Long Concoct Poems
Long Concoct Poems. Below are the most popular long Concoct by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Concoct poems by poem length and keyword.
The ground rumbles, ominously, I'm on the steep side of a Mississippi River Bluff, mid-August, gathering bursting crimson red trophies of Staghorn Sumac for my favorite sumac-ade, a spright, invigorating tonic I enjoy this time of year. The smell in the air, forest-sage beginning to dry and ripen, the bitter tang of scattered paper-birch bark chimneys...must keep alert for the origins of the earthly rumble.
The unsettled earth, sweet and bitter smells...mix with my age and I sit down as if in a trance and drift asleep...harkening back to my training as a young man in a Manhattan Bagel Deli, assembling prep-stations for the customer onslaught about to descend. Proofed bagel dough, seeded and rotating in the elevator slate-shelved oven after a frothy malt-bath in the bubbling giant kettle, delectable aromas of fairly vibrating paper-sliced spiced meats and piquant aged cheeses, briny sheets of smoked lox, pots of sweetly acidic capers and luminous heirloom tomatoes...
But I'm much older now, my mind remembers, but my body can't function like it once did, I can't perform the once-easy configurations effortlessly like before.
The rumbling, just my imagination...
I awaken, gather my bunch of fluorescent sumac, which I am still able to concoct, mindful of God's Grace in my spiritual and physical evolution...He
Has Blessed me with.
8-13-20
6:03 am
Habits at Dawn (Collaboration Contest)
by~ Catie Lindsey
Everything eventually dies
in long hours of neglect
and what remains is not what you think
nor what you suspect.
Guarded safely forty fathoms below
where little white lies and evil intent
cannot swim the bustling tide
of the things strong men invent.
Cruelty in a place
where honor was thrown to the wind
where loyalty meets with lashing out
crushing bones into pulp
shading the flowers bloom
stripping the heart of any hope
that goodness will come soon.
It is safer not to feel
and hearts can't always mend
from fabrication of intent
to swallow you whole
spit you out and then
walk away.
Funny how strong men invent
new means of weakness
casting shadows and pounding dents
into the body of the soul.
The heart stands no chance
with liars who get bored
and concoct evil intent.
by~ Poet Destroyer
As life rebirth the surface
Everything abandon will soon gain custody.
For every lie I will leave you wordless,
and subside your pleasure of gluttony.
You think I will drown with God on my side
All the things you men invent,
are nothing but lies, your evil excuses under disguise.
One day you will be held in content
Honor in what?
The way you think you can slip away.
Loyalty was the shortest subject you ever took.
Turning every wrong page in my book.
You men can strip our heart,
And give us the will of no hope.
I said Nope!
Along will come God,
who will flip my boat again to float.
I will see the goodness!
And feel stronger than I was before.
Mend my heart with new habits to explore.
Swallow the whole world complete.
You will be the one beneath my feet.
Weakness you will find in your own shadow,
once I walk away from your deceit.
Lashing out to bring me near
Never will you hurt me,
or set my heart in tears.
New habits are easy as one two three.
A collaboration with* Catie Lindsey
I try to make myself very scarce midst the teeming flock,
To reduce the risk of finding my neck on the chopping block!
Why do you put me through this annual frightful scare?
I pray that I won't become your Thanksgiving fare!
May I propose for your very careful consideration,
An assortment of options for your holiday celebration.
Have you considered a delicious rack of lamb,
Or a scrumptious glazed and juicy spiral ham!
You could save my friends and me so much grief,
If only you'd serve a luscious roast of beef!
As you thank the good Lord for your many blessings,
Wouldn't you prefer a goose stuffed with dressings!
An adjunct to your cranberry sauce and pecan pie,
Could be a savory duck - why not give that a try?
Another suggestion that would please your friends,
Would be to prepare a platter of Rock Cornish hens!
There are many creatures that swim, run or fly,
That could complement your taters and punkin pie!
Better yet, why not concoct a vegetarian meal,
Then, I could forego my urgent annual appeal!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in PD'S "Gobble, Gobble, Gobble" Contest - November 2011
Sex is satisfying surreptitiously,
getting the bang for your buck,
no, from your buck. His heart
pounding, over and over again.
His antlers held high with a sigh.
Sleep overtakes the gorged,
with victory of a benign smile.
Deep is the pleasure, no need
to concoct the siren of his dreams.
Delirious, at once put out
of his misery with no need
to set sails into the dark night.
His nostrils filled with her sensual perfume.
Her hair strewn upon an adjoining pillow.
Her hand laid upon his rapturous heartbeat.
Her buck is spent. He emptied out his pockets.
There is nothing left, not a glance, nor a tingle
for a dish, doll, nor centerfold. Only his wife.
Alas, I shall never be a Shakespeare, that's for sure.
I'm content to plug along and just remain obscure.
Some folks boast about the number of poems they concoct,
But the quality of their writes often leave me shocked!
Rather than quantity I truly strive for quality in my verse,
Hoping to enrich my readers, yet adding nothing to my purse.
If I have any poetic talent at all, I give Him all the thanks,
And am very content to remain in the anonymous ranks.
I write not for glory but to leave a legacy for my kith and kin.
If I can elicit emotions in my verse I'll remain content within.
When my poetical journey is o'er this can be etched upon my stone:
"Here lies a passionate poet who was content to be unknown!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Water can be calming until it floods the earth with its purpose
It becomes quite unpleasant when the water overextends its intent
Is it the moon that is making the water have more intent with its purpose
Let it be known that the water cares for the earth to an extent
The water cares for its blood and claims to care for the earth, and wants to nourish its seed
Well, the seed does not want the water with salt
Do not concoct a form of a pleasant and tasty Meade
It would prefer to have the sweet nectar of a malt
The earth is the foundation of life, and the water should cool it down from the internal and external fires
The earth does not want to be overrun with water and all of its creatures of life
A partnership until they enter the pyres
The earth wants to have the blessing of a wife
Each day, the earthquakes and the water go out
Or does the water come out like a spout
He could fight and win battles, could this General Ulysses Grant!
Other of Lincoln's generals were continually sayin', "I can't!"
Though 'twas well-known that General Grant relished his schnapps,
Even soused he could concoct solid battle plans by studyin' his maps.
Becomin' frustrated with his other generals and their lack of action,
Abe suggested to an aide that if it would help them get some traction,
He'd like to know what Ulysses drank and where he got the stuff,
So he could send a barrel to every general to get him off his duff!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
This time you've really thrown me a challengin' curve, Mr. Flach!
You've asked this old "rhymer" to write somethin' called "free verse!"
To concoct such a "masterpiece" is agin' my poetical "religion!"
But if you insist, I'll give it a try sans my dictionary and thesaurus!
I suppose I could come up with somethin' dealin' with current politics,
But that might cause a flap with those who disagree with me.
Perhaps somethin' to do with hot romance, moonlit beaches and love,
But I'm not very astute about such things and would probably botch it!
Oh, I know! How about an animal theme about rabbits and their prolific habits.
Nah! Probably with my acidic tongue I'd leave folks "hoppin'" mad!
There's always nature things to write about - rivers, mountains and such.
Maybe I could concoct a stirrin' verse such as Kilmer's memorable "Trees!"
I could write about guv'ment meddlin', taxes and the high cost of livin',
But I'd get so angry that I might throw rocks at an occupied hearse!
So I'd better control myself and compose somethin' rather mundane,
Like feedin' squirrels and pigeons and contemplatin' the settin' sun!
Joe, though I doubt this composition will rate a Pulitzer Prize for poetry,
I've had a ton of fun and my first "free verse" made for easy writin'!
But I'd better forego writin' free verse before it gets any "vorse!"
And stick to usin' rhyme, rhythm and meter for my verse!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Honorable Mention in Joe Flach's "A Poem That Doesn't Rhyme - July 2010
We walk with the information of
quasars and the discernment of protoplasm.
Each day we live and die, each day our tears run dry.
Information is the rubble, the clutter of our civil war.
Reality becomes disposable when fact and
fevered fiction are made coequals,
when the rampancy of lies massacres the truth.
Each day we live and die, each day our tears run dry.
Propaganda walls our gated communities, our guarded cells.
So many concoct frightful conspiracies from techno-witchcraft.
So many dehumanize and scapegoat from delusive threats.
Each day we live and die, each day our tears run dry.
So many are captive here to the craven complex of revenge.
So many swallow here, the mollifying Fentanyl
of a cruel and brutal state.
Clinging to the demagogue, no one is free.
Somewhere in the brownout, is there a beacon?
Somewhere in the nightmare, do we awaken?
Each day we live and die,
each day our tears run dry.
Such fleeting smells
As fragrance blooms,
Cast lovely spells
In airy room.
Such is the way
As scents now swirl,
A fragrant say
Of floral twirls.
Such mellow mists
As perfume dash,
A sensuous gist
Of sexy flash.
Such poignant feel
As flavours drift,
Touch air that thrills
In charming sniff.
Such pleasures here
Concoct fine poise,
Beauty floods spheres
In scented voice.
Such myriad scope
As perfumes touch,
Sculpt happy hope
To heal so much.
Such lovely airs
Bring health and more,
In fragrant flair
Glimpse love galore.
Leon Enriquez
15 May 2017
Singapore