Best Stewing Poems
The child stands valorous before the door
With nary a tinge of fear or dread.
Armed with a spatula and a pancake flipper...
She wears a stewing pot on her head.
Her hands are protected by leather gloves
With her Father's boots to guard her feet.
Her swimming goggles are securely placed
And beneath her shirt... a cookie sheet.
With a determined sigh she cracks the door
And peers suspiciously through the night.
She momentarily thought the coming battle
May be best done in the bask of morning light.
But time was short and with each passing hour...
Others would surely die.
So she begins her journey to confront this beast
Who has taken many lives.
She makes her way through the wretched gloom
Giving thought to her parent's fears.
She had never seen them so full of doubt
In all her seven years.
But the time had come to join the fight...
To aid those who gave protection.
And she was well aware of its woeful lair
Where she would fight this damn infection.
A nurse stands wavering from a vengeful night
As another dozen deaths has left her cold.
But she then heard a voice so free of fear...
It brought a peaceful solace to her soul.
'I wonder if you would be so kind
To take this moment and give me some direction.
For I am stout and brave with pluck and daring
And will help defeat this cursed infection.'
The nurse's eyes welled up at such a sight
And a smile reached across her face.
As by her side now stood a child
Who would defend the human race.
So remember this when all is lost
And the best of us lose heart.
A unsung hero will rise to bring us hope
And inspire us all to do our part.
The End
*(For Me, the soup tastes good, For others...not so much.)
INDEED, there may be something wrong with the Soup
if spices don't get right many people will be leaving the table soon.
Good people have pointed out problems with taste and temperature to MGMT
only to fall on deaf ears.
Apparently the problems have been stewing for years.
There are hard working mothers, fathers, sons, daughters and grandparents
fighting for a cause in which they firmly believe.
They pay fees each year to a leader who they don't know and cannot see.
They taste and they eat and they share with the community.
They've invested with time and money and poured out their hearts with much
continuity.
Forty to one lopsided comment reply ratios have made their day hard
all these folks want is a little quality soup after punching the old time card.
I've sat at the table and witnessed smiles erase in defeat.
I've listen to their requests get neglected each day on repeat.
Where is the owner operator, could someone please step in and perform a
table visit?
Getting this restaurant up to code ain't everything I suppose, but it'd sure be
exquisite!
Now I'm just an outsider, secret shopper if you will,
Getting this change in motion would ease so many emotions...
consider it dessert taken off the bill.
long scarf of a night
clasping the bracelet of a moon,
what emptiness is this when i have you not near?
the distance of a thousand galaxies collecting stars
unbinds me,
when once i could tumble upon your
nape so bronze
as if there to fly
swept by every lingering breath
borrowing some endless moaning of time:
a stewing chorus of sacred yet raw vignettes
coming together then parting...
farewell, a few more steps closer
and i shall disown my soul and bones under
the cloud's dark awning
to silently memorize your fading eyes
entombed in the burial of an unbecoming night.
.............
Contest Form-E of Broken Wings
Originally written: 1/23/2014
Reposted: 1/24/2017
The female onion was crying while on the stand,
testifying agains't the indecent celery man,
saying he was always stalking her to make a raw deal,
claiming she had way too much onion sex appeal,
Watching her at the Sweet Onion Club and following her every night,
he thought her onion dancing was sexy and out of sight,
being a go-go dancer she definitely made the cut,
her onion perfume business being in the rut,
All the russet potato eyes at court were on him,
they all thought they were going to fry slim,
some were baking while some were boiling mad,
you could tell by the looks on their faces that they were mad,
The plum tomato judge got red in the face,
thought the celery stalking her was a big disgrace,
stewing about it along with the dozen jury eggs,
they quickly scrambled to get an over easy verdict read,:
Celery man found guilty for stalking the female onion,
will have to stay away forever from her and her bunions,
and for his punishment will have to watch dvd's all day,
of chef's chopping up celery and using it in various ways.
11-1-16
An old lady sat near a window, near a window looking out.
With her radio going she sat there sewing, with an occasional look about.
On her thumb she wore a thimble, as she pulled the thread so nimble, enjoying the
light,
While the weatherman’s voice was blaring, declaring a storm in sight.
She began to hurry, and to worry about her Sam.
Had he heard the early morning warning from the weatherman?
While she sat there stewing, the storm greater brewing, she thought about her
man.
