Long Cocoa Poems
Long Cocoa Poems. Below are the most popular long Cocoa by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cocoa poems by poem length and keyword.
“And you call yourself a bloody cook”, this mongrel shearer said.
“I oughta ram this rubbish down yer’ throat, it’ll kill a bloke stone dead.”
He’s talking ‘bout the stew I burnt, which I hoped he couldn’t focus.
That he’d gulp it down with ‘red-eye’ wine, and he would fail to notice.
But no, my luck was out, he flew raging from his seat
“You’ve put a taste into my ‘gob’, now I need something sweet,
What’s in the fridge;” he yanked the door, took out a plate and bowl,
On one was chunky custard, and one a mouldy sausage roll.
“Look at this!” The shearer screamed, so all the mob could see.
First they eyed the sausage roll, and then looked back at their tea.
“Hang on” I said, “You ‘mangy’ lot, what you’re seeing here,
Is something I can’t be blamed for, they’re from the cook last year.”
“Git’ the boss!” I heard yelled out, and one went for the door.
I need this job and need it bad … to them I vowed and swore.
I’ll clean out the fridge and lift my act; then promised I would bake,
A treat for them on Wednesday ... my special chocolate cake.
My memory’s a little blank, for the ingredients I need,
I’ve got most in the cupboard, with no recipe to read,
Butters scarce but lard will do, and the milks a little sour.
None of them are ‘gunna’ notice, the weevils in the flour.
There’s salt and caster sugar, I need cocoa but there’s none,
There is a tin of milo though; its use by date is March of sixty-one,
That’s everything to make the cake; all I need’s an egg to bind,
Oh yes! There are two in the fridge; last years cook had left behind.
I got down the mixing bowl, and took some water from the tank,
Spooned out a couple of wrigglers … the dead ones to the bottom sank.
I’m not sure about the ounces or the tablespoons and such.
Cups of this with drops of that, but does that really matter much.
The only time I wasn’t sure, and felt maybe should I renege,
When I cracked the shell and found, a half grown chicken in the egg.
But they’re shearers here, big and strong, who’d never get to eat,
Let alone a chocolate cake, but one that’s made with meat.
The oven’s hot, the textures great, I greased the baking dish.
The cake was cooked and it smelt great … every shearers wish.
But a chicken’s foot stuck out the top; I cut out and ate that bit.
You know this chocolate cake of mine, tasted – more – like … ‘passionfruit’!
Let me jump into your river run rich as Euphrates.
Let me lay in your tall grass valleys nestled between two hard black mountain peaks,
where I
Can drink up the sunrays.
And Black up my Brown and Brown up my Light.
Somewhere between them rolling black hills is where your thick bush hides the cool
crystal
streams.
I sip your fruit plants sweet cocoa milk and look up into your skies sunrays.
It ricochets off the smooth chocolate black trees that support your voluptuous magnolia
bloom
The wind blows and your flower bounces and quakes, fanning its sweet aroma through the
Atmosphere,
Sweeping those soft fluffy pedals across my face.
I smile
And you Black up my Brown and Brown up my Light.
In the arms of the soft black cavern, under the river’s waterfall, I make my home.
It’s a heart of paradise embracing me.
Inviting me in.
I hear the water passing over, throbbing and pulsing in sync with mine.
I suck berries at the foot of the open fields.
That sweet oil black juice dances down my mouth.
Every fluid filled bite overflows in my lips and runs down the side to drip slowly from
my chin.
I look up into your skies and stars look down and speak my name.
The moon moans. The womb of man is this woman
She alone can Black up my Brown and Brown up my Light.
Then ever so gently the leaves pull back and open up her vast and succulent fields
I slowly crawl into her pastures then firmly and stiffly begin to dig up her soil.
Turning over her rich black earth.
Toiling day and night tilling her meadows,
Unearthing her treasures buried below.
The constant pounding and packing up a full load;
Breaking into new ground.
Cracking the topsoil and penetrating her nutritious moist and sticky fertile turf.
Never has the earth been split like this to uncover her deepest mysteries.
Next I unpack my deepest confidence and my strongest statues.
Then with my tool, through the moist and milky mass, I scoop out a deep warm hole to plant
My dreams.
Packing and pushing it deep in the soggy substance, time and time again until….
The thunder cracks this empress’ tempest
The earth contracts. Fear collapsed.
And here and only here,
I Black up my Brown and Brown up my Life!
Form:
Vicks Mentholatum. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
I sometimes open the jar and stick my nose in for a little smell
Which turns into a big smell, a little on my nose, some around my
Neck, and finally I beg my husband to slather it on my back while
I saturate my chest with it.
This smell loves me, calms me, and nurtures me like no other.
