Long Chew Poems
Long Chew Poems. Below are the most popular long Chew by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chew poems by poem length and keyword.
I happened upon the tiniest snail today, it's spiral patterned shell caught my eye.
Not thought of fondly by many,
would turn your legs into jelly,
would make the keenest of plant lovers cry.
An interesting truth, they have many a tooth.
In fact 14,000 of these.
They chew through your berries and flourishing plants.
I'd Most definitely prefer to keep bees.
Now, some people would take a different approach and find them a delicacy.
A hint of garlic and slathering of butter.
Voila! Escargot for tea.
But that powerful snail and it's slimy trail has a weakness that we have been taught.
If you are squeamish,
this may turn you greenish.
All you need is a sprinkle of SALT
Always available to chew,
Need a perspective or two.
Allows you to see,
How saving gum is as easy as one, two, three!
No life preservers.
No CPR.
No refrigeration for contemplation.
No social media reference.
There are some well-known facts,
Why saving gum is mandatory.
Let me tell you the story.
To reuse when we get the blues.
Expand our money for other things that are funny.
Preserve the environment over use of the sapodilla tree,
Bet you thought gum just appeared.
Avoid creating waste,
No shoes with gooey paste.
Gives time to pause a thought,
Prevents words from bubbling out.
Sometimes what you say makes people shout!
Save your gum!
Stick on top of your shoe.
Wrap in old gum paper,
Either way will do.
Set for a time,
Under tables divine.
Stuck on a door,
To be seen once more.
Hardening from exposure to air,
Makes a repeat chew more extensive to do.
The flavors not great.
But wait!
You've saved your gum,
For another late date!
Johnny Brat figures out quickly
How to get the best results
When tossing animals in the air
You grab the tail while spinning it
Just ask kitty. He knows well.
Finding the proper trajectory is crucial for missiles
Creating a vortex of momentum is important as well
An unpleasant experience is guaranteed upon release
The family cat is about to find out what is displeasing
Dragging old bones across the floor to the kitchen
The cranky old witch watches from the window
With one hump or two protruding from her back
Propped up on a crooked stick, gazing out at the cat
In a state of distress in mid flight as you might expect
The old crow is too old to fly a broom
But she makes wonderful meals of youths
Counting calories because of her weight
But don’t count her out just yet
Through a glass darkly she sees a brat in action
Watching out as her kitty cat gets tossed about
The old hag grows hungry for a solution
A cauldron is ready with wood and coal
Awaits for what comes next down in the soul
Old witches chew gum with no flavor and no teeth
With the same fervor as with a nasty child
One makes bubbles, the other, trouble
Will it be stew or soup this time
Looks like we are having brat again for supper
Their spears did not get heavy,
flower blooms did not sprout from barrels.
Some chew on ancient bullets, many captured themselves.
In dark allies a switchblade blindness entered their hearts.
Everything is a memory.
The living kill awkwardly, randomly with great kindness
a kindness that poisons the tongue, a sweetness
that fattens the maggot.
Such kindness stalks, buries the raging men alive
and the dead men yet survive.
Rumi said: ‘you must dance in your own blood’,
That kind of killer instinct leads you out of the fire,
into that oblivion that polishes eyes.
Mad men attack, they are your own wolf pack.
Embrace the fang, bleed into their mouths
until rage chokes their gorging throats.
If you have a ghost in your heart make love to it
in the gore and the spittle.
The raging dead men
have slaughtered themselves upon a dark stage
far from the light. Don’t pity them,
they are mad with love now,
though they cannot ever be near you,
their heat is a pornographic illusion, just the mud
of a killing field.
They are manacled to greater lusts,
passions only those beyond the horizon of themselves may see.
Those who have come through
are set apart as scarecrows in a field of sleeping dogs.
In the light of day
light candles, scorch the wax until the dark smoke
gutters into absence.
Don’t pray for the raging dead men,
they are all inside you now, pray to set them free
so that you may also dance upon their blood.
Guarana Mo!
