Long Baking soda Poems
Long Baking soda Poems. Below are the most popular long Baking soda by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Baking soda poems by poem length and keyword.
The secret for great flavor
in a baked cherry pie
Add a little almond extract
for the taste that will happily surprise
For dull tasteless vegetables
like cabbage and green beans
Add a little bacon grease
watch the kids lick their plate clean
For tender succulent beef
every Chinese chef knows
Mix the beef with baking soda
become a stir fry hero
Sauces to bland slow down
simmer that sauce for a taste profound
Slow and easy a little sugar will do
cook extra for second helpings too
Need some flavor oomph
in meats gravies and stews
A good shake of Worcestershire sauce
your taste buds will woo
Add the old stand by for any plan dishes
pour on the ketchup make it delicious
But the true secret ingredient every cook knows
a little love adds the flavor that makes your kitchen glow.
It is a desolate area
Surrounded by hills
And a high but steep dirt road
There are barren trees of different sizes
But the house is above the road with bushes
Hard to see at the very top of the dirt road
On a windy day there are little dust storms
The dirt flies everywhere but up to the house
But no mice or rats because there is hot sauce
And baking soda all around the exterior of the house
Anything that falls goes no further than the dirt road
In winter the house gets what snow that the trees do not
But not much mud because it is on its own hill
And none of surrounding hills are close enough to throw any
The only noise is from the sky when an occasional air crat flies by-
Every car goes slow enough to avoid going over the cliff
i am leftovers traded for yesterday's scraps
i am in the back of the refrigerator next to the baking soda
i am the mood food dude always treated rude
the body of my recipe has long since developed a tolerance to it all
once upon a time i was famous in your heart
your mind wanted to meet me
your body wanted my autograph
you made me feel confident in ways foreign to both my naked eyes
then i became familiar when the views of my ways became fully clothed
you then put plastic on my existence and put the mere thought of me in storage
when the fresh scent of my love was rediscovered, i was only attractive the transient nightcrawlers
i only had myself to talk to and you would only let me out on the twelfth of never
i am garbage headed for a land filled with the unsung and the unnoticed
i am on top of a pile of many versions of the latest casualty
i am a mash of trash treated like an itchy rash in a mad dash
the ivory of my decomposition has long since developed a tolerance for it all
Seven medications and I can spell none of them.
I have thrown sleeping pills and pain reliever into the fray.
For the morphine was not cutting it.
I was in dire pain. Then I took a baking soda bath.
Pure heaven, that bath. Instant relief.
Joe ran out and bought all the baking soda the store had.
He had to rent a truck to bring it in. He is crazy like that
When a loved one like me is as sick as I am.
The truck broke down on the way down the driveway,
But I revved up our magic conveyor belt and we had that baking soda inside
lickety split. It is filling up the kitchen, the hallway, and most of the bathroom.
I have enough room to squeeze into the tub, so all is good.
What you feed will surely grow
Take it from someone who truly knows
Too bad you can’t exfoliate your insides with some microdermabrasion
That kills all your pride
Stripping away the degenerate mindset that so often tries to hide
Too bad you can’t take foaming cleanser and remove the impurities from your soul
So many are worried about the external but that will never make you whole
There is no baking soda or deep pore treatment that can wash away your sins
Nothing of this world can detox you from the poison that dwells within
There are no feminine cleaning wipes that can wash away the filth of your former days
Only heavens rain can lead you out of that twisted cycle, and maze
What you feed will surely grow
Take it from someone who truly knows
This is not a theory or a planned-out petition
It’s a willing act of daily submission
We all surrender to something
Why not let it be truth
There are no quick results, life is not a photo booth
What you feed will surly grow
Take it from someone who truly knows
For every word plants a seed
And every seed yields a crop
And if you want to end up at the top
There are some things that you must stop!
your type of fertilizer matters when its your garden that needs nutrition
All those weeds eventually will kill off all of your ambition
Everything needs care
Or eventually won’t be there
Everything needs healing or the thief will keep on stealing
Everything needs water
To keep life in its proper order
And everything needs you
To fight
for things to be brand new.
By: Sabina Nicole
It's not impossible that my house stink.
At times there festers garbage in a sack
behind a closet door, and once the sink
got clogged with who-knows-what; sent water back
up filthy and all black; I dished it out
scoop by nasty scoop into a pan.
That damn disposal broke. There was no doubt
my kitchen reeked, so I turned on a fan
and dropped some baking soda in the drain
(I'd heard it stopped most odors), but the worst
came next: a stench which I could not explain.
I searched my rooms. Six days my house was cursed
until I found it dead and hidden well -
a mouse I bet inhaled the kitchen's smell!
(true story but a little exaggerated!)
For Susan Burch's
Offensive Odors or Noise Pollution Poetry Contest
So many irksome dilemmas in life can be cured by simple solutions.
All are not necessarily fixed by the latest technological revolutions.
To remedy the many vicissitudes that rain down upon myself,
I grab that handy box of lowly baking soda reposing upon the shelf!
This simple, innocent looking stuff is good for many uses,
Including easing the pain of little kneesies that easily bruises.
'Tis useful for sweetening reeking walking shoes and garbage cans,
For shining silver and rejuvenating blackened pots and pans!
