Long Almond Poems
Long Almond Poems. Below are the most popular long Almond by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Almond poems by poem length and keyword.
a flash of light ...
thunder clapped like cannons as
into the old tree
we scurried ...
the mouth of its little
hollowed-out gut, yawning like some
tired old man from a Dickens story ...
perhaps the chin of the
ghost of Jacob Marley, let loose in
horrid fashion from its
binding bandages ...
the soft pine-needle
floor of the space inside was
long enough to lay down on,
but not very wide,
so we squeezed together like shoes
in a box, rain pouring all the more,
and dripping off the scarred
cedar bark onto her coal-black,
jasmine-scented tresses -
damp ponytail resting coyly
on my bared shoulder ...
what now?
I could tell we both thought,
and the question hung in awkward
silence between us,
rain pattering like mice on a tin roof,
her almond Taiwanese eyes
looking at me for reassurance,
though I had no more experience than she in such situations ...
still, I crimped the edges of my
mouth up in the gentle attempt at a smile,
and she returned it, eyes
sparkling with a "yes" ...
odd, that we had
barely reached our teens,
for what came after that first shy, testing,
cotton-candy kiss, played out like
some grand romantic movie
on the big screen,
becoming a magical dance of
confusion and excitement,
and frightened, fumbling flesh -
a rain-spattered, dreamy
interplay of limbs that
seemed to hold time in its place …
'til we emerged hours later into
the golden glow of dusk,
covered in soft scratches and pine needles,
in a sweet post-passion delirium,
and quietly walked home,
(in different directions),
through the dimming mist,
never to speak of it …
again ...
well …
she moved away with her
family not long after, and though we had
promised each other to
stay in touch, I only received one post
card from her months later,
telling me about a boy she'd met,
and how they'd kissed on
their first date ...
as if what had taken place in
that old tree, deep in the
woods that rainy July afternoon,
was no more than a lark -
no more than a dream or charm or
thistle on the breeze ...
except ...
it WAS more ... for me
it was the most REAL thing -
the most tender thing,
the most precious
and sweet
and life-changing thing ...
it was the most fearfully beautiful,
most wonderfully frightening,
most exquisitely complicated thing,
that I have ever, ever ...
known.
Gush Potatoes
2 cups of sour cream
5 Tablespoons horseradish
1?2 cup of white cheddar
1 Cup of grated parmesan heavy cream
3 tablespoons of lemon juice
1 tablespoon of lemon zest
1 Tablespoon of red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon of of fish stock
4 cloves of minced garlic
4 green onions
1/2 cup of minced herbs
( thyme, rosemary,, parsley, dill,oregeno and tarragon)
2 grated hard boiled egg yolks
--------------------------------------------
mix smooth set aside
in a casserole dish add 10 cups of cooked white potatoes
cover with sace mix evenly
bake 350 degrees for 35 to 45 minutes
)---------GREENS ALLEGRO--------(
4 cups of drained cooked mustard greens
(recommended( GLORY)
2 cup of steamed bell pepper
red and yellow
2 cups of caramelized onions
3 tablespoons of minced garlic
1/2 cup of pumpkin seeds
1 cup of chopped smoked turkey meat mixed with
about 1/4 cup of cooked bacon
1/2 cup of crushed sundried tomatoes
in a wok add olive oil and sesame seed oil mix
add garlic and peppers and onions
stri fry and add pork
1 cup of chopped ham and cooked bacon and turkey meat
add mustard greens
stir fry
add tomatoes
and top with pumpkin seeds
serve with tart pickled onions
)-----------> Honey, rum, Brown sugar Carrots<--------------(
ATONAL
Steam 15 cleaned carrots until tender
in a casserole dish
add the carrots
1 cup of crumbled feta
3 Tablespoons of rum
5 Tablespoons of mango juice
3 Tablespoons of Pineapple juice
1 cup of golden raisins
1/4 cup of honey
2/3 cup of brown sugar
1/4 cup of lemon juice
1 teaspoon of cumin
1 teaspoon of cayenne
1 tablespoon of dried cilantro
1/2 cup of cooked ground lamb
1 cup of pistachios
add carrots
in a bowl
add spices and brown sugar
mix honey rum and friut juices in a sauce pan
bring to a simmer allow the alcohol
to boil away add lamb
pour over carrots
crumble feta
attop carrots
sprinkle nuts a-top
cover with foil and bake
at 350 for 25 to 30 minutes
Adagio Meat corner
slow cooked beef
------------------------------
serve with roast lamb , roast pork, roasted beef, grilled shrimp and fish
Strawberries, kiwi, and with a vanilla bean cream pastry on a almond nut cookie tart for dessert
Paired with a Moscat de Asti
' Sir have mercy on me,
please give me a piece of bread,
a glass of water,
I am starving to death,
since the typhoon obliterated our city,
we have eaten nothing,
my father survived the storm surge but died in hunger,
Save me!
