Long Clove Poems
Long Clove Poems. Below are the most popular long Clove by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clove poems by poem length and keyword.
created to be satiated having your dreams decapitated not what you anticipated? your
life...castrated now left to die to be recreated,
in motion you thought you were the chosen while others believed you soul was frozen lying
deep in the ocean with your eyes never open,
all the frustration temptation lack of motivation has you missing the sensation of life's
creation while interpreting the wrong information,
years have passed and time is gone you hang your head wondering what went wrong while you
sing your sad country song,
this isn't what you seen this life how could it be so mean taking you and crushing your
dream now you see reality ,
it wasn't about the fortune and fame, or how far you get in the game, now to sit and blame
all the others when it was you who used your name,
no one forced you at all it was you who made the call now your left to crawl because you
never realized this is life's ball and the objective is for you to fall,
so as you sit and hang your head crying wondering what she said, but you didn't listen you
walked away instead leaving love in bed,
remember you were the one, the strong man with the gun having your fun while true love
faded in the sun,
you were right it was all about the fight as you stepped into the light and pushed with
all your might you thought you were such a site,
look around your not the only one in this town we all fall to the ground it was you who
thought we were clowns as you joked and we frowned,
the eyes you see are eyes that set the world free, the ones that seen you try to prove
your theory as they took a knee and let it be,
your story is heard world wide, nothing new just a grown man left to cry, now that we have
your attention here's why,
life in front of you is on loan, not yours to waist on the phone or sit on a thrown not
listing to others grown,
take time to breath, listen to the sounds in the trees as I let you be you and you let me
be me the way it's meant to be,
find your life, find true love in a wife, make what's wrong right keep yours in site while
the stars fill the night ,
your fortune is love, your fame are blessings from above happiness is deserving of, and
your time should fit like a clove.
your dream is right there in front of you, open your eyes to a new find the ski of blue
know what is true.... and enjoy the view.
Helen's brick house
was built by her grandpa James
with a specific design in mind:
the front black cross-windows
riminded one of Christ's sorrows;
when the off-white roll shades opened
the neighboors saw Helen wearing a rosette
on her blouse she herself had created
on a foot paddle sewing machine...
copying it off a Cosmopolitan magazine.
The porch's wood was cracked and faded
not a perfect dispay for begonias,
amaryllis, hydrangeas and roses
that Helen watered on drought days
to perserve them, never to be whitered
by a lack of rain when the grass yellowed.
A staircase led to her bedroom kind of mystique,
the queen bed was covered with macabre art linen sheets
and had a wrought-iron bedframe almost an antique;
often Helen heard whipers of folks who had lived
there, and she wondered if it was her imagination or dread:
" Dead people are harmelss, only living people harm others! "
No garden in that neighbohood was prittier than hers,
sweet Alyssum, purple Ageratum, white Alemone growing
under Japanese maples and strawberry trees so tempting
made it so harmonious and so lively that amazed others;
would it been complete without the merry warblings
of the canaries,of the mockingbirds and of the wrens?
The roof shingles needed replacement, they often fell down on piled logs,
and Helen stocked them up neately in a corner to save money later on;
her income was kind of low and expensive utility bills kept on coming in,
the pension her husband left her was spent on food, not on luxury goods.
When rain fell the front lawn and garden became fens able to transform
their loveliness, hundreds of leaves were left by the last tropical storm;
and Helen was saddened staring at the devastation of the lovely grass,
only the day before she got rid of those ugly weeds hiding the wild violets
and the crimson clove along the fence where birds built their nests...
I can imagine how helpless she felt seeing such devastation in minutes!
The faded timber door fought severe winters and they lasted night-long,
spring brought pleasant days, it stood open to greet their fragrance;
no thief invaded a house protected by good spirits and benevolence,
God was there and that made Helen feel at home where she belonged.
WONDERS OF IX A (2019)
Millennium is a box of wonders which crave
To get knowledge, values, principle and love.
In my satchel I have eight wonders that drive
Me crazy, frenzied, rabid. But lo how I love
All of them. Composed, wise sane and active
Never fought like cat and dog, or out move.
The first gems Radhika and Ansh, my nerve
One very intelligent, diligent, other silent groove,
Charming, diligent, a helping hand, a sweet dove.
Second are Vidhi and Dhruv, who do their give
Best, oppose, are animadvert, but most all of
Love teachers. Third Pranjal and Mustafa brave
Charming, exasperating, lovely, do behave
Cooly, assist me in executing discipline, gave
Best of them, never rude or arrogant do they prove.
Fourth are Chahat and Vishnu, tacit, cute curve,
Taciturn, intermittently garrulous but catch nerve,
One a couch potato, other eats humble pie is brave.
Fifth wonders are Shikha and Shashank, positive
In my class, effusive, gabby, loquacious, talkative
But sweet natured children, take care of AC groove.
The next wonders are Milsi and Kanan, Gujju native,
Another prolix, chatty and gabby ones who grieve
With Dwij for class indiscipline; all sweethearts of
Sanket, caring, dormant, at times quarrelsome, at eve
Spend time contemplating on their studies. Above
All is Dweesha and Dwip, short tempered, proactive,
Loquacious, friend in enemy, reserved is ready give
Their 100 percent against me with conjurer's glove,
But close to my heart. The last but not least brave
Girl is Vidhi, a Jain, reputed, calm, cute, does have
Empathy for me and Krunal. A sweet girl, will leave
Never just, devoted, staunch behaviour, an octave
Of skills, trustworthy, allegiant, harmonious dove.
In a nutshell, all sixteen are big bucks, a brown clove.
All these eight wonders with Dev, Helik, Vasu move
Crumblesome elements out of my class - proactive.
Mithil, Harsh, Sarthak are above the salt persons. Five
More are wonders driving away my talent out of cave.
I thank again most reverent Kekul madam to pave
A voluble path of IX A with such obedient constructive
Students. Guidance of Sandeep and Sushil inductive;
I counted noses, am success with method inductive.
All dandies, make me a proud, ostentatious teacher alive.
PARALLEL ARE THE RAILS
(PRE-VERSE 1)
Feeling all alone
Cast away like a stone
Few friends what I got
True friends can’t be bought.
(VERSE 1)
Living is a joke
Think I’m about to choke.
Lookin’ at you
Lookin’ at me
Mirror is true (but the reflection is cracked)
False truths won’t set you free.
(Pre-Chorus)
I got my time
I got my rhyme
Beggin’ for a dime
Beggin’ for your time
(Chorus)
Bittersweet is the love (Sweeter than the lime)
Smellin’ like a clove
Burnt up in a stove
Rotting in a grove
Shrapnel of hardened nails
Pouring down like the rain
Storing away the parlayed pain
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
(PRE-VERSE 2)
Heavy is the stone
When you’re all alone
Many friends were not what I thought
False friends are easily bought
(VERSE 2)
Drowning in the smoke
Deception is no joke
Reflection of you
Reflection of me
Mirror is true (but the reflection is cracked)
False truths won’t set you free.
(BRIDGE)
Dreaded are my locs
Dreadful are my thoughts
Locked away in my cerebral box
Cast away like abandoned lots
Got dreadlocks down below my needs
Beatles in the sound
Help me get around
Got hair like my ancestral Swedes
Brain damaged by Floyd
Brain examined by Freud
(PRE-VERSE 3)
Can I get a fix
Feelin’ a little sick
Like when I was six
Trippin’ over a stick
People like to stare
Like I’m some disease
But, I don’t care
I do as I please
(VERSE 3)
Ridin’ on a train
Lookin’ for a change
Freedom from the chain
Leaves me feeling strange
Lookin’ a little strange
Beaten by the chain
No time for change
Ridin’ on a train
(Pre-Chorus)
I got my time
I got my rhyme
Beggin’ for a dime
Beggin’ for your time
(Chorus)
Bittersweet is the love (Sweeter than the lime)
Smellin’ like a clove
Burnt up in a stove
Rotting in a grove
Shrapnel of hardened nails
Pouring down like the rain
Storing away the parlayed pain
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Lyricists Inc.
D.A.P. / Digital Analog Productions.
David A. Porter 3/??/18
It smells a little like Christmas
Cold and kind of like peaches-don't make fun of that
And it's not even September
And this time I swear if you jump off that
I'm not going to the hospital
My blood stained shirt from the show
Still smells of clove cigarettes
How can you still look so good?
Never Summer.
There's something wrong with us-- really.
Yeah, cause you'll want that there in fifteen years.
You are such an-
You got the idea four cliche's ago
Hi, hello. Yes. Thank you. Come on in.
Our subliminal messages will begin in 2.5 seconds.
You like the way you make me feel like a child.
And You're not allowed to talk anymore.
A bit chilly outside--okay, blizzard.
Don't go out in that. Doubt the car will make it back.
Taste of deep red wine. Reminds me of the word Cabaret.
Funny shows, it's like they won't let you go
Is everything broken?
Lock my bedroom door.
We're trying to have a conversation...okay, sure.
God I love the life you've made
Out there on a ramp
With everyone watching, my clothes fit better than ever
Like the hat, give him that back
One in the same
Nothing in common, no more useless input
Is that real? Really, is it?
We're going out tonight. I want you to go.
Especially when I see you 3 times a month.
How many ideas can you steal? Make it part of your own appeal.
I don't know how mnay more times I can laugh at that one
So I'll set on the snow
Think of where we are
And what you all did to my car...
This was the best time wer ever had
Then I'll go inside
Try to light our fireplace. Failure.
Be careful. You can stay with me. We'll stay inside.
It's your bedroom, but you still knock on the door before you come in
So glad I live here
If only everything was this easy for everyone as it is for them
This is the part I always wanted to play
Is this what you always want me for?
I love your face and hands
And the way you just don't care
So naive. That turns you on, I know enough to know that.
Have I really lost that much weight?
Things are so great it makes me upset.
Be my serious side and I'll be your soul
Are they still out there?
Better go check to make sure they're alive.
You love me.
And I love this.
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.
SHE WANTED AN "ATTA BOUIS": SO WE WENT AND GOT HER ONE!
THE CHEF PREPARED,......................
7 SLICES OF PORCUITIO
SLICE FRESH FIGS
SWISS CHEESE
SEVEN DOLIPS OF GOAT CHEESE
2 WHITE ASPARAGUS
2 GREEN ASPARAGUS
SEVEN STRIPS OF ROASTED RED BELL PEPPER
ON TWO SHEETS OF FILLO-DOUGH(BUTTERED)
MAKE SEVEN TURNOVERS BUTTER EACH SIDE AND BAKE UNTIL GOLDEN BROWN
.....................................................................................................
3 CUPS OF SUGAR COOKIE DOUGH
1/2 CUP OF SHREDDED COCONUT
1/2 CUP OF CHOPPED PECANS
1/2 CUP OF CHOPPED DRIED MANGO
3/4 CUPS OF DARK CHOCOLATE(SEMI SWEET)
1/2 CHOPPED RASAINS
MIX TOGETHER AND MAKE COOKIES
..................................................................................................
4 NEW YORK STRIPS COOKED MEDIUM RARE WITH A LIGHT SAVOY CILOTRO SAUCE
1 TABLESPOONS OF HORRADISH
5 TABLESPOONS OF LIME JUICE
5 TABLESPOONS OF CHOPPED FRESH CILANTRO
1 CLOVE OF GARLIC CHOPPED
1 TEASPOON OF CAYEENE PEPPER
1/4 CUP OF BUTTER
IN A BLENDER MIX AND CHILL, SERVE ATOP THE NEW YORK STRIPS
......................................................................................................
1 CUP OF SHREDDED CABABAGE (SAUTEED)
1/4 CUP OF BACON BITS
1/4 CUP OF DREID PARSELY FLAKES
3 CUPS OF MASHED POTATOES
2 EGG YOLKS
2 TABLESPOONS OF CRUSHED GARLIC
1/4 CUP OF CARALIZED ONIONS
6 HALFED BAKE POTATOE (INSIDES REMOVED)
MIX TOGETHER AND STUFF POTATOE HALFS
BAKE UNTI FILLING IS DONE ABOUT 15 TO 20 MINUTES
..........................................................................................................
1 CUP OF BLUEBERRIES
1 CUP OF STRAWBERRIES
1/2 CUP OF HONEY
1/2 CUP OF ALONMDS
1/2 CUP OF CASEWS
IN A BLENDER, MIX UNTIL SMOOTH, REMOVE FROM BLENDER, AND
ADD 4 CUPS FO PINK CHAMPENGE
2 CUPS FO ORAGNE JUICE
1 CUP OF A GOOD QUALITY BRANDY
............................................................................................................
WE CALL THIS AN ATTA BOUIS!
1/3 CUP OF GORGANZOLA
5 TABLESPOONS OF BUTTER
I know this is the hardest *****for me to ever do
I know alcohol has always been apart of my life it's like it's the only truth
sometimes I drink so much I can't even remember you
I want to stay sober yet I still keep thinking about that next drink
I'd rather sit in my alcoholic pains trapped in the bottle where many dreams seem to sink
I know once that bottle is empty all thats left is me and my thoughts shattered in a dream
I can hear my inner soul holler while my spirit seems to scream
I know I can be an alcholic fiend
But don't judge until you have walked in my shoes and seen what I've seen
I know I try and let this *****go
but yet without the booze it seems I can't let my mind grow
It's like I need this *****just to make it to another daily show
I been through all this same *****before
I know what it's like when an alcoholic is sitting in his own filth on the floor
I know I need to be a better father so my kids don't grow up to be poor
I need to provide
I need to speak truth and get past all my own lies
I need to comfort my kids when I her their cries
I need to find the solution when it's hard for my family to find
I need to think about my kids so they remeber me as a good father in this time
I need to find a way
I need to find a way to smile for the day
Im trapped in a ark alcoholic daze
You see me running around alcoholic words like Im in some written maze
I know it's really up to me to make that one significant change
I know I used to everyday but it seems nowadays I almost never pray
and it should'nt be that way when my skies are all dark and gray
I know my life is almost over
I done ran my luck I only got one clove left on my four leaf clover
Her name is struggle and strife and it feels as if only Im the one who knows her
But i guess life is what I make it and it should'nt be so hard to staying sober
I smell something so beautiful!
Many different fragrances are drifting toward me.
So many sachets of poetry are prettily displayed.
Such visual delights!
I stoop to relish one - a citrus blend
with sweet anise and cinnamon.
Ah! How fun this poem is with its taste of licorice!
And here’s one that is rather sensuous.
Its aroma is the clove,
clary sage, bergamot, and rose.
How luscious! I linger at this one for a while. . .
Now I lean in toward the scent of chamomile.
This poem soothes the spirit
with its lavender and jasmine blooms in it.
Oh, here is one not only sweet but spicy!
Coriander wafts my way
with cinnamon and ginger. Such a treat to savor!
Next I view a bowl
filled with myrrh and frankincense.
And what else?
Why, it’s the earthy scent of sandalwood
with a touch of patchouli for good measure.
My, this is an epic poem to treasure.
Right next to it I spy a tiny one -
a packet of herbs and other little things,
But oh, how sweet its fragrance
of nutmeg, citrus and vanilla. Indeed, I’ve found a gem.
And here is one completely fresh - a most creative blend
of lemon, lavender and pine. It is divine!
Now a strong scent of sweetness comes to me,
This time from lavender laced
with small petals Of germaniums, and again,
the wondrous cinnamon
that takes my mind far back
to sentimental scenes of childhood.
Balsamic and earthy is the final poem that tempts me
with cedar wood, spruce and fir -
another one with thoughts of life and nature
to ponder as I linger one last time. . .
Then I must leave this sanctuary.
Day after day -
how I love to fill my senses
with poetry potpourri!
May 1, 2016 for Linda's Poetry _______ (fill in the blank) Poetry Contest
(hope I did it right this time!)
Rain whispered its breath into the streets,
lamplight pooling in shallow gold.
From far off—the quick, sharp beat of her heels,
a rhythm like promises breaking.
Or maybe like promises keeping.
Her shadow slipped first, then leather and warmth,
the curve of her coat still holding her body's heat.
Smoke from her lips carried bitter clove
through rain-sweet air,
threading between the scent of wet stone and old secrets.
"You came," she said,
eyes bright as struck matches.
Her fingers found my wrist—light, deliberate—
and I felt the weight of every door we'd sworn never to open,
every word we'd buried in silence.
Behind us, footsteps slowed and stilled.
My heartbeat loud enough to drown her whispered name.
Quiet enough to hear danger drift away like cigarette smoke.
We moved into the curve of walls,
stone slick with silver rain,
the city holding its breath around our stolen moment.
Rain cooled my face.
Her breath warmed my neck.
Two worlds colliding in the space
between one heartbeat and the next.
Our mouths met,
and suddenly we became the thing rain had been trying to write
on every waiting street for hours.
We kissed like thieves beneath the watching stars,
the night our only witness, our only judge.
Above us, clouds shifted and sighed,
heavy with secrets they'd carry to morning but never tell.
Somewhere in the distance,
I heard the city learning to forgive—
its wounds washing clean in the rain,
its memory softening with each drop.
The night held us close, and we let it linger,
knowing dawn would steal us back
to separate lives, separate silences.
But for now,
we were the only truth the darkness had ever known.