Even my inscrutable cat begins to purr a mile "purr" minute,
When I freshen his litter box by sprinkling baking soda in it.
If my auto picks up that scourge of the road, the dreaded tar,
Baking soda is just the thing for tidying up the car!
Why should I pay a plumber to unplug the clogged-up drain,
When a dollop of baking soda will the same results obtain?
It can be used as a toothpaste for making choppers look smarter,
Whitening them and controlling that nefarious tartar!
I've found that after my all too frequent sprees of gluttony,
That only a dose of baking soda relieves my gastric agony.
Its use for indigestion docs would discourage or even squelch.
Fiddle Faddle! I find instant relief in one humongous belch!
Dad bad habit slammed can fan which wish list mystical brisk hip hotel spelled smelly shellfish baking soda Toyota Music factory packed banana slate clean reamed dream that obscene creamy scene team leaning on and upon the thong song covered by a sarong bong hit bonkers Wonka wizard Tonka truck out of luck stuck in a rut no bucks Griffen ridden was given pigeon toed snowshoe road toad as a fingerprint wince pain drains brain game sane name lame dame sprained ankle cankle wasted toothpaste face mace grazed gravy lace taste of the Elated emaciated overrated unsaturated elevator alligator double hater breaker box two toned blue Sox hawk shop stop sign rhyme timer empty diner whiner primed sign finder linebacker stacker shabby Mad Hatter fashion able to be stable while watching cable faster than one could fasten their seat belt the belch yelling the telltale whale tail for the thong song when Cisco goes to the disco in Frisco toe to toe with Joe Blow instead of a showdown with a drowned hound from behind the mound over in the next town safe and sound rounding 3rd base for a home run to be somewhat someone who is no fun picking crumbs at runny scum tons with both guns hundred blunts well done jumbled stumbling puns for every one munching on the funniest lunge after the rafters hoist up the black lung sponges that spoiled the Fun Bunch lunch brigade while being played with the Ace of Spades raiding the trading card throwing star hash bar black tar Mars Bars Hot wheels cars for real deal scars that lard could lighten lighter yards to fish farther for gars in Garland instead of on the other hand deep sea fishing for Marlins with George Carlin. That on the other hand would be very, very startling.
Just one dusk at the terminus,
the hourglass will shatter.
No more pain,
no more suffering,
just the silence
of a penance without sentence.
My feelings,
a procession of punishments.
My condolences
to all those victims
who drowned their vigilance
in the bowels of negligence.
No allegiance
to the urgencies of decadence.
The decay of my celestial spark
sanctifies its own downfall.
I am nothing but a coffin
of indelible scars,
bound to vanish into the darkness of the void.
I have known
the insolence of opulence.
I have tasted
the delights of misery.
My impure hands
have strangled innocence,
far from the spotlight
of condescension.
They learned
to cut hard drugs
to beautify the nightmares
of ill-omened birds.
I still have ammonia
in my brain,
baking soda
on my knuckles.
I learned
to handle weapons of war
in pine-covered forests.
I still smile
when I hear a Kalashnikov
sing the sinister symphonies
of retaliation.
I’ve never pleaded guilty
nor howled beneath flashing lights.
I absorbed
all the lessons of omertà
and the laws of the penal code.
My hair turned white
on a body battered
by irreversible damage.
I wish annihilation
upon all my enemies,
declared or disguised.
I adore darkness,
like those condemned
on death row.
I grew up
in the paradise of savagery,
under a bleak sky.
I bicker every day
with the devil,
over the rent
for my place in hellfire.
A few broken hearts.
My offspring
are scattered across the Earth.
I am a Sub-Saharan immigrant,
in love with freedom.
I did not come
to spread the good news
of brotherhood.
My phallus is circumcised
and I don’t eat pork—
just like Christ.
No money,
no equality:
humans
are not all equal,
even if the reaper
resets the counters to zero.
I am eloquent and elegant
like my demons.
I’ve traumatized my ghosts
with the clarity of a psychopath
with sociopathic ambitions.
I love to change time zones
for sunny beaches,
when the accounts are in the green.
I’ve had the chance
to wander across four continents.
I am a chameleon
with skin rich in melanin.
I am not intelligent,
I’ve just travelled a lot.
Oh how my Grandmother could make a wonderful carrot cake
I'm sure many can remember how our grandmothers could bake
How that wonderful smell would meander right up to her front door
So as soon as we walked up we knew that something special was in store
And then finally one day, as I grew older and I even got my first car
I called and said 'I was coming over', for Grand Mom didn't live that far
Saying 'I wanted to learn more, so one day I might be able to bake
She said, "sure come on over, and we will make some carrot cake"
Of course there was no wonderful smell as I walked through her door
And then out on the kitchen table, all scattered there was so much more
There was salt, flour, oil, baking soda and powder and even vanilla extract
'Wow!' thinking the taste of all these ingredients by themselves really lack
Yet when all these things are brought together with a loving hand
By being part of this sum and coming together they make something grand
Maybe you're the flour in God's plan or maybe you feel like just basic oil
But God's is using all of us in his plan and you wouldn't want the cake to spoil
(Romans 8:28)
Dedicated to my grandmother Cecil Senechal