I don't want to die like him,
help me bury his dead body.'
A young lad talks to one of the social workers,
every word he speaks tells the pain of abandonment,
the hunger that he has been suffering through could be felt
from the softness of his voice,
he bleeds in tears while wrapping the cadaver of his beloved father with a piece of white linen cloth,
his almond eyes reflect the desperate thoughts within his mind,
behind him,
his home reduced into pieces of broken woods,
he doesn't know where to go,
he doesn't know how to survive a life after the devastation.
'Papa! ,
I still remember so well,
when I was younger,
you promised me before the setting sun,
you would never never leave me alone in a struggle against our poverty till the end of time,
What would I be now without you?
How could I live alone on this world of harsh reality? '
Tears keep rolling down on his angelic face,
while kissing the cold loving hand of his dead father,
upon hearing his voice weakened by a week of tormenting agony,
the social worker could not stand stronger any longer,
she can feel her heart breaking in tears,
she kneels down before the child,
could not utter any word,
but just to hug the boy so tight like her son,
and wipes his tears away by her palm,
tears could not be stopped falling from her eyes.
Beneath the beauty of the kaleidoscopic rainbow,
I knew a man who got nothing,
but a small shack and sweet laughters of his grand children,
he found homily santuaries under their sweet smiles,
they live lives to the fullest without material desires,
yet the greed of Super Typhoon Yolanda is just formidable,
she robbed him of his small shack,
killed his only rooster,
and the worst,
she washed his grand children away into the ocean,
they have been missing for 8 days now.
His sight wanders into the waves of the sea,
with tears falling all day long and eternally,
his life is deep buried in incalculable sadness,
hoping for his grand children to come home,
yet nobody is home but memories of tragedy.
I always hated water,
being in the middle of nowhere,
but it was the only way to be with you..
Now,
I'm helpless, my fingers trembling,
lips quivering, eyes full of tears,
as this ship sinks, inch by inch.
I write what are my last words,
as the stench of fear,
slowly fills the bitter air.
I'm so scared.
I can see lifeboats over loaded with the 'privileged',
their aura in a state of shock, but so sullen.
Not all children have escaped, not all children!!!
How is that fair??
Some have jumped into the sea,
desperate to survive,
but its too cold.... It's freezing.
I'm just going to accept there is no escape.
I don't know if I'm a coward or being brave,
but I refuse to go up to the deck.
This room is now my tomb.
The violinist won't stop playing,
his music, so eerie,
as we face our fate.
The captain said;
"Even God could not sink this ship."
But you can't cheat God..
I see him crying in the corner,
ready to decay into death -
such a pathetic man.
There are brief screams of
"Help!"
but then only a haunting silence.
I think about my mum
tell her, I love her and I'm so, so sorry,
for I left her behind to follow my dreams,
where I thought I would find heaven,
but now seem bound into the unknown..
I had left the English shores,
to be in your arms my sweetheart..
So many hopes, so many promises
to be together... Forever,
to touch and caress your soft skin
and to place this gold ring on your finger,
dreams of children, places we would see,
food we would eat, poetry we would recite,
starry nights and sweet sunsets,
now slowly fade away...
I can see your face,
your almond eyes, your scarlet lips,
your hand reaching out to me...