Most of the follow
wing (fictitious) quit
tuss cent shill, knit
head, (non adult tryst) pit
tee full (sorry excuse
for originality), rit
dunk yule huss, feebly
abominable attempt at unit
tarry yen rhyme for excellence,
benignly, essentially,
and honestly wit
less, worthless reading mitt
tear real - dashed off
(by this hare reed rabbit),
wall henna burst of
(playful tulles toy) warren peace,
aye practically spit
out (from inxs of carrot juice),
now dost daringly be hove
brave reeder to comprehend
this dime metrical kickstarter fit -
bawling contrived nada very tit
till late ting, nor
not so great English lit,
and moost unlikely tuff hind
posthumous fame,
worm ma obit
chew wary verb boss
lee probably re:nouns,
(this once upon
a time pablum child),
nor e'en garner this hare reed
ole Jack a one hit
wonder poetic laureate,
nonetheless this
(o' whar did me bunny go),
perhaps to Brit
tin endeavoring merely
to join United Kingdom
(and merrily) writ
for the underground
to test skill at
heart felt fabrication like me,
thus exempting bing
considered, judged,
and labeled tubby unfit.
Now let yours truly whoop
focus to address main intent,
(sans for quick
pick me up)
and nary drop of coffee,
nope not even one molecule
to fill thimbleful sized cup
I reach for bottle of Guarana,
(one serving of
coffee per capsule)
fo' this aging pup,
who attests that caffeine
(liquid and/or
encapsulated), the sole vice
(except for barbiturates, cocaine,
"FAKE" opioid, et cetera),
which overdose nearly found me
nearly a grateful dead – thrice
occasions, where
circumstances of Mus
self (Stuart Little reincarnate -
with an insatiable
craving for cheese
laced with Guarana,
Paullinia cupana,
a climbing plant
in the maple family),
which bean sized seeds
affordable at an acceptable price
many times larger
than puffed rice.
Imagine.....
Scrunched lazily in a bed of your chosen leaves each and every night
To pacify your senses in the richness of earthy-scented legacies
Our ecstasy would prompt our dreams to drift away the moonlight
In nature's cupboard saturating us to delight
In this splendiferous ornamental landscape potpourri
Favorites......
There is of course dark green BAY, the pungent sweet shiny leaf
Loved in soups, stews and sauces and decorative wreaths
CILANTRO serves us tasty signals of subtle, herbal, lemony bright
When cooking in our kitchens playground with recipes just right
MINT is the refresher both clean and sharp - so snappy
Essential to the gum we chew, it makes our toothpaste happy
EUCALYPTUS is strong and bittersweet so conspicuously alive
Its medicine embraces our care in illness and with health to survive
PEPPERTREE stuns our tongues devilishly it tastes so hot and tangy
Rudely smacking our senses sharply burning us to the third degree
VERBENA lulls you to a deeper earthly perfume, lusty and titillating
A citrus romance for salacious hearts and sultry languishing
THYME and SAGE mixes well with much especially ROSEMARY and PARSLEY
It is the herbal gift to our Thanksgiving table as we are wise to use it sparsely
PINE has needles long and thin, its woodland floor fusion creates the pathway
For a long journeys venture of our illusions of forest and stream far away
A bed of leaves to lay ourselves each and every night
A gift of dreams these scented legacies, its ecstasy to our senses delight
November 13, 2019
Scented Leaves Poetry Contest
Sponsor Kim Rodriguez
Juniper blended with the richness of Mohagany
as the well soaped Maidens accompliced
in the impness of Dawn.
A strong coffee poulticed a hint of Cinnamon,
and Clove prepared expectations.
The morning fog was lifting her skirt
in a slow tease, as both veil and curtain.
A suspenseful reveal that caromed
with the steam of my cup.
A main event about to be undressed,
and redressed with the Maidens.
I johned in, in that usual unpure-,pure- folly.
Knew it was welcomed guest,
practically an extorter, to creep in at any hour,
in to steal a gloat in unwarded cameo.
This inadvertently but unthwarted- headtable-
"honored guest", that shared more and more
in my ritual of daydreams, that intertwined
also into some of my more run of the milled needs.
Melding more and more,
as a dysfunctional elixir of happenstance,
and of either need or greed.
I found them also, the "Barista Girls",
like a gaggle of something curious- in cackle,-
buying entrance with teased looks mocking,-
my inflammation of inflection,-
with their vixened vexation,
-but also in snare; flared to wonder their wander
into mine stare.
One of a thawing malaise,- of curiousity shops
and shared spaces.
Places:
Coffee bean aroma and aproned bread
trinkets- become a "suitable"
showcase.
I realized its humorous "colorance"
in poetic knowledge's abionce.
"Man shall not live by bread alone."
But the scone was a genius match.
Something to chew on.
A fitting poetry, (binding really)
by the Master Story Setter- that forbode,-
the Protaganist himself and also let me know
that, 'he is aware of my dirty thoughts.':
To prop my stage and to reflect as a mirror does.
To hold in check the soul.
How the pillows fluffed.
My thoughts blanketed me,
"tucked me to the chin" with their silkys
and fuzzy warmths.
Feathers that cascade in a rockabye lull-fashion.
My system of down.
Downy.
Snuggle.
Oh women will be my downfall.
Vipers that push their venom.
"I think God created coffee and tea
with Poet in mind."
I rebuked my thoughtful sins to Him
and left a healthy tip for them.
In a horse life.We can play with a burlap feed
bag, an empty milk jug, or chew on the barn stall
door.Just to kill some time, or to kill some every
day bordom.In a horse life.We get names like
Black Beauty, Flicka, Seabiscuit, or Secretariat.
In a horse life.We do tricks like bowing our heads
down, or placing our shoe upon a pedastool.Picking
up the cowboy hat.While tapping our feet rata-tat-tat.
In a horse life.We like a good block of salt.With lots
of minerals, to lick upon.A wholesome bale of hay.To
start off a brand new day.Or a bucket of grain.To keep
us all healthy, fat, and sane.And a fresh bucket of water,
to wash it all down.In a horse life.I could be losing a
horseshoe.While the rider is losing his mind.In a horse
life.We can be a workhorse, a race horse, or a trick pony.
Or maybe a showhorse, or possibly a circus horse.With
out all the phoney baloney.In a horse life.We can run all
day in the open sun, or run the race trak.While the betters
place their wagers.Of course, at the horse racing track
betters window.In a horse life..
Okay friends now let's just see
Do I have weaknesses of my own?
Nope, after careful investigation
I find I'm just perfect to the bone
A doggone stunning specimen
Of a *****sapien supreme
With bulging muscles everywhere
My tummy is tight and lean
So muscle bound, can't even bend
To tie my oversized shoes
Haven't seen some parts of my body
Since ninety-sixty-two
What's my secret you may ask
To my Greek Adonis form?
I chew on nuts and alfalfa grass
Celery and cobs of corn
Not your cup of tea you say?
So keep up your over stuffed ways
Like the famous Goodyear blimp
You'll go drifting off in the haze!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Since Psychiatrists have lost their superficial reputation,
applied philosophy as metaphysical existents is the realization.
That ideology proofs the infinite potential of the mind,
by the soul enabled life force that provides all challenges behind.
Mental surface impressions making the mind to an emotional sponge,
whereas spiritual aspiration are the negating conscious for once.
The mental eye blinded by immediate result and satisfaction,
while the soul knows the purpose related determination.
Not given the real source enough attention introspective,
creating lost personalities in related circumstance respective.
The individual soul as part of cosmic consciousness,
create the prowess of the involution of karmic justice.
The mental disorder is the lack of true intuitive perception,
the logic contaminated mind as handicapped conception.
Digging deep into profundity is nothing new,
ancient theories provide lots to ponder on and to chew.
Mindology just another name for the same problem,
peoples superficial thinking and not getting to the bottom.