Long Balsamic Poems
Long Balsamic Poems. Below are the most popular long Balsamic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Balsamic poems by poem length and keyword.
in a juicer, juice
1/4 c of rhubarb
1/12 cups of strawberries
1/4 c of ripe red apple
1 cup of raspberries
1 inch of ginger root
1/4 c balsamic vinegar
simmer to allow mixture
to thicken, add one cup
of granulated sugar
and allow to cool.
one homemade pound cake
cut into about thirteen
slices, roll thin using
a rollin-pin
melt one cup of butter
paint all sides of rolled
cake, place in a preheated
320 oven for about 10-15 minutes
to allow the cakes to crisp
and become cookie like..
remove from cookie sheet and allow to cool
1/2 gallon of vanilla bean ice-cream
2 scopes in a bowl
2 cookies on each side
top with berry jam mixture
add a couple blackberries
and whipped cream to top
sprinkle some roasted
sunflower seed and serve.
2 pounds of ground beef (cooked)
1 cup of sun dried tomatos
2 cups of chopped onion
4 cups of diced potatoes(cooked)
1 cup of chopped spinach
1/4 cup roasted garlic
4 tablespoons of fresh rosemary leaves
1 cups of paresean cheese
1 feta cheese
1/3 white wine
4 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar
1/2 raspberry puree
3 tablespoons of worshire sauce
1 cup of green peppers
2 cups of minced mushrooms
1 pound of italain sausage (cooked-casings removed
3 cups of beshamel sauce
pie pastry ( enough to line a dutch oven, and have enough left for a pie topping) mix it all up and put crust in the pot, fill it with the meats, and make a pretty topping for the pie, bake until crust is done.
serve with a creamy, butter and truffle sauce!
When the
seaside sepulchre
of a kingdom,
without its queen,
is smeared with
screams of lighting,
I wish to crackle
these slivers
of silver shakle,
and devour
that consoling
taste of balsamic
twilight, which
drapes every
ritual of woe with
maleficent vows.
I wonder, if
the thievery of
of my soul, will
enhance the
crawling of
raven sun
or, bestow power
upon the baptised
mannequin,
by slaying those
jealous lilies,
floating in
summery
estuaries of
my stolen destiny.
As these sage flames
fly across the
chambers of
my castle,
petrifying those
puerile promises
of life, I seak to
be an amaranth,
rising beyond
oak skies as
I engulf those
taunting meteors that
enshroud my
solitude and
dethrone every
essence of
false light, that
consumed those
waltzing scents
of my sangria spring.
Has my heart
become a
fickle thorn,
who will keep
bleeding guidance
in moonlight or
shall this
fortnight be
traced by the last
streak of treacherous
bloodline?
Perhaps,
'The Goddess
of Thunder'
is unfurling
those flaming
rose' maidens,
who wish
to splash ebons
of roaring wreath,
across the
woeful vaults of
my ribcage,
which concealed
their silence
in sentinels of
sacrifice.
I don't assert
the want of
swathing myself
in the perfumed
petrichor of
heinous healing,
as I don't want to
quench this
rage that
is carving a
strife to
refuse my
surrender towards
this succumbing
darkness.
" I wish to be
the soul of a marionette's
pearly pupa,
satiated by fiery halo
of chrysalis,
and slowly weaving
silken hymns of
desperate hope,
desiring to emerge
from the emeralds,
that betray every eye... "
Nestled with the glittering elements,
I ponder the immortality of the senses—
my lucidity twirls,
as pirouetting flakes through
sapphire mist amidst cyanic windstorms,
drifting like arctic embers,
towards cerulean twilight skies,
beyond frost covered pains,
littered across glacial clouds that linger,
swirling upon an indigo iced cluster of
topaz teal stars,
enveloping my cobalt soul beneath your
cashmere caress—
we behold the wonder of an
opulent crescent moon,
cradling our kismet love, in
vows of our balsamic destiny, ever
sanctioning icebound purgatories
buried deep in our bones, in
flurry feathered snowfields,
guiding our
souls back home to our halcyon hereafters,
where I’ll sit throned as the
queen of blizzards,
wearing a crown of bleeding splinters.
The ghostly snows of my past
haunt me on worthless wintry days,
reminder of so many lost relationships,
suggestive memories of happier times.
Yet fiendish demons haunt my present,
so many massive crosses must I bear
until, perchance, I can perhaps recapture
the long forgotten exuberances of olden years.
But memories are sometimes misty,
visions mere tenuous apparitions,
fretful emotions a thing of yesteryear.
Can I evoke all those occurrences
or should I hope for another chance?
that I might feel again the happiness
that eludes me like a ghostly dance.
Yet it is at a dance that we meet again,
I feel exuberant again and dream,
To feel the brush of your soft lips,
the simple caresses of your fingertips,
the strokes I’ll give your silken tresses,
to hear your laughter ringing melodious,
to smell your balsamic sexual musk,
and so much more, o so much more.
I yearn again as she dances close to me,
but now 'tis hell, torment and misery,
I merely live in dream and hope.