An enchanting last mirage.
I'm so sorry my love,
so, so, sorry,
to leave you this way,
life can be so cruel,
but remember me,
please don't forget me,
you were my only treasure
I just wish I could have kissed you one more time...
but God has deprived that from me...
Please don't mourn for me,
but cherish our memories,
be happy and live your life,
find love, have children and
travel the world..
At least, I will not live in regret.
I write my last words with my last breath,
as I begin to feel numb,
I will place my hands together and repent...
This is my goodbye to the world.
" Sir have mercy on me,
please give me a piece of bread,
a glass of water,
I am starving to death,
since the typhoon obliterated our city,
we have eaten nothing,
my father survived the storm surge but died in hunger,
Save me!
I don't want to die like him,
help me bury his dead body."
A young lad talks to one of the social workers,
every word he speaks tells the pain of abandonment,
the hunger that he has been suffering through could be felt
from the softness of his voice,
he bleeds in tears while wrapping the cadaver of his beloved father with a piece of white linen cloth,
his almond eyes reflect the desperate thoughts within his mind,
behind him,
his home reduced into pieces of broken woods,
he doesn't know where to go,
he doesn't know how to survive a life after the devastation.
"Papa!,
I still remember so well,
when I was younger,
you promised me before the setting sun,
you would never never leave me alone in a struggle against our poverty till the end of time,
What would I be now without you?
How could I live alone on this world of harsh reality?"
Tears keep rolling down on his angelic face,
while kissing the cold loving hand of his dead father,
upon hearing his voice weakened by a week of tormenting agony,
the social worker could not stand stronger any longer,
she can feel her heart breaking in tears,
she kneels down before the child,
could not utter any word,
but just to hug the boy so tight like her son,
and wipes his tears away by her palm,
tears could not be stopped falling from her eyes.
Beneath the beauty of the kaleidoscopic rainbow,
I knew a man who got nothing,
but a small shack and sweet laughters of his grand children,
he found homily santuaries under their sweet smiles,
they live lives to the fullest without material desires,
yet the greed of Super Typhoon Yolanda is just formidable,
she robbed him of his small shack,
killed his only rooster,
and the worst,
she washed his grand children away into the ocean,
they have been missing for 8 days now.
His sight wanders into the waves of the sea,
with tears falling all day long and eternally,
his life is deep buried in incalculable sadness,
hoping for his grand children to come home,
yet nobody is home but memories of tragedy
Buried in an avalanche you
might see on "Hoarders buried alive"
back and foreground
white sheet with limited pay per view,
nonetheless sky scraping heap
(Uriah not kid) nsync with a 'U'-
shaped tube anchored securely thru
solid wood - sporting
towering, leaning, bulging, et cetera slew,
sans huge sized mounds,
this goodfella cockily rue
stirs memories while
almond joying sifting,
(comprising ream mains of outdated queue
vee cee paraphernalia, bank statements, old
fair maidens faded letters, phew
against unrequited lovely lasses
kissed by either gentile or Jew
us gal, during young manhood
confession stated, aye did accrue
now (said besmirched Casanova
wannabe across floor I did strew
said, no longer promising princess,
whose once tenderly fresh rose buds
exuded profusely courtesy ingénue
argh..., how frivolous to argue
with cowardly former self, hence
into the maw of das spouse (Sibyl)
she more than enthusiastically
masticates regarding unblossomed
(romantic opportunity) yours truly blew,
when flickr ring spark flame snuffed out
before profound love chanced to hint
of compatibility, ah... nary a blues clue
maybe best not to fantasize
going down nostalgia avenue,
but cast attention upon motley crew,
no matter I traversed
boulevard of broken dreams
(but oh this...pray lemme tell you
more on this cool spring green day)
ornamented with boughs of churrigueresque
mother nature's divinely wrought
sensational beauty procreative forces construe,
yanking fanciful thoughts back to feeding
pulpy material pages of me child's worldview
scribbled squiggly blurred lines
no doubt gifted artistic prodigies shew
did evince talent this papa doth truly value,
yet an excess of near identical curlique
leaves little breathing room, plus report
cards shows innovative smarts,
frequent affirmations this dada paid due
tee, which gushing praise
my girls never taxed for, yet both knew
this aging baby boomer father decries
being swamped with exorbitant clutter
hence effort now made to save whar grew,
some artistic embellishment and/or
intellectual award, the majority hesitantly fed
into jaw of thee missus the human flew
where hard copy quickly incinerated inducing
me to sneeze atchew!
