Long Chicory Poems
Long Chicory Poems. Below are the most popular long Chicory by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chicory poems by poem length and keyword.
Inhaling his masculine scent I taste the aroma of our first chicory spot
he has been with me for forty four years and he is still so very hot
Dotted with gray on his temples, still as handsome as the day we met
he was at my sweet sixteen birthday party, now how can I ever forget
The man who put a ring on my finger and gave me two beautiful children
we lived and breathed solo flying like two turtle doves in a jaded glen,
Today we sit in the yard and reminisce about our first kiss, our first time
his eyes are still shining and I'm glad that after all the years he is still mine
Truth be told I would not trade a moment of the days we spent together
nothing can split us apart except God's will, until then we will tether ,
Fastened to each others hearts, we will always be forever true as one
for he is my stars and moon, my lovely husband, and my golden sun.
Happy Anniversary Lovie,
Your Wife, Vie aka Mystic Rose
"hellstrip"
it's not like
crossing
the river
Styx
it's just
between
the side
walk and
the
curb
not needing
a penny on
your eyes
to pay
to walk
out on the
other side
to meet
your what
you
make
or
might make
your maker
give or
take your
governing
municipality
rules but
then that's
more
than
a mouthful
so i curb
my Larry
David and my
enthusiasm
not questioning
the suggestions
from what
i feel is
police
brutality
please
allow me
yarrow with
out sorrow
and chipper
chicory
instead
of pain
in the
just
ass
grass
Even before the arrival of the first snows, so brilliantly candid,
we climbed mounts less dangerous than the Alps's;
and we proudly chalked it up to our experience.
Now the snowy cliffs with bouffant boulders,
have lost their captious and so beatific image,
and quite too often we got pinched by burdock,
distracted by the robins chattering on a coarse descent;
I champed on crisp strawberries, while he challenged his strength.
My buddy never castigated me for my bizarre behavior,
and I admired him for displaying humor without repulsion,
or retort, and with chisel and hammer we engraved faces of historic men
on the smoothest rocks which were replete with their handsomeness.
Those adventurous afternoons are repealed when we look up,
and recreate them through our Male Chauvinism, cheery not dumb;
we felt like cave men making rudimentary drawings of their hunted animals,
while their women picked wild chicory for an early dinner.
Chums we were, resembling cowboys with wide hats in a chiaroscuro,
drinking in a bar filled with fashionable ladies frolicking and saying hello;
and chili con carne we ate, and plenty of beers to wash it down.
After our money was all squandered, our pockets were empty and we felt alone,
dazed...wobbling with fear, afraid to face our witless wives at home;
we were two idiots wooing empathy and some undeserving love.
And didn't they seem two witches ready for vengeance in their frown,
trying to squeeze the truth out of our silent and pretentious mouths too fulsome?
Frost will bring winter soon, and the snowy cliffs with bouffant boulders will be covered,
our hair have turned almost white to match the bright color of the deep snows,
as this river is freezing up, to become a sheet of ice, where no boats or barges pass;
and we play chess, the intramural game of a confined life, without those clandestine affairs.
Our darlings approve with sweet intonation, intensifying their affection so amorous;
and we embrace them with that tenderness that they have long desired...
staring at the snowy cliffs with bouffant boulders that these two climbers made their own,
remembering the cold and the shivering...coming down to a valley of comfort and domain.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
A novel that I haven’t read
Is Fifty Shades of Grey.
I know what it’s about, but why the grey?
I couldn’t say.
The only greys that I could name
Are charcoal, smoke or ash.
But fifty shades of brown?
Now, I could name them in a flash!
There’s mocha, chocolate, bittersweet,
Mahogany and umber;
Burnt sienna, saddle and
More tans that I could number.
Butterscotch and caramel,
Espresso, cocoa, rust;
Copper, coffee, khaki, chestnut –
There are more, I trust.
Cinnamon and chicory,
Malt and dirt and clay;
Sand and nutmeg, earth and mud
And one I cannot say.
Camouflage, bamboo and beige,
Bronze and fox and mink;
Camel, pecan, palomino –
Time to stop, I think.
I’ve made my point; as colors go,
I think it’s fair to say
That Fifty Shades of Brown makes sense
Much more than Shades of Grey!
I love when the first blooms of spring begin, crocus in the garden, peaking from the snow; may flowers and troutlily soon begin to show
The millions of trilliums gloriously painting the undergrowth of our woodlands in spring; fading to pink before our eyes as summer comes in rolling
The poppys peaking through the tall grass in the warm morning air; their nodding orange heads smiling, seemingly aware
The glistening of wild asparagus cloaked in morning dew; lit by dawn's waking eye noted by few but loved by you and I
Sweet peas cling to any hillside or natural trellis they can find; bringing bursts of pink, purple and white joy to behold in one's eye and mind
The brightest blue wild chicory and stands of Queen Anne's lace; swaths of daisies and brown eyes susans decorate the road to nearly any place
The swamp has loads of bright eyed marsh marigolds and irises of blue; fading into lakesides with tiger lilies and cardinal flowers of the brightest red hue
Meadows dotted with daisies, thistles and creamy buttercup; brilliant red, yellow and orange indian paintbrush flowers lift their faces up
Even the old fashioned orange daylilies, sunshine yarrow, and fragrant purple phlox; to mark long forgotten homesteads once settled by pioneers that came ok n flocks.
Ain't nothin' like a steamin' cup o' coffee to greet the early morn.
It'll calm yer nerves and git you goin' just as sure as you wuz born!
With mixin's added to suit yer taste, it must be scaldin' hot,
Decaf, regular, chicory-strong or mild, it really matters not!
Some folks prefer a styrofoam cup, others a massive mug,
But those proffer an indelicate way to down a gulpin' slug.
Others, a dainty cup and saucer, pinkie sedately bent,
Sippin' delicately so social faux pas one is sure to prevent!
I hear it ain't acceptable to dunk a donut in yer mug o' java,
Or pour coffee in a saucer to cool, tho' it's hot as flowin' lava.
But I ain't concerned about it bein' a great big social blunder,
As folks disdainfully stare at me as if I wuz some alien wonder!
Docs debate the merits of caffeine, whether it's healthy or not.
Let 'em bicker, I'll decide what to percolate in my coffee pot!
My dear old Dad had his daily caffeine fix, livin' 'til ninety-four.
I've done the same fer years and I'm approachin' nigh four-score!
Nowadays, fancy concoctions are brewed for the discernin' taste;
Expresso, mocha, cappuccino, even Irish whiskey laced!
Such exotic ambrosia to others I'll graciously defer.
I'll keep on slurpin' an ordinary cop 'o joe, which I much prefer!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Charlieku (var of 2-3-4)
engraved bubbling hark! the tinkling
on hard rock with happiness laughter
a pact of love wild daisies of bluebells
blooming the joy begonia
with rising sun of giving sweet promises
chicory no bartering at stake
meditation like a crocus her words
in the woods open up a fleeting touch
silence to warmth of warm breeze
justice- frothy bridge crossing
truth is not indulgence the stream and I
exchangeable morning pleasure skipping
a free deal riding waves soulful
at the grocer’s- living clarity
gossip for the moment chickadee’s song
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A Charlieku 4-3-2 Contest
Hosted by Charles Messina
Placed 2nd
© 15th October 2018
time travel’n peace —
ought we find rather death,
war — tread on me.
funny the face, the companionship
of outer space, the innocence
of the sun and sky.
she still provides
the radiance of warmth;
him the blue or gray stormy eyes.
down ‘low discovery of weeds,
white and yellow petals, bitter tea.
commoners in chicory-chattering.
synchronous chattels, green and tarnished.
wile away withering hours, wemberlies
wheedle into every corner.
down to brass tacks, blowup buses
when school’s back in session
bananas in lunch pail...we’re all going
4/2/2020
wemberlies - worried
brass tacks - essentials
One of the joys of summer are lightning bugs.Do you remember, as a child, chasing them on a balmy evening? They are so elusive. When you see one in front of you and go to catch it, it would be gone; only to blink just a foot or so away from you. Carefully we would put some in a jar with holes poked into the lid for air. Then we would watch them light up. Never leave them in the jar very long, or they will die.
Nature’s bounty is showing in the colorful blooming meadows.Grasses and wild flowers are a riot of color; there are Daisies, Yarrow, blue Chicory and black eyed Susans displaying their charms.It seems impossible to remember that the mere beginnings of all this abundance was only a few months ago.
July days are full and long. The water in the creek flows lazily, just like the cottony clouds that glide across the blue sky. Milkweeds, Honeysuckle and Hay scent the air. Hay has such an incomparable scent.It brings back visions of climbing up into the hayloft as a child. Playing in the hay, tunneling through it, finding “Daddy Long legs’” and the kittens that the barn cat hid there.
Blackberries are ripening in the berry patch For a time we did a lot of picking. We enjoyed many delicacies that we could prepare with them. Pies, cobblers, and cakes as well a s jams, juices and wine. Going to the berry patch was a welcome, relaxing activity after work. Most of the time it would be very hot there. Occasionally a snake would be sleeping on a branch nearby, causing me to move on slowly. I would stomp my feet, hoping they would move out of my way. Bugs and mosquitoes would buzz all around us.
Summertime is full of joy.The sounds of crickets and cicadas are the music of summer. There are baby animals., tottering around, growing up, discovering. Flowers gladden our hearts with their beauty. We swim in pools, ponds and creeks to cool off and refresh us. We can pick homegrown fruits and vegetables for our table.
And there is the toddler following a butterfly, calling: “Wait for me butterfly, come back here! You are going too fast!”
Oh, for the taste of a sweet, juicy berry,
some sweet rose petals would make me happy;
I'm so tired of woody browse and acorns,
my throat gets dry and my teeth are worn.
For an aging buck needs good sustenance;
I hate the browse cracking, such dissonance!
I long for tree buds, tender grass and shoots;
I'd kiss a squirrel for some acorns or fruits.
I love buckeye, chestnuts, pecans and raspberry;
some strawberries, blueberries and blackberries.
To run through the fields seeking a spouse
and revel in the colors of those lovely grouse.
An apple or two, perhaps some paw-paws,
fresh almonds are tasty to chomp in my jaws.
Sweet herbs like lemon grass, sage and chicory,
dandelions, alfalfa, plantain and hickory.
I yearn for those tasty pleasures of Spring,
my mate and I will enjoy everything!
2-14-2023
Winter is not Forever Poetry Contest
BJ Legros Kelley