Long Bitters Poems
Long Bitters Poems. Below are the most popular long Bitters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bitters poems by poem length and keyword.
absinthe…
not absent this proof
the ascend of spirits grande
fairies greene as flowers bland
pour from a bottle
three in hand
“goddess of the hunt”
a drink most beautiful
origins Callisto
of generations purposeful
a papyrus recorded
medicinal
and magical
a cold mix of elixir
in measured vapors…
delicious escapes
as the favored
Demeter
do you agree…
of my muse
news better
of the bitters used
or do you resist
in the kiss of Mead
indeed
the nature of things
in a pleasurable state
for material brings
of the being fortuna
a corona by name
in a date of Chance
and it was there
hear
where they danced
Form:
The tweet on the pipe called the muster fall-in
The cadets all fell in with nary a din
For now they’d be grouped for “Hands to Cleanship”
To dress up the ship afore the Old Man's pip-pip
Well-trained, the cadets set to their work
The Bo ‘suns and POGIs made sure they didn’t shirk.
The awnings were tautened with the Shark's Mouth agape
The ropes in the grommets brought all into shape
The hydrants and fittings were brassoed and shined
The scuppers were cleaned where muck was confined
Running rigging was secured with belaying pins
All loose gear were neatly stacked in their bins
Hawsers and towropes were carefully coiled
Wire ropes ‘spiked, unkinked and oiled.
The decks were all cleaned with the broom and the brush
Fenders and pontoons secured so sides wouldn’t crush
With hammers the cable was chipped off of rust
The shackles were oiled after cleaning the dust.
The bitters on the bits were tethered on tight
With the bitter ends belayed and tucked out of sight.
The QD was holystoned with water and sand
(All set for the do with the Naval Band)
The Old Lady was painted in her customary gray
Her waists all shaped up for the rest of the day
The guns were all covered for the incoming squall
Even before the “cover guns” call
The Inglefields were mustered, the pennants and flags
Strung for’ard to stern without any sags
And thus was the ship all dressed to the tee
As shipshape and dandy as she rightly ought to be.
Their tasks all done, the cadets did secure
But the day was not done, there was more to endure!
If desire crests from craven heart
On my duplicitous eyes won't chart
With clever guise will deliver Cupid's dart
From ducts, drain silt that lust does cart
Only sentient strain from dilated pupils impart
Through mind's eye, residual glare will kick start
If grifting ears strain only lurid rhythms to hear
To sift only the tawdry jingles that decorum jeer
With modular shift will Jove's hypnotic cadence sear
Melodic parlance with romantic vibes will ring clear
With only rational discourse your sterile drums cheer
If drooling lips seek with Venus's frothy dew endear
And impulsive lips cannot from sumptuous strips veer
A chapping balm on the puckering seams I'll smear
With arresting bitters saliva from taste buds shear
Onto comely face a dry, innocuous kiss will steer
My ministry
Is to tell the truth
No matter how it bitters
To each out with good
Intension
Touching the weak
When am strong
Rearranging the world
From the dark of the dark
Despite am part of worlds
Makes me more confident
My ministry
Is to tell the story
That touches the heart
And heal a needy soul
To cure the incurable
Doom on our land
To heal and protect
A dying world
Given freely to mankind
My ministry
Is not to preach
Of a God
With out love
My ways are never
In any separation from
Peace and unity
Even when I bleed
I still live in my light
Cos I bear no curse
Of brutality to another man in
My ministry
.For Public Domain
Winter Bitters
(after reading Robert Browning's
Home Thoughts, From Abroad)
The tiny leaves of Spring, a memory
not long passed before this Summer arrived.
We might have thought they'd never go away,
but the thought did not come, and they died
in Autumn, before the coming Winter day.
We missed their spreading flat and full,
missed shading under their canopy.
We might have said thanks for their beauty and green,
but no said came, and every leaf would flee
in Autumn, before our present Winter scene.
Spring, leaves, and thanks, lost opportunities
for beauty and its praise in Summer songs
we might have sung before they went away,
but no songs came, and leaves left in throngs
in Autumn. Bewail now our bitter Winter day.
