Long Condiments Poems
Long Condiments Poems. Below are the most popular long Condiments by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Condiments poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: April 14, 2025 for contest sponsored by Brian Strand
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The subject matter of this poem explores themes of transience, intersection of life and death, and the fragile coexistence of human and natural worlds.
a loaf of discounted bread
stale & crumbly
resides in a brown paper bag
teetering
on a park bench
a finger of cool breath
_____nudges
____________the
________________bag
___________________towards
ground
pile of used cigarettes
gathered by
a trash
can
&
an
array
of greasy
fast food, styrofoam cups
a souring banana milkshake
punctured through
---a rotting apple
core
&
an
assemblage
of stale and wizened
McDonald's medium fries
family of pigeons
peck at brown paper
bag--
it topples over &
spills its guts
across
grass
a swan watches from a pond
--eyes peer--
from its snowy face
water cushions every ounce
of its body
caresses every single
feather
sky is a petri-dish
c r a m m e d
with scarlet c l o u d s
a young girl falls
as her size four sneaker
is caught
on a hidden tree root
swan chuckles
to itself
a college student bites
into a decorated
hot dog
condiments slip
his button-down
shirt &
a swan extends its wings
a platform for sun
as droplets of
crystalline water
sparkle off surface
of each
feather
To say today has been a strange day would be an understatement. It started off this morning when I went into the den where our eldest cat, Paint, was meowing up a storm. I petted her head a few times and no joke she keeled over and died right then and there. We were kinda expecting it but damn what a way to start the day.
A few hours later I had an appointment to inspect a truck for a family and nobody speaks English except the kindergartener. I pull up to their house and this yard is a mess. Trash everywhere. I see the truck I needed to inspect parked in the yard and the cutest looking little sleeping puppy curled up next to the front tire and yep you guessed it...I go straight to ’selfie with an unsuspecting dog mode’. Here I am kneeling down trynna get the best angle for the perfect selfie and reach out to pet the pooch and this dog is cold and stiff as a rock. Just then the entire family (Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents 2nd and 3rd cousins) pours out of the front door and here I am hovered over their dog trying to explain to a bunch of people who don’t speak a lick of English that their dog is dead. Stupid me is pointing at the dog while pretending to slit my throat...the international sign for your dog is dead ????? The Mexican father reached down and pokes the dog then starts jabbering something about El Diablo and giving me the stank eye. The grandmother breaks out her rosary beads and begins saying the Lord’s Prayer and finally the English speaking preschooler comes toddling out and interprets for me....I didn’t kill your dog! I just want to get the hell out of there so I begin taking photos of the truck. Here comes the funny part. I accidentally step on either a tarter sauce or ranch dressing condiment container and produced what sounded like explosive diarrhea and spewed white looking pelican all over everybody’s pants and shoes. The toddler giggles and I just grin and keep on keepin on. Fast forward to the end of the day I’m digging a hole to bury my cat ‘paint’ and out of the ten acres we own I pick the exact same spot I buried another cat-dog-chicken or chupacabra a decade earlier and there’s bones and ribs everywhere. Anywho I feel like I need a shot of tequila or twelve.
Thanksgiving Day
~ pretty weird that it is necessary to have one day allocated during the year to give
thanks to the harvest or anything else we might and should be grateful for during
the year and I do not suppose that turkeys approve of this pagan feast when we
stuff ourselves with bird flesh digestives condiments from the gravy train of riches
Hallelujah for burgers wine and soft drinks Coca Cola Mc Donald’s Gallo’s Alamos
on consumption’s battle fields entrenched in modern living praised be the Harvest
Queen the God of Wall Street the Guns and Drones that feed our seeming needs
the wants of affluence and exploitation the fig leafs of sweet environmental humility
You sow the wind and reap the storm and flatulence and bloated waistlines waste
lines of reason’s indigestion shed fatty malnourished winds of tempest’s thunder
Armaggedon in the waking waiting helplessly for paradise at least in our neck of
the woods the Global North’s power broking houses of doom injustice domination
Far from honouring the beauty the Dominatrix yes mother Gaia is female and
should protect ancestral love and kindness from the milk and honey breast of
feeding body mind and soul and spirit communal comprehension ancient modern or
just timeless cycles of sustainable responsibility we pilfer rape and pillage desecrate
One day of feasting praising what we otherwise forget lest we remember leaves
three-hundred and sixty-four periods of moon and sunlight spinning out of all
control and we’re oblivious to the warning signs of plenty erase the gift we should
pass on to our children lineage progeny now left with massive mess and no Messiah