I probably spent the first ten years of my life slathered like this,
It brings back memories of mother, warm cocoa, soft scarves, and books.
Nothing opens my soul up faster than Native American flute music. It brings
out my wolf wild side. I want to run to a cliff and howl at the moon. It takes
me instantly to Sedona vacations, turquoise jewelry, kachina dolls, bringing the
American Southwest into my heart, and healing the sad places.
Almost everything I see delights me – shiny things, natural things, new things. But the thing that makes my heart sing the fastest is the sight of my grandchildren. Any one of them. I have ten, and it does not matter which one is coming toward me. There is a surge of happiness that leaps through me in a boundless joyful way that cannot be described. It is a craziness that must be lived and felt.
Beans will be the death of me. My favorite tastes all include beans. It is a toss-up which one
I like the most – jalapeno peppers stirred in refried beans, barbequed beans, kidney beans, pork and beans, and ham and beans. I salivate when I think of any of these. It is a spontaneous reaction that I have never been able to quell. When I was a child we ate lots of beans, so maybe that is where this is coming from. I have no idea. But I know these are my favorite meals. I am a cheap date.
What do I not like to touch? The list is tiny. I am a tactile learner. To teach me, you have to let me grab it, shake it, spin it, toss it, catch it, and rub it. I touch wallpaper, woodwork, and metal file cabinets in offices. I touch ants, rocks, flowers, grasses. I hug trees. I hug people. I am a professional toucher.
Possibly my favorite touch is warm, sudsy bath water after a trying day. I immerse myself, washing off sadness and disappointment, thinking of the Vicks Mentholatum which I will slather on when I get out.
Written: July 27, 2018
Entered: My 5 Senses Contest Sponsor: Viv Wigley
wickedness? under the sun
is obvious that one man's meat
is another man's poison
have you been in a gold mine
before
it is a horror what is happening
in a mining field
you could see clearly what
the greed of men could do
is a shame that humans
can turn vampire
for the sake of money
is a big disgrace to see
men women even kids
working so hard
Searching relentlessly
sweating under a hot sun
just to dig a gold out
just for a greedy man
to make a fortune
wickedness? under the sun
have you been to a cocoa? farm
before
i know you will not be blind
to see how hard the people
are suffering just to help
a greedy man rich
is painful when majority
of the victims work so hard
under the hot sun are
young teenage African youth
whose parents are a victim of
poverty under the rules of
African great corrupt leaders
who don't care about the prosperity
of his people
is too ugly down there in this
farm of greedy cocoa export
so when you sit and enjoy
your sweet chocolate and
coffee
remember it was made out
from the grife of another man
Wickedness? under the sun
have you ever visit a diamond mine
i bet you
you will shade tears if you really
got a soul
in this mine you can see clearly
what animals humans can be
in a quest to get wealthy?
in this mine everyday under
the hot sun in Africa
my people are turn to mining slaves
right in their country
they are been enslave
they are been striped naked
they are used just like ordinary
materials
where no pity or mercy
lies not in the eyes of the
cheap minds officials that works
for the western world benefits
to exploit Africa resources
just for money sake
Wickedness? under the sun
have you ever been out there
in the streets of the third world countries
have you noticed how much
this people strive just to live
have you noticed the look
in their faces? don't look
so happy
have you been there in the zone
called ghetto
have you noticed how
this peoples life's are
not important to their leaders
is obvious they are the rejected
stone
despite the factories can't do
with out the Labour of this
poor people
despite under the sun
this people works so hard
just to earn a coin
yet they feeds the greedy mans
needs all the time
I miss tugging on my snow suit and barely managing to button my purple winter coat over top of it
I miss the warmth of mittens and soft hats that covered my ears and made it hard to hear the howling wind
I miss the numbness that nipped my toes and fingers
I miss the soft crunch that would go off with every step I made underneath each boot
I miss making snowballs and building a fort to defend
I miss laying down and my hair getting covered in frost while I made an angel in the snow
I miss sledding down hills and feeling like for a moment I could fly
I miss the magical trees that lost their leaves and the ones that grew green and white
I miss the chilly air that was so frigid it ached to breathe but was refreshing all the same
I miss the soft flakes that danced down from the sky all wonderfully different
I miss the one giant cloud that meant more snow would be coming
I miss not having school and the joyous wake up from mom that it was canceled
I miss playing with my friends without having to worry about leaving them
I miss that first moment waking up when you run down stairs and see the world is covered in white powder
I miss watching the snow flakes fall at night piling up for the next day
I miss being called inside after a long day with a warm mug of cocoa waiting
I miss the knowledge that everything would be ok and happy just like the day had been