“He could work much longer, if only he was stronger— he does the best he can.”
The skies grew darker and her thoughts grew starker in the afternoon.
“Upper air disturbance; expecting turbulence with night coming soon.”
While she debated, the storm accelerated from the north.
With clouds unloading her thoughts grew foreboding, as she paced back and forth,
Qualms of duress she expressed about her Sam.
“Was he wet and freezing? Was he cold and sneezing? Poor old Sam!”
The northern air was gusting as she began thrusting shut the door,
From freezing rain fast falling, while for Sam she was calling as she paced the floor.
Back at the weather station a strange situation was spreading forth.
Not so far away an arctic foray pushed from the north.
It hardly took a wizard to see the shaping blizzard hiding every star,
A whirling cloud formation showed its concentration on the isobar.
Suddenly she started walking, while talking to her Sam.
Once she stopped to listen, ignoring the snow that glistened— then she ran.
She must’ve been unsightly as the lights shown on her brightly from a car,
Driven by her daughter, doing things she taught her, searching near and far.
“Mother! It’s me, Mabel. You know you’re not able to be out in the cold!
Look how hard it’s snowing with the wind so cold and blowing. Forgive me if I scold.
Finding you not there, I looked everywhere up and down the street.
You’ve come too far, so get in the car and dry your feet.”
“Mabel . . . Pa went out this morning . . . but he had no warning the weather would
be severe.”
“Oh, my mother dear, please come here, come here. Dad’s been gone a year!”
Suddenly the old lady was weary, her eyes old and bleary, her body weak and cold.
She had no coat nor jacket, but in her hand a packet—Sam’s picture she did hold.
"Thank You For Your Jealousy"
"Aw, you're jealous. Well, thank you, dear.
You show me I have worth and so crystal clear.
I appreciate your admiration, though a bit inverted.
Your intended minus, I've turned around, converted.
How, you ask, do I figure to come up with a plus,
And why am I not making and stirring up a fuss?
Well, it's all about perspective, how things I see,
For with the right angle, of negative we are set free.
You see, it's like this, I'll try to explain
And show you how from a minus, a plus I can gain.
No one is ever jealous of bad stuff, only good.
So, if you're jealous, you make this understood!
No one is ever jealous of the same they have got,
But are only jealous of what they believe they've not!
You see, when you're jealous, it's kudos to me.
So, thank you for the compliment and helping me to see.
For you've confirmed my worth with your jealous stewing,
All the while not knowing what truly you are brewing.
I hope my words here find you feeling so much better;
Give you some food for thought with my thankful letter.
Please fear not for I'm neither angry or upset,
But rather, for your jealousy, just the opposite.
I wish for you the best and a very pleasant day.
May God bless you always with only good to come your way."
Sincerely,
(insert name here)
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2018-06-23 02:13:00 (EDT)
All rights reserved.
Zestful
Beneath a weeping willow tree
Shielded by its canopy of leaf
Two lovers found sweet serenity
Zestful to share love in ecstasy.
Sadly a vicious storm was brewing
Both their zestful hearts began stewing
Thunder clapped and lightning struck the tree
The sweethearts too, they died instantly.
Forlorn the couple took off in flight
Into the darkness of sky at night
Flying to unknown territory
To dwell in everlasting glory.
The pair were eventually found
They’d decayed into the underground
Their loving souls live on tenderly
Entwined in heaven's grace zestfully.
The tree recovered its heart still beats
Often sadly the willow tree weeps
Never before in its history
Has it known such zestful tragedy.
*+*+*+*
12th May 2023
Writing Challenge - 'Z' Words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Word choice no.10 - Zestful
O the stew of human progress
The feast of our enterprise
Simmered long enough now
For society to settle
The Fatheads
Have risen to the top
***
Sing me the song of the seventh moon
That orbits the planet of Tralaloon.
Where plants and animals might be the same,
The only way to tell is to ask them their name.
The animal’s names all start with a “C”
Like Curt or Carl or Cuallabee.
Which helps the inhabitants to keep everything straight
When the kids get together and they want to date.
Because plant names it seems all begin with an “S”
Or sometimes a “C” but that leads to a mess.
Because it would only ever be the soft “C” sound,
So names like Cyril or Cindy and Circle abound.
But when their names are written down on a list,
Sometimes that nuance of pronunciation gets missed.
And the havoc created in this situation,
Has lead in the past to deflowered vegetation.
