Long Bagel Poems
Long Bagel Poems. Below are the most popular long Bagel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bagel poems by poem length and keyword.
There’s a gingerbread contest each year
Where iconic New York scenes appear.
It’s impressive to see,
With each prize nominee,
How creative folks are around here.
First the Statue of Liberty sat
And the Brooklyn Bridge right after that,
Plus the Chelsea Hotel,
Chrysler Building as well,
All within the New York habitat.
Still, my favorite creation by far
Had no building, no bridge, boat or car,
But a real breakfast treat
Most New Yorkers might eat
Which, to me, in this show, was the star.
‘Twas a take-out container of joe,
Which the locals call “cawfee,” you know,
Plus a cream-cheese filled bagel
Someone did finagle
From gingerbread, just for the show.
I don’t know if it won the first prize,
But it brought much delight to my eyes,
So hats off, Juliet,*
For I’m sure, I would bet,
From your project much joy did arise.
*Juliet Galea, the artist
FRED THE PERV.
Kinky Fred stole knickers off the line
One summer night his haul totalled nine
His spree ended in tears
Got an extra ten years
When Judge Sue said that red pair were mine.
LARS.
A young astronaut from NASA called Lars
Blasted off from Cape Kennedy to Mars
But then there was a glitch
When he pressed the wrong switch
Last seen heading at warp speed to the stars.
PETE.
A young pianist from New York called Pete
Could play William Tell using his feet
But he fell of his chair
And he started to swear
Was booed off and thrown into the street.
JOHNNY GABLE.
A mean old waiter called Johnny Gable
Saw a man choke to death on a bagel
He then shifted his body
To the side of the lobby
Said forgive me but we need the table .
O'TOOLE.
A forgetful pilot Johnny O'Toole
Was over the north sea flying to Bule
Then both engines spluttered
Under his breath muttered
Looked at his gauge and screamed no ruddy fuel.
OLD GANGSTER.
An old gangster rose from rags to riches
Got rid of all his traitors and snitches
They'd find in their bed
A racehorses head
Or find themselves sleeping with the fishes.
THE BAKER.
An unwashed old baker from Idaho
Had filthy fingers when kneeding the dough
Folk choked on his paella
Some died from salmonella
Got closed down and ended up on skid row.
O'KEEFE.
A fella by the name of O'Keefe
Was the long serving town's police chief
Someone stole the mess cookies
Everyone blamed the rookies
But it turned out O'Keefe was the thief.
AMOUROUS MICHAEL.
Amourous young Michael from Mayo
At a girls house he tried to stayo
She started to shouto
And then kicked him outo
Said she" you're not staying no wayo."
NIGERIAN POEM THIEF.
A sly poem thief from Nigeria
On the soup caused a mass hysteria
He stole soupers work
Soupers went beserk
On the run now cos he's in fear of ya.
Written 18th august 2019.
I woke up very early this morning, restless and bothered, itchy for the day to happen. As dawn broke orange, the city was revealed. I’ll never get tired of watching that. The snow was gone but a gloss over the city streets indicated ice. I scanned the landscape for movement - for life - like a predator.
Lisa and I are headed back to school today, at 11am, by air, which our parents feel is the best way to avoid our old, holiday nemesis omicron (doesn’t that make us sound like secret agents?).
Once everyone was finally up, Lisa and I got our busy-on, doing the last load of laundry and final packing. Lisa, packs a suitcase, by throwing clothes in without bothering to fold them, while I meticulously fold and roll my clothes, like a marine headed for deployment.
As Lisa and I worked, Leeza (12) was lying on Lisa’s bed, on her back with her head hanging over the edge - watching us pack upside down. Her red hair looked like a thrown plate of spaghetti.
Leeza was talk, talk, talking and gnawing on a toasted bagel at the same time. “How do you feel about going back to school?” she asked us. “OH, feelings!” I gasped, “A free therapy session!” “No, really,” she said, grown serious and rolling right side up.
Leeza is cute as a button and vulnerable - I could almost feel her anxiety. As the youngest sibling I’d been left behind too - you don’t want the holiday to end and your big sister to leave - it’s a singularly lonesome feeling. I wanted to grab her, like a puppy, wrestle her and tell her I love her and I’d miss her - like my sister used to do with me. I decided that as soon as we were done packing, I would.
“My GOD,” Lisa said to Leeza, “will you PLEASE shut up! I have to think.” Leeza blushed and shrugged “I’m just making conversation, grump-face, you’ve packed a million times before haven’t you?” “Does counting to 10 make murder premeditated?” Lisa asked the ceiling.
Suddenly, Lisa dropped the blouse she’d been holding and pounced on Leeza, tickling her as she squealed with delight. In a second they’d become a ball of flailing arms, legs, hair and playful noise. I slunk out of the room to give them their sister’s goodbye.
Besides, I smelled bacon.
The ground rumbles, ominously, I'm on the steep side of a Mississippi River Bluff, mid-August, gathering bursting crimson red trophies of Staghorn Sumac for my favorite sumac-ade, a spright, invigorating tonic I enjoy this time of year. The smell in the air, forest-sage beginning to dry and ripen, the bitter tang of scattered paper-birch bark chimneys...must keep alert for the origins of the earthly rumble.
The unsettled earth, sweet and bitter smells...mix with my age and I sit down as if in a trance and drift asleep...harkening back to my training as a young man in a Manhattan Bagel Deli, assembling prep-stations for the customer onslaught about to descend. Proofed bagel dough, seeded and rotating in the elevator slate-shelved oven after a frothy malt-bath in the bubbling giant kettle, delectable aromas of fairly vibrating paper-sliced spiced meats and piquant aged cheeses, briny sheets of smoked lox, pots of sweetly acidic capers and luminous heirloom tomatoes...
But I'm much older now, my mind remembers, but my body can't function like it once did, I can't perform the once-easy configurations effortlessly like before.
The rumbling, just my imagination...
I awaken, gather my bunch of fluorescent sumac, which I am still able to concoct, mindful of God's Grace in my spiritual and physical evolution...He
Has Blessed me with.
8-13-20
6:03 am
songcatcher in the street and i see you walking by
(oh how i wish that i could talk to you)
i suddenly have a taste for a fresh bagel and hot cocoa
(oh how i wish i could walk with you)
you have a way about yourself that quietly commands and demands respect
(i wanna buy you an ice cream cone)
you have a way about yourself that just clean stops a room
(i really would like to walk you home)
songcatcher in the street and i watch your side hips switch
(i wonder what type of dances you can do)
i have these fantasies of certain places where you can slowly shake your tush
(i wonder what true blue romance will do to you)
you have a style about yourself that captivates captivation
(i wanna buy you an oreo shake)
you have a style about yourself that inspires happy elation
(i wanna ask you out on a date)
songcatcher in the street and i see him kissing you
(i think i wanna puke)
all my hopes go down the drain and i am strangely missing you
(i wish it was a fluke)
oh, the way you bless his love makes all flowers bloom
(i guess he feels like the man)
i just silently pass by and just him a different tune
(i have imagined all i can)
songcatcher in the street i dream about you
(i wanna be your king)
what i would give just to express just one hint of a clue
(with you i wanna do my thing)
however in reality he beat me to the punch
(left uppercut and all)
wow, how i would react if i had the floor to chance my hunch
(in love with you i would fall)
songcatcher in the street and i watch you pass by
(i just repeat each step)
i wish that i could let you know that you are my greatest high
(you would upgrade my rep)
the reality is you will never know me
(that is the saddest truth)
to get even a hint of your attention...oh God just show me
(she would invigorate my youth)
I pity those who can’t eat bread
But opt for gluten-free instead
For sourdough with hardened crust
And slathered butter is a must.
A bagel topped with lots of seeds
Is all a body really needs
Or onion rolls that softly squish
To complement most any dish.
A loaf of rye with caraway
Or garlic knots can make my day
And pumpernickel, deeply brown,
Has never ever let me down.
A fresh-baked challah, ripped apart,
Then dipped in sauce – be still, my heart!
Focaccia’s another treat
That must be sad to never eat.
I could go on and on, you know,
Expounding on the joys of dough.
For me, the truth is absolute –
There really is no substitute!
Dress up this tasty circular bread
with cream cheese, lox, or veggie spread.
A pumpernickel choice with marmalade jelly, just cried out to my empty belly.
There are too many people in this waiting line!
I arrived at 7:00 and it's quarter past 9:00!
I call out with a soft french shout,
"Quel est le problem?"
What's the wait all about?
"Le beignet......" "S'il vous plait." My bagel please, today!
Crunchy grapes, fragrant brie, so many toppings, too many to see.
These warm fine spreads will soon decorate my plate.
I would save some for you, but I just can’t wait.
My morning coffee just cried out , "Where is my companion? I might pass out"
Can you guess the treat of which I speak?
It’s a favorite of many, but not unique.
Round as a penny, near the size of your hand,
it’s MY savory BAGEL and just plain grand!
Bon appetit !
A baker’s dozen is thirteen; you get an extra bagel.
But don’t expect it other places, though you may finagle.
A dozen roses gets you twelve; a dozen eggs the same.
If you need thirteen candles, then expect a smaller flame;
Unless you buy a second box, for each one carries twelve.
It’s only bakers who into this mystery can delve.
If you request a baker’s dozen when you’re in the bank,
They’ll call the guard and throw you out, like every other crank.
The postal service, too, won’t know exactly what you mean.
“A baker’s dozen stamps!” you’ll say; but you’ll pay for thirteen.
There aren’t many places where we get something for free.
In this respect, a baker is the Gratis V.I.P.!
I'm not promised tomorrow
but i'm not sure i'm willing to give it up
theres so much i can't say
but there's so much i'm compelled to
you want rhythm and blues
But all i see is turmoil
and plots that seem to go unfoiled
maybe i'll live, maybe i won't
whatever i do, what is it to you
a few compliments and comments
to seduce me further into a rage
that you donot understand
the unfortunate desires of an aling man
will you stand beside me
in my hours of misfortunes
will you hold my hand
the moral is don't be the first
to voice your opinion
Don't want for a better tomorrow
Because they will only bury you
in yesterdays horror
MLK, JFK, Mr. Tupac Shakur
writers and spokesmen of this ongoing storm
life's been two cents short
of a bagel and manour since i was born
rebels of a better day i'll see you soon
Quickly, droplets dappled the walk,
Painting the cement a darker grey
Rain and darkening clouds usurped the sun,
Too serene in blue, ever-endless fields of azure
Thunder shook the ground
With deafening sound,
Whilst blinded by a bolt that smote of Zeus,
I felt my soul feint of fright
I saw my death, but clung to life,
I left the tea, the bagel, let the paper blow away,
And leapt inside the open patio door,
Sliding it closed, behind me, as the wind and rain pursued
I listened as each drop hurl itself against the pane
The wind augmenting their efforts in swelling waves
To break it down
They relented in drips that seemed to stagger, defeated
The wind urging them on and into futility
I sat, soaking wet at the table,
And saw a tear drop upon its glass surface
As my forearms absorbed its cold
My face stared back—old, tired
I was shaking, not from being cold
I thought of how I loved rainy days
I thought of how things can change in an instant
Others over a lifetime