Were we more honest we would solemnly acknowledge that what we’re praising
in hypocrisy and neglected conscience is human depravation the demise of dignity
loosing the plot the fields and garden from where our harvest needs to prosper
would in frank and serious good faith admit that what we garner and amass is
Genocide…
05th November 2016
Seems I’ve reminisced
The feel
Of a home cooked meal
Ducking the pleasures
Of a sainted veil
A clause in the end
From which finer things appeal
Black jack matches not
To a fisher mans luck
On an antique reel
But on the real
The expectations in this life
Remain a comfort
That refuses to chill
Let your thoughts rest
On an old lads chest
Considering the circumstances
If we make it
We can all attest
And adore this political mess
If not then as victims of stress
Unblessed in this planet
Of slanted chess
We’ll confess
Another night
Another days passes
Do you find it lovely
How nothing ever last
But many men have cured
Their fascination
Of becoming non minute men
Flawed by incarceration
Deep within the dungeons
Of a softer conscience
In irregular form
A veteran lies victim
Of defeated white blood cells
Unresponsive
A child with no home
And swollen tonsils
The dark settles
Flashbacks meddle
Trouble around the corner
As a lunch line unveils
Never was a fighter
Just a swinger
As I found myself catapulted against
The cafeteria wall
The integrity
My sucker punch instilled
Broken glass jaws
Over a 4th grade meal
Or mainly just an individual
Twice the size of me
With an inability to feel
I sat still
As the principal sought
A stern punishment
Not as astonished with
The other kids compliments
For my stomach ache
From a lack of warm condiments
Moral of the story is
I was fighting then
I’m still fighting now
Obstacles tend to ware me down
The inexperience of my peers
Seem to no longer enlighten me now
Have to find new ways to learn
Or disappear into the unclear
Fatigued as a writer
Tend to want to touch on subjects
Closer to lighter
Symptoms of a September baby
A Virgo born of a harlot
With nine children unknown
A none buffalo soldier
A phantom on a Harley
The ghost of Robert Marley
An astronaut in my younger years
Screaming for Apollo thirteen
As the thunder neared
Off my coarse of inspiration
I veered
lub dub, lub dub echoes of the heart
just one sound that will tear it apart
its reins will tighten and choke the air sacks
fuselage lines squeezed from the fortress of plaques
the alarm is out to all cells standing in harm’s way
its possible they may not make another day
it could be sudden like a viperous bite
that could send the body into a shocking flight
tunnels are barricaded, tissues starving for blood
chemical stations are straining to get thru the mud
the flashing alarm has tripped, all responders are rushing
anti coagulators gown up to intercede and begin crushing
sirens in the rescue bunker, corpuscles set out to quell
can they get there quickly or will life end up in the well
detour routes are now flagged to allow an alternate flow
when safety is signaled all lanes will open and be set to go.
all commuter service has been put on red alert
predators do not interfere, let the squads tend to the hurt
second alarm sounded as there are many causalities
the impact is enormous, there may be reduced mentalities
life lines installed to improve the balance of nutriments
also to flush out the exorbitant level of ill condiments
recovery is expected although time is of the essence
mortality levels can rise post arterial strikes, during convalescence.
all teams called to aid in the tragic head on collision
will undergo precautionary measures for structural revision
efforts were made with fortunate outcome without a fatality
all inhabitants within the vascular circuit now have stable vitality.
this highway thru hell episode will be published in medical journals
to exemplify what occurs to inbound route and to those externals
echoes of the heart rely upon safety of all users of the track
drivers will have annual inspections for hazardous cargo like plaque.
this has been an inside look at actual effects of a heart attack.
and cast have been commentated for their heroic tributes.
the events has been edited for visualization but are true to life
She stays awake for hours, cutting Xs in the sprouts,
Then peels all the tatties, a ton or thereabouts,
Slicing and dicing parsnips is next up in the plan,
Chops up carrots and a swede, and put them in a pan,
Mixes up her sage and onion and stuffs it in the bird,
Along with some pork sausage meat that’s been pre-prepared,
She takes apart the oven, to fit the turkey in,
Hangs it up with bits of string, there’s no room in the tin,
Wraps sausages in bacon, in case they catch a chill,
But makes sure they‘re all cooked thoroughly, so the family won’t get ill,
Cooks the bird for hours, while the table’s being laid,
With all the finest crockery (and some of lower grade),
Makes space around the table, brings in extra chairs,
Adorns the place with candles and other Christmas wares,
Lays out a Christmas cracker in everybody’s place,
Complete with rather tacky joke, no doubt of a straight face,
And brings out all the condiments, the pickles and the sauce,
The salt and pepper, the mustard and radish known as “horse”,
Next she makes the starter, the simplest course by far,
A cocktail made up of prawns and a sauce out of a jar.