I miss being a kid where snow was the most magical thing and everything was simple
I miss my family and not being gone all the time and watching the snow together
I miss gathering around the fireplace and watching Christmas movies all together not a care in the world
I miss the magic of Santa Claus and trying to stay up late to catch him
I miss putting out milk and cookies and not knowing where they went
I miss being happy and not having to leave or worry about the future
I miss feeling and joy and just being able to hug my mom without sadness following me
I miss lighting the tree and hanging ornaments all while dancing with a Santa hat on my head
I miss matching pjs and Christmas photos with the dogs and hanging stockings
I miss winter real winter and I wish I knew where it went
I miss being happy and knowing that everything would be ok
I miss my family and
I miss happiness and
I miss snow
Homeward Bound
Land of mango and avocado
Sweet , mild and refreshing
Cassava bread with tea, coffee and hot cocoa
Fresh meaty young coconut
It’s water crisp and refreshing
Glazed peanut, cashew and coconut for a quick snack or dessert
Spaghetti with herring or hot dog for breakfast
Large tart grapefruit topped with sugar crystals and eaten with a metal spoon
Killed a butterfly
Folded it in half
Pressed against its wings
It fell apart
Grandma chased me with a bowl of medicine
A liquified leafy concussion
To clean my insides out
Stepped on a ball of thorn
My foot slowed me down
And the neighborhood kids caught me for grandma
Was stung by a bee in the belly button
Crossed rivers barefoot
Watched black crab crawl across a small body of water
And tiny fish swam in a little pond
Skinny and gray were they
My cousins and I rolled handkerchiefs into figures
We got in trouble together, too
A long walk on foot
Left us late for school
Once late , on our knees we were preyed Hot and sticky was our whip
Lashed were our backs
At bath time , mama saw my back
red and black with strikes
Left furious ,
Angry and out of breath ,she advised my teacher and school masters
That I am but a child
And not an animal in the wild
Another time, I was struck by a bull on my way to school
A big, black bull tied to a tree , loosened itself free and charged at me
With its horns it grabbed my frail little frame in between mama and great uncle
I was tossed
I opened my eyes and was at the hospital
My great uncle rode a motorcycle and dined with me and grandma
He gave me a large slice of avocado to eat with my plantain and sauce
The blacked out city
Was lost in the dark
On the countryside moon is streetlight
On roof tops made of aluminum
Boys flew kites
Plastic bags and spare tree branches
they combined
Spun tops are made with lime and pick
A bucket of rain to bathe
A black hole in the ground
For feces
Clothes washed in the river
Line dried outside the house
Some bathe
Some bring donkey to graze
Its dung fall in between the waves
Some to wash their tresses
Like my godmother did to mine
Marckincia Jean
Narrative
07/13/19
Entertainment in My Youth
By Franklin Price
revised and reformatted to poetic prose
(an experiment for me)
5/28/2017
Entertainment came quite easy, I could do it for myself. The public library had lots of books, they stored them on the shelf. I could check them out, and from them, could travel anywhere. See the world through reading and never leave my chair.
I could go outside and eat an orange, or I could ride my bike. A safer place it was back then; could go anywhere I liked. Could go across the river, a week-end show to see, a dime spent on a Saturday was admission there for me. Cartoons and several serials; Flash Gordon comes to mind. Still in downtown Cocoa, the building you will find. Movies shown no longer, plays are there for you to go. The State Theater still entertains; so go enjoy the show.
After the show was over, to Goulds old store we went. Such a magic place for kids, some allowance there we spent. Had military equipment and special things galore. If we had been the least bit rich, we may have bought the entire store.
If we were lucky, when we left, to cross to the Island side, the draw bridge would be opening and the tender let us ride. We stood in the middle as the bridge swung half around, blocking the cars, passing the boats to far off places bound.
At night we had a radio; no TV 'til fifty-three. We would gather close and listen to special programs there for me: The Shadow knew, Lone Ranger too, fights on Friday night. The music of the Grand Old Opry made listening just right. We played some games both board and card; the donkey's tail did pin. I was the youngest, not as smart, sometimes they let me win: Monopoly, Checkers, Old Maid, and cards of War. The table's space was not enough so we played them on the floor.
If we needed money there was a jelly factory near. The product made from guavas; the need for them was clear. The trees grew wild, or maybe not ,with buckets we would go; fill them up and take them to the factory for some dough.
Much more entertainment I could tell you without fail. Some things we did there, in the past, may now get days in jail. So I think I'll stop for now and let you imagine all the rest. My childhood life was more than good, it was the very best.
On Monday I tried to call you but no one was home.
On Tuesday I walked to your home and rang the doorbell.
There was no answer.
On Wednesday I baked you some cookies thinking it would cheer you up.
I ended up eating half a dozen or so.
On Thursday I walked back to your house and you were dead on the floor.
I was shocked. I lost my breath as I stood there over your cold body. How did this happen? I didn’t even see it coming. My heart was grieved and all I could do was sit there petting your dog. I began to pray and ask the Lord what happened to you, my dear friend. How did I not see this coming? I felt as though I had been the world’s worst best friend.
I looked back on my friendship with Kate. It spanned a period of seventy years. We were best friends in kindergarten and we even shared a few boyfriends along the way. We used to skip rocks in the creek and capture tadpoles with our bare hands. Where did the time go?
I knew she suffered from depression. She had many demons in her closet. She even had other people’s demons in her closet too. She had a heart as big as Texas and the jolliest laugh. She used to cook up the meanest spaghetti meals. The days have come and gone like a fast approaching winter. Now I sit on her front porch sipping hot cocoa. I reminisce of the days of gold-of the days of old.
I tried to walk in her shoes one day. It’s just an expression. I tried to shoulder her burdens and carry her messed up marriage and disobedient children on my back. It was too heavy to carry. Years of abuse, broken dreams, empty beer cans, overeating. Her pain was too intense to fathom. I tried to help her to see how much she needed Jesus and she would just sit there and grin.
One day she said to me, “How do you think I’ve made it this far?” I knew she was saying that Jesus was her best friend, so I spoke about her endurance at the funeral. I was the second person to read a eulogy. I knew one thing. The eulogy that I wrote blessed everyone in attendance. They loved her and wanted her to return. I spoke of the good days and reflected on the life of my kindergarten friend. I looked around the room and intently listened to each eulogy. I walked in her shoes once again.
gwendolen rix
9-16-15
Cape Comorin (Kanyakumari) of Tamil Nadu,
Might be copious of the core concept called Xanadu;
Indian Ocean, Bay of Bengal, Arabian Sea,
Amalgamate and mingle here, like mermaids, full of glee...!
Treasures of silver, gold, and gemstones within oceans lay,
Sea gods and goddesses; ghosts and angels; live here, they say;
The sun, like a pendulum pushed from the sea, rises up,
Descends and disappears, like a kicked ball, before we sup...!
The southernmost part of the Indian nation is this,
Men and women of many religions live here in bliss;
Temples, mosques, churches, gurudwaras, and palaces antique,
Exhibit their inter-religiosity, unique...!
We don't have the Angel Fall, but a few falls we have here,
Young and old, at leisure times, play within them full of cheer;
Nature has made her paintings, lo, with green woods and forests,
Lullabies of little birds and beasts, never find a rest...!
Coconuts, Arrack nuts, spices, and tapiocas grow,
Bananas of varieties put up their fresh fruit show;
Goods trading we do; fish in terms of fresh tapioca,
We share, our simple love, in cups of coffee or cocoa...!
Jewelry, stone carvings, cane work, lace work, metal casting,
Needlework, sculptures, and sea shell crafts go everlasting;
Coral grass mats, palm leaf designs, cane, and bamboo caudex,
Jute-based handicrafts and we have so fine fiber products...!
A dialect of Tamil-mix Malayalam we chant,
Though our mother tongue is classical Tamil known so grand;
Kalial, Bow Song, Karagam Dance, and Kathakali,
We carry on our cultural heritage zealously...!
Rice, tapioca, coconut, seafood, legumes, lentils,
Mangos, bananas, and jacks are our food fundamentals;
Fishing flourishes; and farming into the inner land,
Toddy-tapping and rubber rearing too go hand in hand...!
Though our innate quality is love mixed with purity,
Modernity, no doubt, has brought in insecurity...!
Trust in the divine and love for nature, yet, make us grow,
Inspiring us beyond the oceans, and the skies to go...!!!
22 May 2023
If Your Birthplace-country was a poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Head hunting shrinking cutting down the ego’s totems
swift blow to the pride of me myself and I selfish iotum
Dethroning the king of the wooden hut whack
with my cocoa machete not a hard nut to crack
A pleasant island where all could be yours
into a worldly nutshell the sincere milk pours
Spirit’s truth mercy celebrates an island victory
on big stick impelled the selfish iotum fire dried
Denying then mortifying the me myself and I
no more sin eating witchdoctor’s couch I abhor
Appeasing ceremonial volcano’s apatite no more
for my God the Lord of Truth has cut down the idols
No search party for selfish iotum’s pole revival
ego’s totem lies dead beneath the water fall
Heard no more war drum’s da dum da dum
the big stick plumb all enemies had to succumb
One swift blow truth has cut ego’s totem’s lies to root
rising no more the king of the wooden taboo
A new King Jesus with out me myself and I
King enthroned this hut is becoming an island paradise