Long Casseroles Poems
Long Casseroles Poems. Below are the most popular long Casseroles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Casseroles poems by poem length and keyword.
My neighbor, Pete, is very frustrated
For two weeks he has been constipated
Then, in Poetry Soup
I heard him yell, "Whoop Whoop!"
His laxative had been activated!
He eats spicy food and lot of legumes
Where he shows up, a gaseous cloud looms
Pete is kinda kinky
When he makes a stinky
He likes breathing in his odorous fumes
Beth's twenty years married to Pete Cooper
When he didn't flush, she said a blooper
Pete left a huge floater
And now I will quote her,
"Pete's poops always leave me in a stupor!"
One time dumbass Pete clogged up his commode
After his bowels dropped a giant load
Beth called in a plumber
Who was even dumber
He just watched as the toilet overflowed
Pete's a n a l gases continue to leak
Can't stand being around them cause they reek
When his farts are expelled
I threaten a butt weld
To solder it shut, Pete is such a freak!
No one sits near Pete at the town meeting
No friendly smiles does he get in greeting
People are of like mind
Beware of his behind
When his flatulence keeps on repeating
Beth's face becomes twisted into a scowl
She told Pete that she's throwing him the towel
Next time his fecal matter
Is 'neath the lid in splatter
She'll not clean his crap stains again. They're foul!
She won't wash skid marks from his briefs either
Nor cook bean casseroles for him neither
Beth's taken a firm stand
Gave Pete a reprimand
She's hoping that soon he'll want to leave her
Eat and enjoy life more
Eat and don't forget spice
Spice makes many things nice
Spice is great on vegetables
Vegetables with nutrients
Vegetables you can savor
Savor salads with leafy greens
Savor buttered corn or potatoes
Potatoes stuffed with chili
Potatoes in casseroles
Casseroles are numerous in type
Casseroles are yummy
Yummy are delicious sweets
Yummy are cheeses and meat
Meat that is roasted or fried
Meat such as pepperoni on pizza
Pizza topped with Italian sauce
Pizza loaded with mozzarella
Mozzarella tasting great in lasagna
Mozzarella melted with cheddar
Cheddar in scrumptious macaroni
Cheddar on burgers or in sandwiches
Sandwiches superb as finger foods
Sandwiches great for a party
Party when you can
Party day or night
Night is meant for romance
Night is a time to dance
Dance to your favorite music
Dance with zeal
Zeal for living
Zeal for what you enjoy
Enjoy your pastimes
Enjoy your friends
Friends who support you
Friends in good time or bad
Bad experiences you’ll learn from
Bad helps us appreciate what’s good
Good for me or good for you
Good isn’t the same for all
All should have freedom
All should choose what they love
Love everyone you can
Love the things you do
Do things you desire
Do all you can in life
Life needs to be fun
Life can’t be lived without food
Food . . .
Fun . . .
How to describe the color of love? Might you frown in surprise if I spoke of brown? Dull, pockmarked, ocherous brown.
A tarmac of grain, stained the color of earth, that never saw rain.
One humble old table, from an oak that would fall. Who could have known the
moments recalled?
Just a scarred weathered plank, with a warp in the middle. Blight she would hide with a bright checkered cloth. Those who would sit, night after night, greeting with eyes, meeting with ears,... filling the gaps with laughter and tears
Decades were spent, over string beans, and potatoes, bridging the gap of a mid-day mishap, a chat after school, or a new family rule.
Resurrecting a family, at the end of the day, while chomping away on unidentifiable casseroles, that filled the belly, as well as the soul.
Consuming wisdom and noodles, in the comfort of home.
Who would have noticed this shabby antique, wearing wax from Crayolas, white coffee cup rings. Ink spots, and dings. And three winking holes made by father's misdeed!
(His picture-frame project, misjudging the nails! Three slender digits pierced in without fail! Hammered tight, to the top. While mother's shot through the roof!
Who could have ever guessed that a well-worn, weathered old piece of grainy brown oak could be the glorious color of love?
____________________________________
we were young and dumb,
but not reckless,
two boys skimming the edge of fear,
a twenty-year-old shadow
and his seventeen-year-old brother,
riding the spine of Interstate Ten,
from Tallahassee to San Diego,
then back to Florida—
outlaws without blood on our hands.
the first time was the hardest,
hearts pounding like fists
against the ribcage.
a small-town branch,
the teller's wide eyes,
hands shaking as she filled the bag.
we whispered, not shouted,
like thieves apologizing for the theft.
no gun would fire, no life would end.
we were just as afraid
as the people we robbed,
maybe more—
they would go home
to their casseroles and sitcoms,
we would drive
into the long night,
checking mirrors,
counting shadows.
the money bought gas,
bought distance,
bought time.
southern states fell behind us
like discarded postcards—
until Texas.
Houston, San Antonio, El Paso.
three jobs in one state.
the sweat, the stares,
the peso dancing in flux,
unstable as the lives we stole.
back to Tampa,
the roads wore us thin,
two ghosts in a modern car,
safe but haunted.
I never held a gun again.
he never held onto life.
three years ago,
he died a useless death.
no glory, no gunfire,
just the silent collapse
of a heart that had run too hard.
sixty-six now,
and I think of him—
the kid who laughed in the face of fear,
who counted pesos in the passenger seat,
who believed we could outrun everything.
Hollywood spent billions
on the dead legends—
Butch and Sundance,
Bonnie and Clyde,
Billy the Kid.
all shot, all gone.
but we survived,
not heroes, not villains,
just two scared boys
with a knack for escape
and the luck of the modern age.
today,
I wouldn't suggest it.
you'll be caught,
you'll be killed.
the world's too sharp now,
too fast.
but back then—
well, back then
we were afraid,
and maybe that's why we lived.
The statue of limitations concerning these crimes,
Has long since expired.
Dear Fridge, you’re getting up in years. Oh, my!
How many now? You must be twenty-five!
The dishwasher already I’ve seen die.
How ever have YOU managed to survive?
Sir Oven also is a hanger-on,
But rarely do I spend my time with HIM!
I use his stove sometimes to cook upon.
Too bad you kitchen things can’t keep me slim!
You never rest! I open up your door.
The produce you’ve been keeping fresh I see;
The cheeses, breads, and butter, even more:
Cold casseroles and pizza tempting me!
I do not clean you often. That is mean!
I ought to prize more my appliance queen.
My accountant said I'm officially poor,
so I headed out to the grocery store.
Food now costing so much more.
Preparing tuna casseroles, eating spaghetti
striving to keep track of every penny,
is making me anxious, my palms now sweaty..
Gas prices may have stabilized but every thing
else continues to rise, even every day household supplies..
Merchants smile at you so you think their the nicest
and claim that it's all post pandemic prices or that limited
supplies have caused this food crisis..
I've said no to Lancome and designer jeans as I struggle
to stay with in limited means. My bank account chronically
seems to be lean..
It's not much fun being poor, especially if one's known
money before. I'm starting to ask what else is in store?
Let freedom ring from sea to sea but America is no longer free.
I'll keep on working at 73.
Accordin' to my totally unbiased and very detailed research,
Jerimiah Flood pastored the Happy Valley Baptist Church.
From the pulpit he flailed his arms as if fightin' a hive of bees,
Elicitin' "Hallelujahs" and bringin' sinners fallin' to their knees!
His boomin' voice disturbed the peace of those who chose to sleep.
Interminable two-hour sermons were tolerated by his faithful flock of sheep.
He preached hellfire and damnation and the dire results of sin.
He was a'gin any form of gamblin' or dancin' and drinkin' moonshine gin!
An all-day meetin' with dinner on the grounds was an annual tradition,
A time to repent for sins of commission and omission in order to avoid perdition!
Dinner was held under the spreadin' sycamores if the weather allowed.
A half-hour blessin' by Jerimiah was normal as hungry stomachs growled!
Tables groaned 'neath heaps of fried chicken, baked beans and pertaters,
Green bean casseroles and garden fresh stuff includin' beefsteak termaters.
Most disturbin' and unknown to the reverend, there was a little tad of booze,
Snuck into the gatherin' and surreptitiously shared by old Deacon Hughes!
Pastor Flood served the faithful congregation for nigh on forty years,
Baptisin', marryin' and buryin' through many happy times and tears.
Oh, I failed to mention Sister Lois, ancient organist and director of the choir.
Her tea was spiked and she became so inebriated she was invited to retire!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
like visitors from outer space
they came with tears, and lined the sidewalk
long in face, and arms embracing
some (I have no inkling) who
they were or why they felt compelled to come
dozens came with casseroles
a few with flowers, wads of tissues
tender words of helpless mutterings
many acts of generous offerings
don't get me wrong, I watched the suffering
expressed in words or acts of kindness
I watched it all, and felt the love
did not dismiss the warm compassion
returned it all, with pure compliance
a thankful heart, a swollen throat
I hugged these strangers at the door
to comfort them, who shed their tears
upon my shoulder, offered them
a place to share their sympathies
a place to spend their mercy, pure
but, this was my child who loved and lost
impossible........I can't express it
protected from the very start, by
loving hands, her dad's and mine,
we watched her grow, and let her go
she grew from the vine ....into a rose
but life composed a tragedy, with goals
beyond our reach...beyond belief
beyond our wildest dreams
and left her with a loss beyond control
like visitors from outer space, we watch
as others come, and others go
they blow into their tissue wads
and empty the boxes one by one
and cry with us, and then they all go home...
do we cry........? Oh no, not yet...
instead we smile a grateful smile
and thank them kindly for the while
and for the ways they share their love
but we can't cry into our own clenched wad
of tissue from the tissue box
she needs us to be strong, somehow
and so that is the way it is, we vow...to hold back all the tears for now
for, this was my child who loved and lost
impossible........I can't express it
__________________________________________
4/12/13
Now don’t get me wrong – I love sweets.
I love all kinds of sugary treats.
I like cake; I like pie,
and for chocolate I die.
I’m hankering now for a malt!
But nothing beats something with salt.
Caramel corn can be nice.
But I prefer salt or some spice.
It would be a mistake
if I did not shake
a while before calling a halt
(into buttery popcorn) my salt!
I shake it all over spaghetti.
I shake it as if it’s confetti!
On french fries and steak
and casseroles I make -
for sure I will have to exalt
my favorite dishes with salt!
March 5, 2021 for Anthony Biaanco's 'Salt' Poetry Contest
Our happy-go-lucky friend once invited us
at his place to what he called pickle party.
We all were intrigued and excited,
for he mentioned the unique recipe,
which would be delicious cheese sandwich,
each one with filling of different types of pickle,
such as dill, lime, gooseberry, brewed in vinegar,
carrot, mango, and red chili, soaked in brine.
He had carefully laid out the table for us
with an array of six casseroles,
each one containing similar looking sandwich
of cheddar cheese with filling of specific pickle,
indicated by its transparent bottle placed
strategically in front of each casserole.
After we took a few sips of chilled beer
we were asked to taste the sandwich.
We chose all the different types,
except for the red chili one,
for none of us wanted to blaze the tongue.
As we took one bite we jumped up,
for the red chili set our mouths on fire.
We became the invited victim
of the culinary prank of our friend
who had fun seeing us in pickle at pickle party.
________________
August 19, 2022
Contest : It's A Pickle Party
Sponsored by : Mystic Rose Rose