Her Cheekbones, smooth as pebbles
Grasped tightly in his sexed up hand, sweating indelicately
Resembling that night the thoughts between the sheets were conceived
Weighing like soaked white carpets
Beneath flea market stands
She Is Beautiful, she is beautiful
Belladonna, noxious
Dusty eyes and wavy hair
Neruda book shoveled away somewhere deep
Inside her closet full of chewed up bones
Illumination, dying in Latin never seemed like
A juxtaposition before the closing of the soul
At least his eyes are a Cambridge blue
Jazz muted in Mortality sings on dangling participles leaking out
From the saxophone
What is that worth?
Thick waist, hourglass coke-a-cola
Mama-sita, mira mira
Lolita-like N.Y.M.P.H.O.ed up eyelashes
Coating tears with manufactured glob
Somebody put in a bottle
The higher your skirt the more your face value
Goes up, up, up pass the mystery between monogyny and the thighs
Right between the slit ice
Like Mmmm, and he slides past the first three bases
Oooh Girl you look so good in those Six Inch Heels
What is it worth,
to throw away your
Worth
For a toaster oven and a washed up guy sitting on your back porch
Scratching his head waiting to be given a pardon for his misdeeds
While American Media stole him away
And blamed it on the graffiti on the Church Walls when it was really
Hipshot for the Hip-Hop , This shameless act of cytotoxicity
when it was really
The Devil trying to slow dance with the pretty girl behind the stage
Eyes that lie time after time and are almond shaped but see no further
Then 6 feet deep and a saxe blue sky
Baby girl, on auction in the club
(Going once, going twice, it’s okay we’ll sell her half price!)
Like a slave, a sycophant child to some sick twisted game
Dancing in the Matrix style of killing the clock
Biting off the hands, to chew them up, spit them out
To pretend like the world isn’t ending over our heads
Seven kids, bloated waist, waitress fingers and lips
Smile, Misfortune dotes on you, Lucky One
What are you going to do when your looks run out?
Heyyy girl, what’s your face value?
It stood magnificently in front of our Churchyard,
Like the sacred fig tree before any temple-yard;
My going to church, as a boy, had no other reason,
Than picking all bird-dropped fruits, as a mission;
Collecting as many as possible hastily,
Pushing them into my knickers-pocket quietly;
Thinking of them all through the Holy Mass,
Waiting for the priest to say the final grace;
Hurrying to a corner where no humans see,
Place, as lonely as the very loneliness could be;
Savouring the sour-sweet taste spread over it,
Then breaking it with stones to get the nuts in it;
Quantity of it equaled as little as a butter drip,
Or as much as ten mustard seeds put as a strip;
Relishing it as though nectar of ancient sages,
Coming down to mine tongue from all the ages;
In youth tastes changed and matters mattered,
And this almond became very old fashioned;
Burgers, Pizzas, hotdogs and all tasted well,
Though, consuming them, I often was unwell;
I saw boys and girls picking almonds as I did,
And hurrying to corners and I understood;
The ‘grown-up’ in me prohibited me from doing so,
It’s hence I hid my child within, as a rainbow;
Abroad, I almost forgot the Indian almond tree,
As within me, I was bored and never really free;
I had my worries of marriage and children,
Who’d care for a tree with no monetary gain?
