Long Butter Poems
Long Butter Poems. Below are the most popular long Butter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Butter poems by poem length and keyword.
You walk through the metal detector
You look at me with a deep seated scorn
You loath that I made you remove your stuff
You had to take off your shoes belt and jewelry
You’re thinking “I’m no criminal or terrorist so why me”
I am only doing the job the government requires of me
I am not the reason you are harassed and had to partially strip
I do empathize with you seeing I have to do the same thing too
No one cares that I am a Screening Officer I am searched when I travel
The government says what’s good for the goose is good for the gander
You want to get mad at someone then look in the right direction
The ones who blatantly took the lives of our families and friends
Who took the choice of traveling to most places away forever
Who took the privilege of carrying most things on board away
The freedom to travel with our liquids and gels peanut butter and jam
Don’t blame me because I am risking my life to keep you safe
Don’t blame me for someone not caring about your fate
Don’t blame me for what Mr. Harper and Mr. Obama says
Or for what the UK says is their Standard Operating Procedures (SOP)
Don’t blame me I am just the messenger that holds many lives in my hand
Get a slice of bologna extra thick
add butter to the frying pan so it won't stick
Cut the bologna in the shape of a German cross
fry it till the edges brown the taste is boss
I am not trying to boast
But I like my served with toast
Add a slice of American cheese
melts just right so easy to please
Spread mayonnaise or mustard, I like salad dressing
without the tangy taste you don't know what your missing
Lettuce a slice of tomato and don't forget the pickle
it's enough to make your taste buds water and tickle
Take a big bite another one two three
yummy yum your tummy in ecstasy
There's only one thing to do when your done
and that my friend is to fry up another one
Women over 50 are Invisible
(according to one source)
But…isn’t that a superpower?
Please don’t notice me
wearing the same black leggings
three days in a row
Content to sit on my couch
trash t.v., pumpkin pie breakfast
Don’t listen to me
imitate British accents and slang
I glean from Love Island
Do NOT perceive me
walking the dog
in blue flannel p.j.’s
in a snowflake pattern
in July
Yes, I have tye-dye Crocs
which I am wearing
paired with socks
that show a hand
flipping the bird
But who cares?
I am invisible
It is my superpower
Five months ago
I began to experiment
not showing up
to mandatory meetings
I've yet to hear a thing
No repercussions
Thank you,
Invisibility
This also means
No witnesses to my poor behavior
No apologies demanded
no excuses needed
hot sauce dripped
upon ample breasts
slightly weighted down by
life well lived?
Who cares?
you don’t notice
and I don’t mind
Laughing in a movie theater
so loud I snort
among popcorn, M&M’s
and greasy fake butter
No one blames the old lady
in the same black leggings
now paired with a concert T
from Petty’s last show at
the Hollywood Bowl
I’m inconspicuous and
you give the stink eye
to the three teens
sitting to the left
Ha-ha! I bet
I could fart and
they’d get the blame
Lil stinkers
I could go on and on
about the beauty
the freedom, the sheer
sexy exhilaration
this covert, intangible,
obliterated existence offers
But I won’t
You wouldn’t hear me anyway
I am invisible
It is my superpower
Sung to the tune of:
"He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother"
The spice was strong
The pasta was cooked too long
The garlic was everywhere, everywhere
And I know, meatballs were a big mistake
It laid heavy on my stomach
I ate too much
Butter and bread and such
The garlic was everywhere, everywhere
And I know, meatballs were a big mistake
It laid heavy on my stomach
If I lay down at all
I’ll get up with nausea
And then it’s up all night
that’s what garlic will cause ya
I know, cause I’m still belching
It laid heavy on my stomach
I thought I would fall for your love
As you became a sudden rain dropping on old California
Blue memoirs ;that didn't mean your flowers didn't blossom,
The butterfly didn't by twilight become an apparition you know, it first became a butter by dawn then flew
So if you say am a chameleon then that is the
distance between leaving or staying.
The tides of the sea make us all but no matter
How it tides it surely ebbs
But pls don't ask me if feathers also grow from
trees like the coffee i took last night. I didn't have
time to stir your honey in my tea cup . I drank
the leaves first, the honey come home in my belly late
I might say you're right like the gap between
My two front canines. I saw you flew between them.
But if might ask, did you get any relish from the
First time our lips became two vines running on each other
I saw you took your breath in your clasped arms sip
mine your gut am supposed to be your nectar but
guess whose running dry that is the distance between
leaving or staying.
Experience is a name men give to their mistakes
So even if you wear me a darker shade, the moon
Is still the night sun trust me when I saw what I mean
I have occasioned many mistake ceremonies &
experience is what they wear
By
Gideon Idudje
after rejection,
i make chicken
dirty rice and
call it a day
during the
downtime, i
make swedish
meatballs with
parmesan cheese
and hang up my
stresses in the
walk-
in closet
with the center of
a welcome peace, i
pour myself some
green tea ginger ale
in a thirty-two
ounce
cup and listen to
michael
franks
when i listen to the
song
about michael's baby
cooking
her eggplant, i
realize that i
forgot
to make some honey
butter biscuits
twelve minutes
later, when the
timer
goes off and the
honey butter
biscuits
are ready, mr.
franks is singing
about a
lady who wants to
know the reason why
i say to myself,
'later for curiosity
and the
cat....well, maybe
not the cat....that
may
be dessert
later....in the
meantime, i
pleasure myself on
one of the very
things
that i work my butt
off for....and just
unwind
Sweet sublime
the taste of an oyster
strange cold and true
like drinking sea water but not being sick
being lifted up
A lime...tart and chilled...in liquid dipped
and it dives
then lifts me up...I feel lighter
a hot water shower...such comfort
is truly one...a child's gift of sublime
Give me lemons and limes
give me oysters and little neck clams
give me raw tuna and salad and ice cream
give me life!
That I can not argue with you about anything that went before
make me breath
in simple pleasures
bread oven warm with butter
and a dash of salt or served with Italian true deep green olive oil
give me white napkins and music...Italian...or French or Sinatra
music playing ...sweeping me
Give me Opera lifting questing searching striving attaining height
lift me up with lighting...
the suns cast at end of day
sideways glances...illuminating the bushes...the greens
the shadows it casts
chairs become monuments to time when someone sat there and a mere limb on a tree become symphony
rescue me with grace and glory...simple and little and priceless
let me remember always the smell of coffee downstairs
that a friend has made
in my decadent leisure of sleeping in
when I was meant to serve...to get up and make coffee that they could wake to that scent
Give me friends...beautiful kind friends who spot you
wake you...give a coffee scent to... hope of today
when your soul is just too tired to wake
your body to beaten to rise and you just desperately need a reason to rise
"fall down 7 but get up 8"
Pancake is one of my favorite foods for breakfast.
Formulas are original or whole wheat.
A definition for pancake is a round, flat cake.
Its buttery aroma fill the kitchen.
To prepare pancakes, mix the ingredients in a large bowl.
Flour, milk, egg and oil are the principal components.
Mix the batter until it doesn't have lumps.
Fillings can be added as chocolate or fruits.
Heat the skillet or frying pan to a low frame.
Melt a pinch of butter over.
With a large spoon, pour a small amount of the batter
to form pancake.
Cook each side of the pancake until is golden.
Remove the pancake from the skillet or frying pan.
Pour all pancakes on a plate.
Add over pancakes maple syrup.
Eat the fluffy pancakes.
Nayda Ivette
9-9-2015
I came upon a recipe
That wasn’t a mistake,
Though it was for something strangely called
A hummingbird (huh?) cake.
I glanced at the ingredients –
The list was far from brief
But there weren’t any hummingbirds,
Which was a huge relief.
With pineapple, bananas,
Sugar, cinnamon and flour,
Eggs, vanilla, oil and pecans
It sounds great, but gets its power
From its cream cheese butter frosting,
Which must add the perfect touch
To a sweet dessert that many people
Must like very much.
The cake is from Jamaica
So its name, from what I’ve heard,
Is a tribute to, you might have guessed,
The nation’s namesake bird.
Maybe someday I will try it,
But I know when that day comes,
I’ll be grateful knowing there was no
Ingredient that hums!
from your first born, when you grab a dusting of talc, crushed with late night feeds, stirring in bouncing and stories on a knee,
adding a layer of stumbled steps, with a batter thickly made of learning to say “No”, doughy rings of crossed arm tantrums,
glazed slowly with parent’s evenings and bringing first dates home (sprinkled with questions from Dad) before adding candles for sweet sixteens and exam results,
packaged carefully in a ribboned box to protect from life in a university dorm, your tears adding moisture to an increasingly distant mixture,
silver lace can be wrapped around to celebrate a wedding, supporting that newly added layer of Mr and Mrs, matching mortar boards made from icing, surrounded by love heart shaped chews,
you buy an electric whisk when your hands hurt from stirring, still rustling up cookies for grandchildren using grandma’s special sugar, butter and flour,
until you go back to the trusted cookbook, scattering gold dust over fifth birthday cakes, dyed icing and sponge into the colours of a superhero – a grandchild’s eyes bigger than their belly,
your cakes gradually change from pottery to silk, from gold to diamond, for your anniversaries past, you contemplate making a Victoria sponge in black, allow yourself to grieve your husband’s last,
until a great grandchild grins and brings you a cupcake all aglow, revealing a one hundredth birthday candle which is your very own to blow