croon, escargot
and baked claims as you eat them you'll definitely leave a stain
Ice burg lettuce or romaine with fresh dressing all homemade.
Lobster bisque soup with a deep rich taste if you don't like
seafood try Tomato bisque instead, French onion soup either a bowel
or cup just don't be a glut.
Your auntre is about to start your just warming up
hot garlic bread with a wonderful spread, Chris's secret recipe if he
told you how he made it you'd be dead.
Succulent steaks porterhouse, ribeye, serlion, T-bone and of course filet
add garlic or lemon butter to dip, 'hooray!'
Chicken flew by giving you legs and wings deep fried
want a little less oil try the fresh grilled chicken
fit for a royal.
Hamburger, cheeseburger just choose your cheese and of course
add bacon please. Want an egg on top sunny side up
when you squeeze the bun it will definitely erupt.
The beef is so fresh the cows stopped mooing when
it hit the grill with no sign of stress.
Vegetable melody or a little broccoli please.
The potato why so many things I can do
baked, French fried, homefried or even mashed
some round or shaped like a torpedo.
Baked fish Talapia, Flounder or even Sea Bass
'Oh' so fresh. We have an aquarium in the back,
just teasing we use a pole and bait at our near by lake.
End the evening as you sit back with a luscious sweet dessert
but please don't drool bibs are provided if needed
or even a paper sack on your way out.
Just remember as my Daddy always said,
'You all come back now you hear, friends are like family
and we hold you all dear!'
Coming Soon: The new "Fire and Ice Grill and Pub"
T Reams
Categories:
glut, celebration, food, imagery, success,
Form:
Verse
Being an American in Australia isn’t easy,
but I’m trying to integrate;
I’m trying to fit in.
Just one of the boys with all the right expressions
under my belt, like:
pasty glut
cosmetic spring roll rut
five o’clock shadow cigarette butt.
I mean, I’m trying to integrate;
I’m trying to fit in.
I try to talk about the good ol’ U.S. of A.,
and I’ve never mentioned Uncle Sam once,
except to suspect he lives inside Colonel Sanders
who also gives me a big pain in the ass
with his mysterious suppository herbs & spices;
cos I’m trying to fit in, see?
I’m trying to integrate.
Okay, I can get nervous about women,
and cover it up under muscle and toughness, O.K.!
Say: “All sheilas are made fer ****in’!”
while dreaming:
leather cock thrust
beer lubrication
violet steak lips!
Say: “All poets are poofs!” and
beat my balls around fields of green
with wooden sticks so stiff and clean, screaming
semen icing power
spread on scones of breasts!
Bloody hell! Can’t ya see?
I’m trying to integrate,
trying to fit in.
Like wearing high-heeled snow-shoes
and roller-skater shirts;
doing al the expected things, even tho’
my Balinese sarong trips me up occasionally.
I’ve got a sun-tanned *******,
and I’m keeping me nose to the ground,
no bloody fear! I’m integrating, ya see?
Trying to sit in.
I’m a tough-fisted slow-sauntering grog-pissing
knife balling tit watching ***** hating self-deceiving
regular visionless mate of no matter:
Swallowed by deserts
and the fear of ******s;
Tortured by sun
and the freeze of lost passion;
Murdered in business;
resurrected in wages!
Enslaved in the cities and
imprisoned by FACTS
that stretch from my body
in steel rails of tracks I ride on,
I hide on:
I’ve lost where I’ve been.
But I’m integrating
(yeah, INTEGRATING!)
I’m just fitting in.
Categories:
glut, culture, immigration, international, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse