Long Chef Poems
Long Chef Poems. Below are the most popular long Chef by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chef poems by poem length and keyword.
"melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams " (by poet)
a gift from my father - on the first day of college,
"Golden Treasury"...A book of poetry...
the first poem I read... "She Walks In Beauty".
I carried that book throughout my life, even when I stopped reading poems...
even when poetry wasn't the priority any more,
Instead I looked at recipe-books - how to improve my culinary skills,
and became almost a champion chef in a few months.
Wordsworth and Browning were far away from my thoughts,
Coleridge? Oh No! Porphyria's Lover, and Ancient Mariner...
did not exist in my world of reality!
how many glorious summers went by ~ how many frosty winters ~
Delicious food, excellent company,
chasing after active children, stressing about job-opportunities,
exotic travels, grandiose entertainment ...
had time for every little trivial thing in the world...but no time for
the book my father imagined his daughter would embrace the most!
then one miraculous day...when even my father gradually forgot
the girl who used to blossom in the world of words, and poetry....
I found my precious friend collecting dust,
neglected, discarded, in the corner of a shelf.. couldn't believe it was waiting for me with a beating heart ~
each and every page came alive with a magical touch ~
still my name clearly visible, handwritten with my father's calligraphic dexterity !
almost shaking to spot my long-lost treasure, I cried!
overwhelmed with emotions, tears fell!
as if a candle burnt and melted.
every drop of tears brought back the lavender memories ~
of an exhilarating past... my passions, my yearnings,
tender dreams of lilac hues never attained, the abandoned path I was supposed to tread ...
a path strewn with lyrics and verses, ballads and
sonnets like blazing auburn leaves of autumn ~
now shockingly empty and despairingly barren.
the forgotten aspirations and never-met goals...the tremendous sense of loss,
of crushing heart-break, of torturous frustration,
all flooded in!
many lonely years have gone by!
melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams
ultimately my first love has returned !
First Place
May 15, 2021
Inspired by “ He gave her a book” contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Music is an undying
art of soul ~
an abstract eden, where,
euphonious unicorns
glide in strawberry sonatas,
amplifying rhapsody in
ballads of flight,
when fuchsia feathers
tease those
jingling breezes,
infusing breaths
in every lifeless aroma;
where I can soar
beyond the
brushstrokes
of symphonies that
planktons sing to me,
in the requiems of
forsaken pearls,
crooning with
silenced shimmers
beneath wavy blues.
Maybe,
I'm a songwriter
without words,
and my electric fingers
trace the tunes
of serene strings,
when guitars weave
a sonorous guilt
midst ruby runes
of regrets.
I wish to keep
swinging in a
cosmic cadence,
where celestial notes
choreograph
themselves in the
moonwalking
mellifluence of
lunar legacies.
I gossip with
neon nightingales,
laced with neutrinos
and compel them
to chant those
healing incantations
of love and glory,
like the forlorn
princess - Rapunzel,
desiring to feel
the glow of
familiar lanterns,
winged with
hazy syncs of
unsung yesteryears.
I wonder if,
I'm not meant
to compose
crystal canticles
in a Disney duet,
for, I believe,
I'm a soul searcher
in the flesh of
a soloist, concocting
an elixir of my
existence through
cinnamon anthems
of mystical
moonrises, as
they softly unfold,
a million
unheard tempos,
within tranquil
memoirs.
I'm the 'maiden of music'
resting as a floret on
every sepal,
yearning to become
a unique acapella
of nature,
where empathy
has an ethereal
dialect of
nurturing spirits
and tinkles
of magical waterfalls
whisper in
gentle lachrymose lulls
of our ambrosial Mother.
When the harmony
of my voice,
kisses those
ivory keys of
the heart-shaped
piano, they
echo a tipsy secret
in my sunset skin,
making me
believe ~
"I'm everywhere
in the essence,
yet nowhere
to be found...",
like the sweet
scents of
hummingbirds,
smiling behind
that first dusky star.
"In each husky hallelujah
of ribboned halts and replays,
life is a song ~
where every lyric,
phrases an ember of end,
and when passionate heartbeats
shall knit sombre medleys,
I will hum in the last 'chef-d'oeuvre'... "
There once was a couple who lived a peaceful unit until one day they designed to have a mystery party. Little did they know it will turn out to be the real deal.
It all started when the guest arrived with bong.. A gunshot they heard. The couple looked at one other and asked "Did you hear that? Did you change the plot." They both said no and went ago with it. Little did they know there was cold blood on the floor. Harsh killing, shooter on the loose and no one knew where he lurked.
Could be Wade the butter, could be Billy, the chef that always carries a knife in his suit? Could be Sue the maid, Sugar sunny the exotic dancer, or could be the happy couple? Thunder lurks booming sounds like if its was coming from the inside. The lights turn off and everyone shouts now no knows where they will end up. Feelings of fear and smell of blood in the air the lights turn and the suspects and killer all in the same room.
Flames were rising blames flying claims thumping but one one screams. Stop! Stop! Stop! Lets figure out what happened. Clues to the sense she had a gun in her hand was pointing at her but the gunshot was right through the heart. There was no letter to say it was a suicide. Meaning only thing there was murderer on lose but everyone was a suspect at this point.
Everyone started asking questions Could be you? Could be me? Who killed Sue the maid?
Everyone gather together just one person was out the group. He feeling guilty and guilty he was. The lights flickered like if they were winking at the him. Nervous- very very dreadfully nervous had been and is. He breaks down into tears. "Okay, okay!" It was me, said Wade." But she asked me to. She was my life. She was my wife. What could I have done? Sue was diagnosed with lung cancer. She had one day one day to live. She took out a gun. A gun out of her bag. She took it in her hand and she took mine as well. She said goodbye my love and pull trigger I know I didn't pull the she did, But the guilt was growing knowing I saw it all and I didn't call for help knowing she would be suffering through the night.
"I am weaken in mind but not by spirit, I hope she forgives me. I am calling the cops I have proof of what I am saying its true. Now its time to let her go. Moral of the story is it wasn't a murder but a mystery in a way a person that knew it was her time to say goodbye.
I see you running up and down the street staring at me through your dark tinted mirror; I couldn’t see your face but I saw your hands moving about on the steering wheel as you mount that battered hill with curiosity and reality staring in your face.
I have subdued all feelings and continue to search of new meaning. I want to catapult up to sky and have some fun before I die. Are you going to mask your hands too with a gloves and a colored shoe?, What are you afraid of? The dress, the crown or the new frock? I saw you going up the hill with something that is smaller than you but you ride with a vision that is bigger than yourself.
The sun rises slowly over the hill and burst through myriads of grey clouds pouring out a warm friendly smile that sinks deep into my flesh. The morning sweat kept seeping through my pores soaking my clothes and dripping water all over the floor, it’s as if I have just ran a marathon ten times around the track clocking a faster time with all that I have got .
I can see you standing over there looking at me over here. Driving up and down on the street disrupting my heart beat. Why did you come here if you have nothing to fear, you kept hiding from me as if you are my destiny. I do not know for sure where this is going but I will journey with you to the end.
The big stage is rolling in and the streets are busy with fine merchandise from home and abroad, trucks are lined up at the corner and the streets shoppers and vendors are walking around trying to get the early morning sales.
The actors are repeating their lines and dancers from all over the world are rehearsing for the big event. A hundred and ten bands are on the track and the jazz performers are waiting at the back.
Big trucks parked up on the business street with millions of dollars of catered food stuff; chef, waiters and waitress are running about clearing the trucks and unpacking the stuff, it is going to be a big bang with coronation bells flying all over the land.
See them dressed up over there in fine costume and carnivals boots, their painted lips and exquisite attire set the whole world on fire, the music is playing in the background and everyone is gathering around
Come to where I live and I will show you something astounding, the streets are packed and the birds are flying in the air and the message is quite clear.
Translation of Eric Mottram’s A Faithful Private - 3 Dolores Huerta by T. Wignesan
3. Dolores Huerta
aucun coq n’y annonce la reveille:
les étudiants et les dirigeants des travailleurs
font partie du piquet de grève contre les Wine Brothers:
les bourrasques collent contre les pancartes de grève
les jeans trempés les bleues de travail réfléchissant:
à Los Altos ils chantent des chansons de grève
à l’honneur de Chavez et de Dolores
dans un camion emménagé en un lit plat:
les enfants et les pères qui portent des enfants
la famille la United Fruit Workers
tout l’été sur les lignes de piquet de grève
dans des prisons des maisons et les meubles
vendus pour d’hivers vêtements voitures
les essentiels pour le travail au delà
de ce mois d’août au-delà d’épreuves:
deux hommes tués à Arvin
Nagi Daifullah tué
par la lampe électrique d’un chérif
Juan de la Cruz fusillé sur le piquet de grève
Dolores Huerta la vice-présidente
stratège négociatrice
ses dix enfants prises en charge sécurisés
sa grace
son rire par concentration
prends soins de sa santé
pour sa fille afin d’être saine
contre l’avarice
contre la charité des libéraux:
le machisme gagne maintenant les femmes
le non-violence provenant des femmes et enfants
leurs bras meurtris par les planches des Teamsters
les yeux de la police cernés par le plaisir
caressent leurs étuis de revolvers:
à la maison pas de conflits
l’homme est le chef:
une famille soudée par le respect
quant au machisme des hommes toujours
la vieille religion:
le mariage dissout détruit le Syndicat
des badges d’officiers des cultivateurs brillent
au lever du soleil les .22s en défense-propres:
“nous étions si heureuses, en paix et jolies
même les grand-mères jusqu’à
ce qu’ils commence à tirer avec leurs fusils”:
Reagan fut photographié
en train de manger des raisins scab:
les troupes de Vietnam
mangent des laitues du gouvernement provenant des champs de l'entreprise
les trottoirs lézardés
stroes en délabrement: bousculent
dans les campements de l'entreprise
des terminus plein de poussière placés sous surveillance:
les travailleurs de Brothers dispersent
surveillés par des brigades en voiture
“you find a way
it gets easier
all the time”
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
OK another adventure in the mad poet’s life,
This occurred just before I met Jane, my imaginary wife.
Jane’s brother, Glen had set me up with a blind date
He said the girl was a stunner, I could not wait
So dressed in me stripe trouser with me chequer tank top vest
I oiled me baldhead and let the old spice do the rest
Off I went down town to meet Deglet Noor (that was her name)
Glen said, “If you see her lips you’ll want to kiss them more and more.”
Then I saw her, and dam what a blind date
She was lumpy like custard with an all eye seeing Rottweiler that made me fearfully
hesitate.
She looked like a bulldog chewing on a bee
And the Rotter was eyeing me leg as if it wanted to hump me
I thought to myself, give the girl a meal
Then we call it a day and that was the deal
She chose this uptown place where rich people dined
A French restaurant with snails and frogs legs, you know the funny kind
I had a steak, she had prawns and a lobster too
And she persuaded me by force to drink champagne form her trainer shoe
When she ate poor lobster it was a terrible gore
I wish she could have taken a tip from Sir Robert Hinshaw
When we finished the waiter brought the bill and waited for me to pay
£1500 bloody pounds, my bowels almost gave way
I said to him “We not finished yet. Could we have Ice cream and coffee?”
And I said “Oh and don’t forget the mint toffee”
Me credit card was on strike and would not handle that amount
It was time for me to exit time to get out
So when the waiter had gone I told her I was going to the loo
Said to her I needed to off load a number two
In a terrible panic I managed to squeeze through the window, hitting the deck
I punched the air shouting “Yes!” followed by an “Oh F-ck” and “What the Heck”
I had fallen into the kitchen and not outside you see
The head chef said “We built it this way to stop people like you stealing from me”
Five weeks on and 100000 dishes later,
If I stayed any longer I’m sure I would have been promoted to head waiter
Nevertheless, If you do come across Glen give me a shout
Tell him the mad poet is looking to blow his brains out
**For my sweet Delysia Hendricks who asked me to write this poem**
**Deglet Noor is a date that you eat if you didn't know**
Envisions of a new world order
Have infected
My ideologies
Concerning political parties.
Apathetic to the suicide bomber
Clutching his holy scripture
As Jesus is turned
Into an aborted fetus.
Starving for liberation,
Feed us.
The refugee diet
Is to die for, try it.
Stomachs bellow
As anxious toes embrace dirt,
The ravenous pride of the nation
Echoes anticipation.
A scrambled breakfast
Governed by corruption
Served with a life time
Supply of fervent AIDS
Lunch smothered in rape
With a free side of abduction
For the main course:
Genocide platter
Mass produced for thousands
Guaranteed to be
The last meal you'll need.
Original recipe
Provided by Chef Hitler
Improved by Africans.
Honor roll,
Honorable
But when you're in the projects
Good grades
Don't stop strays
Or minimum wage
This is a power point;
Bullet points puncture.
Marauder role models
Personal drive
Is micro soft
Where are their goals?
Error: Can Not Find File
Link to ambition missing
No need to excel
Brain is a blank desktop
That's screen saver
Screams for a savior
Poverty striken hompage
Frozen
Black plague virus
No chance at
Socio-economic advance
Now tomorrow you face book
Crash.
A diploma and welfare check,
Makeshift teflon vest,
At best
Yet,
A mic or a round ball
Provides the best bet.
At ease soldier,
No questions vet.
We don't ask
You don't tell.
Afterall,
We don't even know
What your really fighting for
Or whether you aim to please
Or shoot to kill.
America was stolen from natives,
Built by immigrants.
Dear foreigners,
Thank you for making our bed,
Now sleep outside
Where the homeless won't
But beware of dehydration
Land mines
Barbed wires
And snipers.
P.S. Happy Thanksgiving.
Sincerely,
Your friends in America
I see society with my eyes closed
And wade for the truth.
Diving into the obscure
Pits of morality
Searching blindly
For enlightenment,
Butterfly stroke.
Inhaling the souls of slaves
Exhaling the souls of colonists
Civil rights submerged
Drowning at the border
Gasping for freedom.
This oppression is toxic.
Ammonia aroma
Intellectual paralysis
Socially concious coma.
Divided we've stood
United we'll fall.
-Stephen Kofi Opare Obeng
Mine dad in the 1940’s was an organ grinder huh!, in the high seas in the Navy. In the 1940’s
Lo, the clanging, bopping, banging of prepare containers foods. Large coppers pans and pots.
Put together meals by combining and heating the ingredients in various ways. Prepared bake fix knock up grub rustle up food meshing and mashing,
a preparing organ grinder hun!
See he tampered with seasonings and sauces interfere with manipulate forging, fiddling embossing be happening as to planned Navel foods.
Was an organ grinder
Most food was boiled in the and liquid was run out via taps sort of an Entertainer of meals
Clanging, clinging, metal spoons, forks, plates, pots and pans
Happen go on in the galley. Like he was a one who played a barrel organ in the streets. kinging and clanging pots and pans sounds.
An unimportant person who does what he is told to do would cook so the seamen could eat...
chef in the Navy
my dad was galley organ
grinder Navy Chef
Keeping the craft alive twas a Navy Chef Barrel organist.
Comes and gets it a handful of cooks wheel-turners are keeping the craft alive.
There was an open fire at the back for spit-roasting and seamen
So could apply to use it if they caught a fish three-legged pots were stood in the embers.
Navy dinner time be on sail onboard personnel three main meals per day
.Breakfast: *0600–0700 lunch: 1100– 1230; dinner: *1600–1800
Chef organ grinder played the galley
The galley food is cooked and prepared
It can also refer to a land-based kitchen on a naval base,
Point of view, gourmet to beef stew to a straight design of the kitchen layout.
(CS) with ranks
culinary Specialist
organ grinder chef
“Fair winds and following seas”, food prep and served seamen for those in the United States Navy. Where they have to say farewell to mommy’s and grands meals. In 1940’s World War 2 tolls. To those retiring or leaving for deployment to cut, munch, and eat now from the galley. Of the chefs in the Navy organ grinder manning. Said the galley a method of saluting rendering honors works in galleys the seaman Chef food prep.
My dad Galley organ grinder
11/01/23
The Last Organ Grinder Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
WHEN THE WInD BLEW THROUGH THE HOLLOW REEDS
written by: Pannus Sphinx
native to regions of habitual areas the Brya ebenus tree is
best suited for flutes, english flutes one would say
the bassoon is created from this type of tree
planks from the boards of the black maple tree
can also be used with resin to produce
beautiful instruments and marvelous creations
along with the sugar maple these trees are fashioned to
impress sound and longevity were it the best choose
to craft a musician's dream instrument
density and hardness the black locust is a suitable alternative
to the traditional rosewood the has been historical used
to make instrument bows and xylophone bars
Due to the lackof finacail security the 61 members of the group were visiblly sad. They thought they could afford 40 bassoons from there tresuery: but were only actaully able to afford 27 due to the outragous cost of these custom made tresures. They were able to smile when the artisain send bows and xlophones peices free for the amount the Orcastra had purchased. They referred to the instruments as clownish flutes.The deep tones were nearing exotic, giving the directer of the event cause to limit the amount of peoplke able to attend the Board meeting due to cost. Catered the affair over-ran the budgeted allocations from the tresury. This made the couples in the Orchastra smile: but those who wanted to vacate along with there musical mates had to pay the addition cost due to the budgeted restictions. Leaving sound soured by the whole affair.
The performance was expected to be ledgendary to the benifet of the audeince. Velvety smooth and soothing. Purple and creamed colors were the chose of colors for the event. Catered by a world famous chef. the audeince only knew the the results of practice: but back stage professionals shined doing what they did best!
The shelac still smelled fuming the backstage area.
We are down on a sandy beach
And our legs dug deep in the sand of pain
Left stranded in the sea of sadness
The night of destruction falling on us with extreme darkness
Hovering on us the venom of evil
With rain drops of blood on our land
The storm getting heavier by the day
The flame of hope blown away by wind of wickedness
We live in a country where no one is safe
Where death darken the sky like an imminent doom
Where the majority live in ardent poverty
A land where corruption is at its peak
Our leaders the master chef to all our miseries
With eyes of blind spot to the need of the people
Deaf ears to the cry of the innocent
Blind eyes to the sufferings of the poor
The beat of political madness stirs in the air
With sound wave of pain to all the citizen of the land
Human lives valued only for a couple of coins and a few naira note
Innocent blood shed all in the name of political game
The taste of power and excessive desire for wealth
Sum with their selfish and political greed
Puts our dear nation in a state of unrest
Children of innocent souls being tortured through burning knife of evil
Leaving the youths to live their lives in fear
Our girls are no longer safe to go to school
Terrorism the bad sweet smell polluting our atmosphere
With it effect on us an horrible scar
People being nurtured to the highest point of hatred
With every of their road leading to violence and terrorism
Little by little we are losing our national pride
Our economy dropping faster than the speed of sound
Our leaders failing in every good sense of leadership
With the interest of the people far from their mind
From the cry of the rejected and abused children
To the tears of the suffering and confused adult
Same questions comes to the mind of every nigerian
Why do we have to suffer this much?
Are our leaders so blind to see that the nation is on a downhill of destruction?
How long will it take for them to hear our cry?
And what will it take for everything to change for good?
I guess only God has the answers to all this questions
And the golden key to our freedom
All will have to do is to keep praying
And keep hold of our little flame of hope
Cos one day I believe everything will change for good