Long Cinnamon Poems
Long Cinnamon Poems. Below are the most popular long Cinnamon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cinnamon poems by poem length and keyword.
Sitting on the corner of the cafe with my friend after a long day,
Sipping the warm and sensual Chai tea,
Feeling the cold air from outside brush against my face when someone opens the door,
The taste of cinnamon ,nutmeg and milk flooded my mouth with pleasure ,
The soothing vapor mask my face delicately as i closed my eyes and inhale the sensual
aroma,
I stared outside the window watching people walk by,
I embraced my cup and sipped more,
The sounds of the tranquilizing music in the cafe sedated my tension even more,
I continued to the savor my chai until there wasn't a drop left,
And then walked out the cafe and left until the next day.
Form:
~The Magic of Fall~
(Acorn)
Fall is
Approaching
One more time here,
And there, you can feel
The chill in the air everywhere.
Fall is very wonderful and you can have fun
and in so many ways is so different from
The other three seasons and there's just none
Like fall you can see the trees changing
Colors showing their beautiful hues.
Sometimes you can smell cinnamon
Which lingers in the air with
Pumpkin pie scent.Kids
Have fun and play
With leaves that
Cover the
Ground.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2010
November.19.2015
"The Acorn" is a poetry form created by Dorian Petersen Potter, aka ladydp2000,on
September 17,2010.
September’s Apples
By Frank Daub
September apples rest in the cellar,
barely in the light,
mellow,
turning cider
beneath their shining skins like cinnamon wine.
I bite one –
juice bubbles out
to the edges of my mouth.
There is sweetness first.
Then at once the tart September taste and
the white circle roughly broken from
the red round.
How long, I wonder, before the white darkens.
The white goes nut colored
before
I can finish peeling the red entirety --
Or
after I’ve taken the first bite.
What is it that makes us put apples in the cellar?
To keep them Autumn-like, extending the
crispness of a season bringing harvest?
This, or it does something to their flavor that the sun can’t finish.
I try to remember how the apples tasted when the old man and I pulled them
from the tree.
They were cold.
A little less mellow.
They are sweeter now.
Being buried was good for them. Buried in the deep cool of this cellar,
away from the sun.
Christmas Confections
Visions of candy canes, swirling red and white stripes,
Pirouette through our dreams spinning Christmas delights;
Sugar sticks and sugar plums tweak our imaginations
When bright store windows show off marshmallow creations ~
~ ~ ~
Truffles and toffee nestled near gumdrops red and green
Spun sugar delights fit for a queen;
Peppermint bark, only seen once a year,
Graces gingerbread houses when in villages they appear ~
~ ~ ~
Raspberry candies filled with gooey, sweet centers
Hold hands with ribbon candy - childhood remembers;
Creations of fudge draw our attentions
Chocolate and maple, vanilla nut confections ~
~ ~ ~
Sugar and cinnamon coats nuts of every variety
When coal lumps of licorice invite stocking anxiety;
Pralines, nonpareils, cocoa snowballs, chocolate mints
Sour stars and lollipops leave a holiday footprint ~
11-11-21
Contest: November December
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
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!
The wizard will know everyone I met along the way said.
Okay, I thought, for I am from Kansas and not daft in my head.
I looked for the curtain as I pranced down the yellow brick road.
Instead of Toto a cairn terrier, I was followed by a frog who looked old.
The mini-munchkins did not come out to greet or to sing.
I never found a scarecrow, tinman or lion with zing.
In the far distance I saw a poppy field, but the flowers looked odd.
An old witch-like creature with wings gave me a head nod.
Where is the wizard? I yelled, kind of half-heartedly.
That’s when I found a lively sassy wise talking oak tree.
Winged monkeys are about, so make haste she warned me.
Fear came into my heart, I’ve seen Wizard of Oz times twenty-three.
I began to run and hit my head on an unexpected branch.
I woke up smelling cinnamon, pumpkin and possibly ranch.
A frog with a wizard hat was concocting some kind of spell.
I wondered if I was still alive or I had gone to…..
Admire the lovely hues of nature's glaze
As leaves turn from saffron to crimson red
And fireplace burns fire, an amber blaze
Foretelling winter's snowy days ahead
As kids feast merrily on ginger bread.
Sunny days transition to cooler nights,
As cheering begins when football delights.
Romance embraces vistas of amber trees
Saddened as birds move to warmer weather.
Enjoying cinnamon tea as nights freeze
When pumpkin pie lovers get together,
And splendid scenery soon turns umber
As Halloween costumes roam windy street
Anxious for candy chanting trick or treat.
September 20, 2017
Autumn Royal
Sponsor: Dale Gregory Cozart
Rhyme: ababbcc, dedeeff--10 syllables per line
Checked on poetry soup syllable counter
a jolly darling right angle went straight out of the lateral box
fed up with grinding a living on the periphery of pure reason
he thought back to his square roots and longed for a change
his strict Dad Monty Pythagoras had been rather level headed
had equated logic premises and conclusions with happiness
a refined man steeped in knowledge in search for great virtue
his Mom Pi however never lived up the promise of her name
strayed from her calculated path of predetermined precision
abandoned caution and boredom and soaked in a bubbly bath
Archimedes my **** I can’t throw the baby out of the water
had a fling with Plato in his cave and settled for the kitchen
made the best strawberry crumble from recipes of her aunt
Little Monty Pi enjoyed whipped cream and emotion much more
than obedience and hypothenuses and left mere equations behind
licked off the whisk and dreamed of the perfect circle for good
vanilla emotions danced with sweet sugar candy mountains as
his feelings submerged into a fantasy world coated in cinnamon
he was warned that he might have eggy intuitions on his face
for shells would easily crack and ovations weren’t perfectly round
but his world was not flat anymore and he wished for perspectives
of a different kind than sitting in the lost corner at ninety degrees
if you can stand the heat you should remain in the bakehouse
savour cookies or condensed milk tarts for such exquisite cuisine
beats mere cognition and the dour fragrance of stale rationale
Mum chuckled while Dad despaired and took out his slide rule
proposed that life was no honey pot and cooking was effluvium
misleading and not up to the fine task of consequential virtues
but like most kids he would only listen to what he wanted to hear
put Nirvana on the headphones and closed his mind to objections
eventually he learnt that life was really a giant rigged rollercoaster
maybe the strawberries were laced with psychedelic truth serum
or the icing on the gateau was to abandon forethought and planning
most of all that he was neither circle nor angle and just needed to be
30th August 2020
The potluck is right around the corner of my room, so smells are wafting in already.
Luscious wonderful terrific delicious smells – pumpkin, cinnamon, chocolate, mayonnaise.
You cannot smell mayonnaise? My heart goes out to you. I am sorry for your loss,
Someone just took the lid off the baked beans again. I do not dare try for those, knowing
How low my rear is to the ground, spending my day walking past little low children who
Do not deserve to receive the memory of me enjoying a big sweet tub of baked beans.
I was hospitalized with a spastic colon, and urged to not eat any of my favorite foods any more.
My favorite foods are jalapeno peppers, chili, spaghetti, fried chicken, and more jalapeno peppers.
Matter of fact, I could eat jalapeno peppers on my pumpkin pie, and not miss the whipped cream.
A connoisseur of all the foods I should not eat, but I can now smell, I decide to take a little walk.
Those who see me think I am doing something important. I am. I am saving myself from me.
my little girl is lighting scented candles tonight
she is recovering from pneumonia and in is in her best mood in forever
i play her favorite Christmas song by the late dan fogelberg
we become lost and run out of things to say as well
love is speaking right now, and it is not to be disturbed
after she finishes her chicken and shells soup and sandwich, she comes over to me and jumps on my lap
i wrap her in her favorite blanket and play the song again
i smile as a quiet tear falls as she snuggles up in her blanket
i know that sleep is tapping on her shoulder gently
she responds as always
i simply rejoice
the smell of apples and cinnamon fills the air with yuletide divine contentment