Long Cider Poems
Long Cider Poems. Below are the most popular long Cider by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cider poems by poem length and keyword.
Mommy, Mommy it's the cider doughnut mountain man
From when we went trick or treating , Remember?
The Lincoln Log cabin in the woods way up on the mountain
Hot cider with a cinnamon stick Chocolate glazed doughnuts
Can we go there for Christmas? Please
Jimmy, shush! Your embarrassing Mommy He'll hear You
We're going to Grandpa and Grandma's for Christmas
As I turned around ; a little hand waved to me , in glee
The Christmas Spirit sparkling in his eyes.
"Merry Christmas, Jimmy , Merry Christmas
Dedicated to Jimmy Cahill ( 8 years old )
Author's note Mountain man is not size it is where I live
The Cider Gum (Eucalyptus Gunnii)
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
The full Moon ablaze in the night sky
Beams down on the dead and dying Cider Gums
Their ghostly silhouettes, so white and stark
Now just a reminder of the past
…
The Central Plateau, the High Country of Tasmania
Is or was home to these magnificent trees
Now there bleached skeletons tell the story
That the environment in which they flourished has changed
…
Grazed extensively by native and domestic animals
Used by the aboriginals, settlers and trappers
The Cider Gum leaf, was used to make cider
And the sweet scent used to freshen homes
…
Eucalypts Gunnii (Cider Gum) unique to Tasmania
Once so prevalent and used in a variety of ways
Now standing forlorn, dead and slowly dying
Their limbs and branches bleached white by the sun
…
Many attempts have been made to re-introduce the gums
But the changing environment and pressure from the wildlife
Has meant that the Cider Gum is facing a loosing battle
For the seasons have changed, not enough rainfall and hot summers
And the snow no longer on the ground for weeks on end
…
Such a unique and magnificent shade tree, stepped in history
Will soon be a distant memory and extinct
Will be left to the old timers to tell about the Cider Gums
For I have doubts that mother nature can revitalize Eucalyptus Gunnii
Bushels and bushels of apple upon apple,
Canned, frozen, or fresh just couldn't keep up the pace.
Fallen fruit amounted to ripe fermented scrapple,
The solution of course, stared us both in the face.
If we had the setup we could bottle the stuff,
Taking the essence of the apple's sweet mashed flesh.
Producing hard cider would use up more than enough.
All that we'd need is grinder, storage, and a press.
We searched the internet for the tools of the trade,
This proved to be fruitless, expenses added fast.
There had to be a better way, something hand made.
Maybe a trip to Walmart could solve this at last.
Gripping three one hundred dollar bills, we were off,
Wood chipper, yeast, trash can; we loaded up the cart.
Borrowed a car jack and a old tarp for the trough.
It all came together, we're ready to start.
We had a few issues duct tap readily fixed,
Amassing cider in bucket after bucket.
We capped each barrel with ingredients mixed
A little of this, a little that, ahh... suck it...
Fermented, bottled, capped and allowed to settle,
Trying at last, dry and sparkling, with a smooth taste.
Up to get more, we fell tail over teakettle,
The only mistake we made was standing in haste.
A pple pickers gaily riding in wagons, sipping cider along the way, headed for orchards, on a crisp, clear sunny day.
U mbrellas turned inside out when wily north winds blow, and sheets of rain, without refrain, follow all the way home.
T urning leaves of gold and crimson hues, ignite the woodlands and city parks, a spectacular, humbling view.
U mber swathes of color, spreading over marsh and field, extinguishing summers rainbow palette, bronzing acres without yield.
M ischievious squirrels scamper, hording acorns in winter nests and wooly bear caterpillars journey to their rest.
N ight rises, dropping a charcoal veil, a choir of crickets chirping, in the chilly autumn air.
Altering air patterns
Crispier dusk tones
Nights’ earlier onsets
Sun’s late rises
Changing leaf colors
Trees’ fiery flairs
Scattered acorns and pine needles
Halloween is around the corner
Ghosts and vampires
Goblins, ghouls and skeletons
Webs of humongous spiders
Witches and Jack-o’-lanterns
Black cats lurk
Spooky bats and owls flutter
Crescent moon’s shiny silver
Halloween is around the corner
Pumpkin shades of orange, auburn and ginger
costume displays in stores
Candy containers in shops’ every corner
Eager children gearing up
Sweet scents from burning candles
Aromas of pies cooked with cinnamon
Spicy warm apple cider
Halloween is around the corner
The dromedary camel has one hump,
and the Bactrian camel has two,
but I always get them mixed up!
Do you?
So, just for a bit of fun,
here are some alternate names for camels.
(Feel free to pick your favorite one!)
One alternative, after some study,
could be a handle like "Dune Buddy".
Or we could suggest, without fear of rebuke,
an appellation like "Desert Duke".
While sipping on some apple cider,
I thought of this one: "Sandy Strider".
And my friend, an avid motorbiker,
has suggested "Hump Hiker".
Here's a basketball reference that's worth the money.
How's this for a name? "Camelo Anthony"!
And a medieval reference which we can allot
would, of course, be none other than "Camel-ot"!
Stopping by early, soon it will be Christmas Day,
Shiny gifts, inviting bows, ‘neath the tree do lay,
Hot, mulled apple cider in red glass, deer mugs.
Magnificent family with endless,warm, love hugs!
Roast beef, just glowing with luscious juice.
Sad absence of cousins, Maggie and Bruce!
The peace and love that fills the pine scented room.
Wish all days, were like this, the absence of gloom!
Merry Christmas poets and love to one and all!
This is your early eight week, wake up call!
10/25/2024
Love and hugs to all, in those busy, fun weeks ahead.
~ PANGIE~
A spider drank cider and was legless at breakfast
Now this placid arachnid with a shoddy wee body
Asked weevils so evil if they each had a needle
Could they just for a joke smoke while they poked
At erudite mites with myopic eyesight
And bedridden black beetles who bawled noon and night
At bow legged bees who could bumble and fumble
With wasps that were dishy but got into a tizzy
Watching high jumping fleas pee in the sea
Beside conniving cockroaches who approached in stagecoaches
Near trails of pale snails drinking buckets of ale
Sold by charming blow flies wearing spotted bow ties
In a dark damp old cellar with an ant storyteller
Whose sight had declined until he was blind
Who made up strange tales of fat whales with sharp nails
That fed on a diet of cat, sprat and rat
Carrying small bugs who never gave hugs
To horn-tailed yellow midges wearing red tartan breeches
And whopper leafhoppers sucking monster gobstoppers
So the spider could laugh like a three legged giraffe
And begin to grin at the insects chagrin
iv.
By Thanksgiving, their machinations no longer discreet,
Voices from the walls and vents, betrayed their deceit.
My family revealed as demons in flesh-and-blood guise,
Christmas Day was the day they had plotted my demise.
My nightmares more horrific, as that curséd day drew near,
Every morning, drenched in sweat, consumed by my fears.
So, I wore the mask of loving dad, right up till the Eve,
One last dream of the woman offering my reprieve.
"Your family is wicked. They'll kill you while you sleep.
Take the axe from the shed—when you swing, bury it deep."
v.
Christmas Eve, bright and early, I quietly left the room,
My family still sound asleep, silent as a tomb.
They awoke to hot cocoa, crackling fire, freshly fallen snow,
The smell of gingerbread, apple cider, their faces all aglow.
We spent the day playing games, told 'em how much I loved them,
Then kissed my wife off to bed, grabbed my son and hugged him.
"I care for you and your mom and would only do what's best.
I'll come wake you when Santa's gone," his head against my chest.
"I can’t wait! Goodnight, dad!" He bounded off to bed.
As soon as his door had closed, I headed to the shed.
With gas can and axe in hand, I moved with hurried stride,
And kicked open wide the door, where the first demon I spied.
With the axe, forty whacks, when I saw what I'd done,
I kicked down the other door, then swung forty-one.
I moved from room to room, possessed with righteous purpose,
Made the sign of the cross as I doused every surface.
The last drop, the living room, tossed aside the can,
Where among the gifts, an envelope, signed with child’s hand.
I removed a card and read—To The World's Greatest Dad!
With a photo of our family and the happy life we had.
I slumped beside the Christmas Tree with lit match and tearful gaze,
Then screamed as it and my wretched soul went up in hellish blaze.
As the flames consumed the heavens, a woman cackled with delight,
Disembodied laughter, that faded with the night.
I’m old for my age
and big for my size
I don’t like NO
and I can’t tell lies
I play with my toys
mostly big trucks and trains
and splash in all puddles
after it rains
I’m old for my age
and big for my size
I don’t like NO
and I can’t tell lies
I like corn on the cob
and watermelon too,
sweet apple cider
but broccoli neew
I’m old for my age
and big for my size
I don’t like NO
and I can’t tell lies
I’m up when I’m up
and sleep when I’m down
and if I get mad
just clear out of town
I’m old for my age
and big for my size
I don’t like NO
and I can’t tell lies
I like stories bout Thomas
and videos too
and come Halloween
I going to scare you
I’m old for my age
and big for my size
I don’t like NO
and I can’t tell lies
From a time long ago, would it be DVD's or Mommy's Ipad now?