There is a strange wind blowing in the town and I don't know where it is bound.There is a strange wind blowing in the town and destiny is moving from door to door.Short wind, wide wind, narrow wind, and all types of wind is moving around ferociously bearing mankind sins.Wind come in contact with wind, wind beating against wind, wind that has no proof when it is ready to rip through the roof.I don't know where it started and where it is going to end but the mood is not totally free, especially when you have to sign the final decree.The ageless, the merciless, the motherless and the fatherless are moving in the same direction with their hands and feet buried in the concrete.And a strange sound howling from above makes the pilgrimage before the day is done.While the sorrows of the night is moving around slowly with all its might.There is a strange wind blowing in the town spreading its chill around, it is crawling up and down the tree with a profound message for you and me.I have tried to analyze it, and I have tried to summarize it but something is deeper than me keeps grinding its teeth at me. I don't respond well to threat, especially when it involves death.I don't respond well to threat that cause people to fret.When you mix bitter and sweet, you will get bitter sweet.It is more like the taste of wine with a certain blamish embedded within.The woman sitting infront of me is selling sweet coconut cake and the man behind me is selling bitters and spices on a ring that will send the cockroaches running.Everything is bitter and it will wash away the pain that has caused so much shame.If you put it into your mouth it is bitter, if you put it in water it is bitter, bitter balls, bitter wood, bitter leaves, bitter stick, everything is bitter the man shouts.The lyrics move around the park as the marching band gets ready to start.They are tuning up their drums and everyone is lining up for the strange
run.The wind is penetrating the base and it has many different faces.I don't know which way it will blow but I have to leave town before the start of the show.Stand and rise up with the wind.
Words dissolve in a simmering pot~
not soup, but something more.
Each ladle releases a new verse,
a flavor never before tasted.
Some mix their sorrow as deeply as a roux,
while others scatter hope like coarse black pepper.
A smidgen of resentment bitters the broth
while laughter improves the brew.
I bring my scraps, my burnt-edged rhymes,
my half-chewed thoughts still warm.
The pot absolves the awkward lines,
transforming them into poesies.
And when the steam has filled the room,
when my tongue is tinctured,
I leave not fed—but changed, undone~
with someone else’s hunger inside.
Brackish nerves languish and latch
like seashells clinging to the shore—
something in the water pulls them in…
some fervor from something
Familiar and Ancient.
I’ve seen your eyes before…
on too many arresting horizons…
how light hits your features,
colliding waves of my senses,
twisting my inner bitters—
wringing them out to the tactless tide.
Bitters melt in the salts…
nerves narrow and focus.
My lit up eyes drag against tidal forces and
you’re lost—drifting love…drifts…love drifts…
Love Drift.
Those dream-drooping eyes
are too knowing—too familiar—
which makes me whimper to realize…
you’re too bright for me to handle.
A lost monopoly game
Williams fright, bridge, faith
and urban blight, Williamsburg.
Soot gray and brick red
the buildings stand
slumped, shrouded
death in the abundance
of vacant buildings.
Waste strewn sea
of asphalt, concrete, and urban dreams.
Cracks housing cigarette butts
form paper chains at the bases
of forlorn locust trees.
Sickly trees, popping from between
wrought iron barricades spiked manmade thorns
an Appleseedian affectation of defiance
toward a city of cave dwellers.
Doors, blind, windowless..no eye out or in..
unwelcoming entries..present
surfaces flat, color-chip palettes
for the graffiti “artist” latest spray painted
monstrosity
“ahhhhhhhhhh urban art!”
Two story warehouse walls writhe
their surfaces adorned
with an effluence of madness? grafetti....
Throw backs with paint tubes?
Or Jackson Pollacks with aerosol cans?
Sunday mornings only human grace;
bagel bitters, their sideburn squiggles
the only reassuring reminder of the reverent.
Their continuing presence
these Hasids with prayer shawls dangling
these monochromatic breathes of fresh air
present as the only harbor of safety, sanity,
as a lost girl child returns to her native
Brooklyn.
I love you better
than Cookies and Cream,
my lifelong favorite
more than seas playing footsies
with shore clams
in cuddly tropical sands
The warmth of enticing Caribbean
soothing waters
(billowy-sails...fields of overhead
stars...night's complicit fireflies
helping chart to a romantic cove
a beat-up heart seeking a paradise-like
new-start)
(a desire for tasteful, novel, cheerful effervescent
brew, a need to leave on the old dock past that settled for
impure bitters)
( navigate clear of thought defacing
apps like Facebook's and Twitter's
that falsely entice, tempt
a free-thinking, sacred spirit, to
express living solely on a mindless
uncaring device – not a true life, just a
wax slice
not abiding complete, but in fact,
manipulated into electronic defeat....)
Petals need firm attachment if to be
enticing blushing roses~ blooms for crinkly smiles,
puckering lips and playful toes-es –
Valentines of
perfumed hearts made of hand-laid,
lacy type paper, crafted by flirty eyes
in agreement with pheromone receptive
noses
A softly played harp...a bower of flowers...
Back lathering showers shared – which
requires a minimum of two daring
hearts...wantonly, lovingly paired –
Love is always trumpeted, openly, fondly, vociferously
musically declared....