Long Boil over Poems
Long Boil over Poems. Below are the most popular long Boil over by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Boil over poems by poem length and keyword.
Don't stop the CHOP
dash the glorious bits of foam and froth
let the leeward side fill
let the fertile delta pray
for mercy from Poseidon
All hail the storm God...
Angry, black-and-blue, bruise
the coast, claim the futile calm...
meditate on the black hole of the abyss
Can’t STOP the chop…
Brash and brazen tentacle of DOOM
destruction stirs the devil’s cauldron
Watch the witches brew boil over the
capes of man
removing the zen garden
prissiness of the pandering fools
Batten DOWN the hatches boys
There BE a BLOW on ‘er…
ships flail like paper boats
RALE against the dieing, FIGHT
Ride the crest on boards LIVE the fright!
he entered the room as if rice was about to boil over,
seeing faces of those he didn't recognise look as though
they were reading the last line of a book they never read
before, staggered, asymmetrically pensive in times during
coffee servings and bites from donuts, but, given that it
was only midday, the flavour of the waitresses grumbled
in overlapping office lunch hours. little did our hero, who
entered with arched cat-back whiteness, know, his un-
expected audience, delivering blank verse in motor-
cycle and side-car loads, were systematically only there
to make up the numbers, merely propping up the inward
burst of off the street heart attacks, the last hope of ever
thwarted reasoning and too the waitresses were cardboard.
In the twelth hour
We're pursuing generational wealth
From a generation who stole
Everything from us
The clock ticks closer to doom
But we're no closer to finding our own reality
When dreams are nightmares
Fueled by foreign wars
I thought it was all wack
But I held everything back
Taking the back seat
To let others drive the car
And as we fly off the bridge
I have to ask myself how I even got here
Because my hope is drowning
In a dead sea of blood and oil
I'm tired of sitting and crying
Listening to cowards who aren't fighting
But put our soldiers on the streets
As they parade their new yachts
You sold your children's future
For foreign investment that didn't manifest
And as infrastructure begins to break down
See the reality of a dying empire
This land was not made for you and me
And the melting pot is beginning to boil over
But sadly we're caught in the crossfire
Of a media fueled race war
Because to divide is to conquer
And maybe I'm a victim of the game
When I point fingers and attribute blame
Because I'm clearly guilty too
My love for all on Poetry Soup
like a tasty broth group.
Cook and stir
* 2 pounds lean Lebanon ground
in Dutch oven over medium-high heat,
breaking the Lebanon meat up as it cooks,
until all is no longer pink and has
started to brown, about 10 minutes.
Stir in the
* 2 Canada onions, chopped
* 3 United Kingdom garlic cloves, chopped
and cook for another 1o minutes
Stir in
* 3 cups Africa water
* 2 (15 ounce) United States cans tomato sauce
* 2 (14.5 ounce) cans India diced tomatoes
* 3 tablespoons Isle Of Man soy sauce
* 2 tablespoons dried Italian herb seasoning
* 3 Philippines bay leaves
* 1 tablespoon seasoned Bangladesh salt, or to taste
and bring to a boil over medium heat.
Stir
* 2 cups uncooked elbow Australia macaroni,
cover, and simmer over low heat until the pasta is tender,
about 25 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Poets with golden ink and pens
that make us move forward as friends
with inspiration, kindness, and honesty,
encouragement and compliments.
A small act of caring, which has the potential
to turn a life around.
I thank each and everyone of you far and near.
3/14/2022
The pedestrian kettle steams on to the Capitol pyre
With a weight watcher tonic; more lean legislators to sire
The Grand Old Party a taste of the aromatic brew doth require
Medicinal tonic blended to alleviate bloating gout of every Democratic squire
Preferring their watered-down, generic brand, constipated digestive tracts go haywire
The savy financiers sit on the sidelines in their cozy markets ignoring the taste test flier
The partisan grit clogs the filter producing a quagmire
The vitriolic ingredients boil over causing a rancid fire
The billowing smoke rises and streams to the patrician choir
The generic master brewer in his white house stews in the demagogic mire
Commercial winds sweep in fanning the flames causing the heat to reach dome's spire
The regurgitated grounds spewed forth to every intoxicated shire
Democratic gainsayers scare the elderly that the side effects are so dire
The rest of the squeamish plebians in their depleted hovels continue to sip their Common Roast with ire
Never underestimate this opponent,
While he's busy rolling up his sleeves.
Though he looks like he isn't focused,
Soon you'll be falling to your knees.