The older ones tell them to remain separated,
While the youngsters think it’s more fun integrated.
Does any good happen when the two of them mix?
We must put an end to these unnatural tricks?
But to the wise old elders the youth will not stoop,
That’s why the young were gathered and put into soup.
And while the loss of the young could be viewed as regrettable
They did make a delicious blend of animal and vegetable.
So listen to your elders, they know what they’re doing,
Or take care to be sure that it’s not you they’ll be stewing.
I sit hearing the knock
The door standing shut and seeing no light
Me refusing to break the lock
Man sitting and stewing in the night.
Jesus waiting beyond the door
His voice calling out to me
Stones beating in my chest
Jesus is winning you see..
I crack the door at his knock
The stones crumbling to sand
Light is flooding my house
Man praying as he planned.
Jesus standing inside the door
My knees buckling to the floor.
MADE
of sock puppets, dunk tanks and bumper cars.
socks with holes, holes for heads
all wet, stinky in fact
picture the bumper cars
bumping, bruising
each choosing their own way
headed for you and me
out of control
nothing seems to matter
it’s all clatter
“Collateral damage,”
that’s all
no matter
towns burning
blue uniforms stewing
little ones, immovable,
staring
deck of cards, blue and red
thrown sky high
sobering thought…
God is watching
8/19/2020
Life- Aye
My cherished one
set against
a sordid world
My lanes are coerced
just as my feet are formed
My life is a platter
furnished on a plaza
dicing my thoughts
stewing my ordeal
rendering my life
a treasure meal
set before a soulless world
Basic geometry’s based on four axioms,
Something that many kids study in school,
But a fifth axiom’s needed to prove it all,
This is where things start in getting real cool.
Really this axiom sounds very theorem like
Many have tried just to prove that it’s so
Math is not science though, stunningly math’s pure thought,
No underpinnings suggest where to go.
Science is tied to the world where we find ourselves
Math seems to find itself on other planes
Yet in creation math finds applications new
Funny how much mathematics explains
Love’s exegesis resists like fifth axiom
Should be much simpler, still it just is
Minds get all blurry when sniffing its trail bizarre
Alternates pop up like girls in show biz.
So if you find yourself stewing in limbo’s pot,
Give her a slide rule for Christmas this year,
Sure to last longer than roses or candy will
Then on Christ’s Birthday buy pizza and beer.
Good which we give ourselves to seems to multiply
Friendship, geometry, love fares the same
Love’s future story line ties us to God’s heart strings
God’s mathematics! Erased is all blame.
Brian Johnston
November 24, 2014
Machiavelli s'been stewing
teardrops in the Soup
Stooping to new lows
for SYMPATHY
stirring chickens in the coop
Seems some folks will do anything
for what they think is fame
Swiss cheese stories for glory
Lordy! Whaddah' shame!
Reminds me of two classic movies...
"Freddie Lives" and the other is
"The Crying Game"...
but this one's very unbelievable, it ain't scary,
and it's much
MUCH more lame!~
Down in Louisiana, by the bayou way,
A secret recipe, has been blending for generations,
Tenderly, stewing in the great American melting
Pot.
Spanish spices, mixed with French Canadian
Hospitality, lends to this gumbo's savory
Appeal.
African voodoo magic, leaves a trace element,
Of mystic's charm, and mysteries dark beauty.
To this harsh, rustic, and swampy landscape.
Carved from the wilderness wild, a people
Discarded came to call this land theirs.
From toils sweat and bloods sacrifice,
New Orleans is given birth, this great southern
Countries, back born.
A grand lady of elegance, and intrigue,
An ebony beauty is she, dancing with the
Gentleman Cajun, to the waltz of tradition,
And cultures aristocratic society.
But beneath this beautiful opulence,
The ghosts of the Mississippi cry out,
Don't forget the roots, from which our
Bones lie, to create the historic city,
Known as New Orleans.
The couple bows, to it's heritage in a
Sacred trust to always remember, those
Lives given, and sacrificed with honor's
Golden reverence.
A silver linings promise, weaved into
The fabric of every Southern civilian,
Born beneath the great flag of the
U.S.A.
What special ingredients make up
The Cajun?
All are welcome to go and experience,
That for ones self and judge?
I'm going to stay at home within
It's natural realm of beauty, and
History for I call New Orleans
My home.
For whom else, could write about
Oneself better, than the Cajun
After all.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN