Long Braise Poems
Long Braise Poems. Below are the most popular long Braise by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Braise poems by poem length and keyword.
Acta Non Verba... Speaks Volumes
The above ad hoc Latin catchphrase,
(concatenated with two English words),
I regale chance reader
immediately sets ablaze
title of poem with timeless adage,
aptly suits this solitary
older male, whose daze
spent on planet Earth
aimless curriculum vitae
configures a zigzag maze
significant blocks of time
poorly aye now appraise
and rue so little forethought
wrought starry eyed glaze
amiss to any Amish,
colonial, horse drawn observer
passing by in their chaise
puzzled, asper my
doggone catatonic gaze
indicative as if me mind
lost in a foggy haze
yours truly attests,
concurs, he now flays
chastises, fulminates, lays
hard and heavy lament,
albeit cloistered frivolous,
lackadaisical, unproductive... ways
apathetic, estranged, indifferent...
ambivalent state comatose phase
toward life, when at young age
lacked joie de vivre evincing braise
zen lee oblivious zombie behavior
upon quick observation displayed craze
zee demeanor synonymous
with institutionalized craze
zee wardens of the state,
and at present realize futility to raise
hullabaloo, when 20/20 hindsight
shines figurative light on
how appeared to laze
about lost in space,
within outer limits
of my own twilight zone ways!
Mister Tom Turkey says gobble gobble
Mrs. Tom Turkey’s head goes wobble wobble
Zig-zaging through yards of grass they meet
Hen teaching her younglings 'bout how to eat
Tom gathers, his tuft dangling from his breast
His wingtips dragging, along with all the rest
Our feathers that we fan out are fabulous
A wattle hanging from our beaks are sabulous
A sign of power, we are just like the omnivores
Our relatives, are the dinosaurs- Buitreraptors
Fierceness and courage are our personality
We stroll about with our plumes, like royalty
Cocks prance ‘round like an Indian Sundance
Our totem spirit animal symbol is abundance
The main stars we are, during the holidays
Butterballs, cooked in many delicious ways
KellyBronze Birds, 16 lbs. are the Rolls-Royce
We are a source of nourishment, for your choice
As you zest us, and massage us use a rind
Of Valencia, naval, or blood orange of a kind
Try a pink, or white coarse salt as a brine
Take a minute with Chablis, a glass of wine
A seasoned cornbread stuffing of Italian sausage,
Golden raisins, walnuts and herbs freshly grown
Stuff us, seal us in foil and into the oven we're 'goin
Uncover us in the last hours until we're bronzed
Golden tan on the outside, then let us cool down
Juicy is our white meat and as tasty as our brown
When you give thanks today and put us on display
Don’t forget to show us gratitude, s'il vous plaît
We are noble birds!
As Ring of Fire departs day's fray
Daylight lingers in bridled rays
Eclipsed rays through filtered haze
Filter through cloud's liquid maze
A cloudy fondue with sparks doth blaze
Blazing chemicals tinged with fluorescent glaze
A tinge of yellow into glowing orange, deeper red doth
braise
Singeing the horizon with colorful light displays
Singed elements melt descending from vaunted dais
Leaving a melted merengue of tan welts and lactic grays
Gray columns swirl into tidal wave submerging all gilded
pathways
Silver waves fold into miry abyss leaving charcoal malaise
Stephen Parker
contest: Wreath on the Flavor of Dusk
Date of poem: August 9, 2012
A heaven's guardian angel dose plays
The silk golden lyre's beauty and repose.
Thine wet tears flow to sounds of heavens ways.
It echoes pastorale music with praise;
Docile strings tenderly, caressed on rows.
A heaven's guardian angel dose plays.
Engaging and entertaining saint braise;
Chosen beacon over sunlit meadows.
Thine wet tears flow to sounds of heavens ways.
Speak of love, faith, hope inspiration blaze,
Of divine spirit's lead; its wise heart knows.
A heaven's guardian angel dose plays.
Bound to love beneath darken daunting rays
And withering beauteous fragrant rose.
Thine wet tears flow to sounds of heavens ways.
Wayward wisp sounds and lights through nights and days.
Dreams caught till dusk falls with dulcet repose.
A heaven's guardian angel dose plays.
Thine wet tears flow to sounds of heavens ways.
1/18/2020
Poetry Contest: Your Best 2019-2020 Villanelle
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Under the tree where the bodies hang
swaying, dancing in the gelid breeze
neath their rotting toes, the children sang;
slow circling a boy; they taunt and tease.
"It's your father and your mother, too,"
they chant, as one, fiery eyes aglow,
"Who dance on the rope, and soon will you."
to the cadence of a cawing crow.
"We'll slice you up and cook us a stew."
the chant gets faster. Each takes a knife
"Then we'll boil your bones and make some glue."
thirteen stabs put an end to a life.
They braise the boy, then each they follow
from dark black cauldron upon a fire;
of steaming stew, they take a swallow;
each with each other, they now conspire.
"We sliced you up and cooked us a stew."
the singing slows as the children fill
"And no one cares because no one knew."
soon, sleep takes over the early thrill.
Wolf was waiting on the edge of dark
thirteen children who once danced and sang
become just a stain, a bloody mark;
under the tree where the bodies hang.
First and foremost on the agenda,
would be to locate an affordable,
casual and favorable eatery
tubby agreeable to our taste
indubitable choice without
(any formal dress code),
nor further haste.
Strait away to the great weigh
(or if vegetarian – whey)
station of delectable food
where the exquisite, expertise, and exotic
high steak king a claim on Michelin Guide,
Gayot Guide/Gault Millau, American
Automobile Association, Forbes
Travel Guide reputation good.
Testimony to legendary praise
explaining why patrons travel
for countless days
transforming him/her
into steady state,
where he/she shuffles along
in a dishabille quotidian famished daze
far and wide culinary craze
out of this world wide web, the wispy Lyft
wafts trace steamy filament up braise
our noses,
whereat heads nod affirmation i.e. ayes.
Even before making a glad entrance
(into Restaurant) complete
a host of fresh, enticing,
and delicious aromas serve as a treat.
Delicate, foreign, hefty indescribable
ole factory stimulants delight
infiltrating thru swinging kitchen doors
holding us smell bound,
though thin filaments invisibly light.
Allow me a bare canvas
And arm me with ample time
I’ll awake my dormant craftiness
Brush strokes in perfect lines
No longer, am I a novice
My world is rich in color
But I want more time to notice
From one mother to another
I long for a sturdy easel
One that smells of fresh pine
My fingers will braise and feel
I’ll be so proud to know it’s mine
Each drip along the way
Will be granted my attention
I’ll find the time, each day
To admire my new addition
I’ll learn to love the splatters
And the tiny hands behind them
Because, I see, that’s all that matters
They’ll be treasured in the end
You see, before, I wasn’t ready
I was average, at my best
But now my strokes are steady
And I see how I’ve been blessed
So grant me one more chapter
I have another round in me
It will be one, filled with laughter
Then my art will be complete