I've watched him from a vague distance,
He visualizes every single, lethal blow.
In his mind's eye he quietly meditates,
Carefully strategizing how this fight'll go.
Like a pot about to boil over,
The rage deep inside him slowly grows.
He witnessed so much through horrific scenes,
A well kept secret no outsider knows.
He constantly replays this life's traumatic moments,
Holding back the painfully silent tears.
He'll never open up, to publically display,
Haunting memories inflicted over the years.
Although his mind and views are tainted,
Because of the situations beyond his control.
The Boxer's indestructible spirit is mighty,
Protecting his heart and shielding his soul.
She told me that she never had real spaghetti before.
Of course she's had spaghetti before but not in the sense that made it worthwhile.
When I asked why she replied that it didn't feel real.
That in a sense it was pasta.
She always broke the noodles when she made it.
She developed a fear that everything would boil over and catch fire.
That part of the noodles would be too crunchy.
All of it would never fit in the pot.
Her mother always broke the noodles so it just became habit.
In the same breath.
She told me at least once,
That she'd like to twirl the noodles around the fork.
The complete taste and feel of what makes it spaghetti.
The cheese blending into the sauce.
The big ball of noodles just wrapping around the fork waiting to be bit.
When I asked about the meatballs she laughed,
She was vegetarian
Across Realms
Across vast realms
Where clouds collide
Like scarred chariots
In rush hour traffic
Storms boil over
Fed by fiery wombs of dawn’s inferno
With flames of sunrise fire,
As thrashing rain
Plants rainbow seeds
In metaphoric soils
To harvest far flung sunbows
From cerulean fields.
Sun and storm wedded
Hopefulness
Whispers
A haunting covenant
Drenched by hues of hope
Shielded by the sun.
Binding misty edges
Of edgeless domains
Revelations
In beatific splendor soar
Kaleidoscopic pergolas
Highlight sky bound wings
Tinted by ethereal arches
When shimmering puddles
Unfold across Heaven’s doorstep
Across realms
Bathed in mystic grandeur.
5-2-23
Contest: This or That
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Theme Chosen: Across Realms
People never seem to listen to what i have to say
Just brush it off their shoulder interrupting all the way
In a disagreement everyone is guilty of pride
You say what you have to say then run away and hide
Instead of always interjecting who did what to who
Maybe take a moment and hear my side too
You shut me down quickly, constantly your abrupt
I heard what you had to say, now my ulcers acting up
Not wanting you to agree wish you'd take things in stride
Just listen to my story about the feelings i have inside
Acknowledge that you've heard me I'm not looking for advice
Set aside preconceived notions on what you think is right
If i never get to finish telling you how i feel
Those emotions boil over and make me feel quite ill
Interjecting comments, questioning everything
Stating someone else's version - your driving me insane
Sometimes you need to hear me & let me get it off my chest
You assume you know for certain your perception is the best
Just let me get through telling you & let it all unwind
I never get to finish it happens every time
Judgments passed too early your minds already set
You mumble & you grumble it's frustrating I would bet
Listening to ones feelings is not agreeing I would say
When I finish my story we will both have a better day
Unbalancing my thinking your comments are so bold
Now look at the drama not listening caused to unfold
Like a tsunami from the ocean
I want to churn everything, inside out
But rue the fact that,
Like a bubble in the air
Have to be content with only
Being fidgety inside myself.
When the rocks try to stop
The natural flow of river, downwards
Even the transparent water, gets bloodied,
Breaking its head on the rocks,
I can feel its squirming and quibbling
But can remain only a mute spectator.
Whenever I feel oppressed, in any form
My heart seethes and fumes
My blood Inside tends to boil over
Only to become cold again, why?
Perhaps it is not in my nature to retaliate,
Then, am I condemned remaining wounded, perpetually?
Unable to do much about oppressive relations,
I pine away with my grief
Only wishing I could also free myself
And others of the oppression and the pain it inflicts
And enjoy the happiness and freedom
endowed by nature, in relations.
But looking at nature’s infinite vastness, where
Despite tight bonding and discipline in every bit
All relationships out there enjoy
Innate freedom, harmony and fairness
Then Wounds inflicted by the experience of oppression,
Fill me with jealousy and pain even harder and deeper.
Hope is life, maybe quite dreamlike
The change, which would destroy
the current forms of oppressions
and build relationships, free and fair, anew
seems to be a far cry, as of now.
the volcanoes are also destined to remain
dormant inside, for centuries, before they erupt.
Self Translation of my Hindi poem 'Parivartan'