It’s when I went to my home town casually,
It’s under that tree I found my future lily;
We married and got children who grew,
Both with tastes so modern and new;
Yet, it’s when once we visited the churchyard,
My younger lingered over that fruit so thrilled;
We offered him sweet almonds from stores,
And supermarkets that made him to uproar;
He collected for long as much as he could,
And each little one he collected for him he hid;
He too, later, had his dreams and worries,
Sophistications seismically so seduce, seize;
Church now demolished and grounds cleared,
For newer one to construct all well renewed;
I found this almond tree got fully uprooted,
And thrown into a corner like an old harp muted;
I cried and cried till I could cover the tears,
As though I’d hidden my feelings for many years…
30 July 2021
Finding Your Muse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
I don't need to remember what it was like to be a kid
I don' t need to memorize where all the fun had been .
It was in the unique moment of a first-born spirit
without obligations and responsibilities .
A Brief moment recalled and lived in a dream.
Immersed in the body of a little brown-eyed girl
How I danced with the flutter of a butterfly ,over and over again.
Dressed up neatly in a white collar shirt ,and a navy blue pinafore dress,
How I ran , breathlessly , in evergreen fields
full of yellow buttercups, dandelion buds, and almond trees
which barely blossomed through the eyes of women , and men .
How I jumped like a frog earning its freedom , doing my utmost to catch the sky,
to reach the soaring hand-made kite ,which kept moving far and high.
My left -hand never letting go of that special red balloon ,
Mama's reward , on a windy afternoon.
Each following morning, feet too tired to get out of bed
but that lasted only till' I saw Uncle Frans'hat.
How happy I was to sit on his lap ,, and listen to bible stories He read.
How happy I was , to lick early fresh raindrops running down
my cheeks,so different from the ones
I feel when I'm out of my sleep.
Moments to preserve. ..
There on the back seat of papa's olive- green car ,
Our Chitty -Chitty Bang- Bang , travelled so far.
Mum,dad, my brother and I ,face 'gainst the wind,
Open mouths , Indian sounds , humming along ,
waiting for birds'wings to flutter as they sing.
What a moment , of hide and seek,musical chairs ,
Of midnight mass and Christmas prayers .
I lived them all ....
Splashes of waves, shovel and buckets on sands ,
Autumn's foliage , picnics with cousins
uncles,aunties ,and friends.
Immersed in the body of a little girl
with long noichettes french -braids swaying in the breeze ,
Playing hopscotch,running wild in vacant cobbled streets.
I do not need to remember what it was like to be a kid
I am there, in the dream , I had lived .
I tasted pure honey before I'd been kissed
Before years took their toll , wiped off
sugar -frosted pink from my innocent lips .
See them gather around you, observing everything that you do, see them on top of the tree, listening to your heart beat and measuring your speech.
See them sitting underneath the tree talking about your destiny, The wire is running around you and a pudding pan is sitting next to the door and the sharks are slowly creeping up on the shore.
Look out for the bulldozer and the practicing medical doctor; he has a clinic across the street, an office in the basement and a house rising towards the heavens.
He spends his time in the corner bar and on Sunday’s he cuts the lawn; he has a house keeper and a butler and a young man to play the violin when his emotions grow dim. He is an artist and a practicing physician.He plays golf on Monday morning and sees his parents in the evenings; he is a jack of all trade but a master of none.
See them driving around the town in big vans and luxury cars giving handouts to pigs and goats and a box cutter wheeling at vendors' throat.
I can see them from afar walking around the garage searching in the corners, throwing out tries and lubricated oil. Old rusty muffler piling upon muffler and old radiators spilling corrosive water. They are testing the old cars with a wrench and a screw driver and an artificial bulldozer.
See them standing around the back wearing old pants and old frocks, spreading out on the floor and knocking on doors. More than a hundred of them standing at attention walking around in the back yard looking for a brawl and the pigeons kept flying around the tree moving straw from the wild berries.
Then came in the big birds flirting in the tree top, with thunderous voice screaming at each other. They are dropping pebbles, walnuts, almond and cherries on the ground and the beggars are gathering around the town. What strange phenomena lurking around, grumbling in the background.
See them going up in the air, you can see them everywhere, gas balloon surveying the moon and the high priest floating in the sky recording everything they hear.
See them gathering in the street making rhythm with their feet, the ring camera is running around and Santa clause is coming to town. See them looking at you from the window.