1 & 1/2 CUPS OF ALMONDS MINCED
2 CUPS OF MINCED RASAINS
1/3 CUP OF MINCED CHERRIES
1/3 DREID APROCOITS
1 CUP OF COCNUT FLAKES
1 CUP OF SUNFLOWER SEEDS
1 CUP OF CRUSHED DRIED BANANAS
1 CUPS OF YOGORT (PLAIN)
1 CUP OF A PUNGENT GOATS CHEESE
2 CUPS OF CREAMED CHEESE
4 EGG YOLKS
3 TABLESPOONS OF LIME JUICE
1 &1/2 CUPS OF SUGAR
4 TABLESPOONS OF VANILLA EXTRACT
1/3 CUP OF AMARRETTO
1/4 CUP OF ORANGE LIQUER( SOFTEN 5 TABLESPOONS OF GELATIN wITH)
MIX WELL ALLOW TO SIT AND COME TOGETHER (FOR ABOUT ONE HOUR -ROOM TEMPERTURE)
IN A TEFLON MUFFIN PAN, LINE EACH CUP WITH A SWEETENED PIE DOUGH, AND FILL WITH MIXTURE, BAKE FOR ABOUT TRIRTY MINUTES REMOVE FROM OVEN AND ALLOW TO COOL
FOR A SAUCE USE /13 CUP OF RASBERRY JAM
1/2 CUP OF RASBERRY LIQUER
1/4 CUP OF BALSAMIC VINEGAR
BOIL TO A THICKENED REDUCE SACE, ALLOW TO COOL
AND SERVE ON THE PLATE!
I smell something so beautiful!
Many different fragrances are drifting toward me.
So many sachets of poetry are prettily displayed.
Such visual delights!
I stoop to relish one - a citrus blend
with sweet anise and cinnamon.
Ah! How fun this poem is with its taste of licorice!
And here’s one that is rather sensuous.
Its aroma is the clove,
clary sage, bergamot, and rose.
How luscious! I linger at this one for a while. . .
Now I lean in toward the scent of chamomile.
This poem soothes the spirit
with its lavender and jasmine blooms in it.
Oh, here is one not only sweet but spicy!
Coriander wafts my way
with cinnamon and ginger. Such a treat to savor!
Next I view a bowl
filled with myrrh and frankincense.
And what else?
Why, it’s the earthy scent of sandalwood
with a touch of patchouli for good measure.
My, this is an epic poem to treasure.
Right next to it I spy a tiny one -
a packet of herbs and other little things,
But oh, how sweet its fragrance
of nutmeg, citrus and vanilla. Indeed, I’ve found a gem.
And here is one completely fresh - a most creative blend
of lemon, lavender and pine. It is divine!
Now a strong scent of sweetness comes to me,
This time from lavender laced
with small petals Of germaniums, and again,
the wondrous cinnamon
that takes my mind far back
to sentimental scenes of childhood.
Balsamic and earthy is the final poem that tempts me
with cedar wood, spruce and fir -
another one with thoughts of life and nature
to ponder as I linger one last time. . .
Then I must leave this sanctuary.
Day after day -
how I love to fill my senses
with poetry potpourri!
May 1, 2016 for Linda's Poetry _______ (fill in the blank) Poetry Contest
(hope I did it right this time!)
Oh Goddess Moon, you induce painters to paint,
the crazed to rave and poets to praise your grace.
How many love affairs have you helped to consummate?
With a woman’s many wiles, you change your shape.
How you beguile, yet never do you vacillate.
You stay your course and never stray!
Like yin to yang, you are to sun a cool and pallid pool,
changing, yet constant in your rule
as you steadfastly move from New to Quarter To Gibbous to Full,
and then you wane . . .
till in Crescent Balsamic you reign -
there to shortly contemplate the wisdom you have gained.
Your fortnight ended, you journey back again.
We all beneath you are an ocean mystically pulled,
heirs to the gifts you weave at the time we are born.
Like our predecessors who learned to heed
your rhythmic sounds as they planted seed,
it would behoove us, with our vast technology,
to stop and study the sky, your teachings there to see!
A philly steak style ribeye
shved thin. stir fried with onion
,garlic, and mushrooms.
Mixed with a mixture of
cream cheese, pareseam cheese
and smoked swiss.
Served on a spinach and swiss tart
with a raspberry and balsamic vinegar
salad. They smiled and
grinned.
I heard them humming
the song of deliciousness while
they dined. Highly ttractive
and so fine, she
smiled and grinned
until I built my nerves up
to ask for her name and number.
I rode my horse over to the stables
and left my truck at the Straphouse.
Since I was a member of the staff
I had certain tasks to complete
before I could take a break.
I planned to spend my break with her
until this God Awful cloud came over head.
Thats when everything changed.
I took her by the hand and we
looked for a radio to find
out current conditions.
We asked Cysa the waiter
what was going on
he said a tornado watch
had been placed
on the area. If one were to arrive
we were advised to
go to the wine celler. So we
just went there
and had our lunch. We had
Barbaqued Porkbelly
with Asain Roasted plums
in a wine sauce. With fried rice
and a Casear salad.
it was so delicous.
I start off being optimistic
With my big saucepan
Only as a last resort will I ever
Eat soup from a can.
I assemble all the ingredients
From a list I’ve not written down
Caremelise the onions.
Until they’re nice and brown.
Slice up some items
Dice all the rest
Cut the mushroom small
I think that’s best.
I slow cooked a Ham to
Provide a liquid base
Carefully and slowly
I stir this into place.
I crumble in a cube, flavour
Depending on what I’ve got
Bring it slowly to the boil and
Keep it simmer hot.
I use a hand held blender
To get rid of all the lumps
Get it smooth and even
Get rid of all the clumps.
I taste it in anticipation.
Always a potential waste
It’s hot smooth and digestible
But has such a bland taste.
indeterminate and indefinable
And no matter how I’ve tried
The supposed soup’s variety
Just can’t be identified
So it’s down to my reviver
I alway need to use to fix it
Worcester, Soy, and Balsamic,
And then I liberally mic it.
Sling in some lazy garlic
Just for good measure
Amazingly these Ingredients
Just add to the palate’s pleasure
It’s a hotchpotch of flavours
With a lot of spicy heat
Not the sort of thing a gourmet
Would willingly choose to eat
But we consume every last drop
We just can’t stand any waste
And hope springs eternal one day
It will conform to conventional taste.