The family then all piles in, and argues over seats,
The children are already full of chocolates and treats,
Grandmother is mumbling, “Kids should be seen not heard”,
Meanwhile back in the kitchen Mum’s wrestling with the bird,
She tries to carve up slices, but ends up with turkey chunks,
While Dad and Gramps have become a pair of Christmas drunks,
They start an argument about which wine goes with the meat,
And restless children run around, not staying in their seat,
Mother tries to keep her calm and bravely soldiers on,
But the roasties are all blackened and the sprouts are over done,
Mum enters the dining room looking very puffed,
She throws the turkey down and shouts ,“There you go! Get stuffed!”
18th November 2012
Anesthetized, day one, I become her bug caught in the web
Asphyxiated, entangled and cursed, numbed to feel no pain
It was a Wednesday if I remember when we wed
She grew a beard and punished me for breathing
I succumbed to her femininity, her tooth
It was a pretty one to chew with. That's the truth!
It was a Thursday in the second day of Lent
It took seconds for my bank account to empty
Her power of persuasion left me blank
A testament to her awesome empty nest to come
Three days into marriage we finally went to bed
Precious consumed my brain and everything within it
Who needs condoms when you have your condiments
Mustard , ketchup, cheese and crackers please
When you don't have long to live you snack instead
Day four, she put me on a lease to walk outdoors
Dogs and cats make better pets than spiders
Sentimental to the end she took my soul and sold it
I succumb to her because she is my wife
Not because she held a butcher knife
By day five she grew fat, sprang eight legs
Became a nag, that's only natural they say
I'm not afraid of anything that screams at me
Because she says so
I wish six days a week to be united
Or at least to live another day intact
It is not wise to question honey's facts
Seven days in love must be our lucky number
Marital bliss numbs me to my knees
I survived to kiss the bride another day
It must be time to say Good Bye.........
Eight days a week I feel the love inside
Eight legs wrapped around my spine
A tingling sensation, sentimental spider
Before I die, before you eat my mind again my love
The alimony check is on the table, post dated for your pleasure
Don't get pregnant. Use protection
For your convenience before I forget
I will always be your prey before your friend
I pray you don't get indigestion
So house proud
Yet nowt inside
This Terrace house
But family
Mum outside
Dressed up in her pinny
Gabby Anny
Gossiping over washing line
With nosy nextdoor neighbor
Proudly polishing
The front door step
Sweeping nothing up
Using vinegar and newspaper
To shine the windows pristine clean
Just before Dad comes home
After he has been the pub
Expecting his Tea placed on the table
While kids are out gleefully a playing
From dawn until sunset
So as not get under mother's foot
And expect a clip around the ear
And come Saturday
Whence I and "R"-Kid meet up
For a bevy before the game
We act as paperboy deliverers
So Dad can pick
And give us his betting slip
To wager on the G,Gee's
Then 4 or 5 pint's well oiled later
We stumble through the turnstile
To win draw or loose
Always leaving vocally hoarse
To once again quench our thirst
In the pub with the shortest que
Until however many pints later
We begin the long hard journey home
Hailing any taxi willing to pick us up
In our weaving drunken state
Mixed kebab and soggy chips in hand
Condiments smudged all across our face
This a day back in the life
Of the past working class
At work and play
On any given day
Street or city
Predominantly
Up Industrial North
Where as the saying goes
By Eck it's Grimm up there
Why on earth would anyone
Wish or want to live there
in the 1st place
Unless you are surrounded by
the sense of community of
these people
And the witty sardonic caustic
black sense of humor unlike
anything other in the world
That elevates the poor to the
healthiest of all
As love and laughter is without
a shadow of a doubt the
best medicine in the world
And even better than that it
costs little or nothing at all
In this arid plain of perennial drought,
as I stand transfixed with vexations rising in my spirit
and sadness lying mute as a stone,
I discern, I am alone with none to hold my hand
or share the burden that weighs me down.
Trudging through rugged paths
with my mournful shadow, tottering along,
the past sneers at me, breaking open
bottled up memories- of years spent in unbridled passion,
the smell of cigarettes, ganja and beer
wine and women, bet and gambling,
and the thrill of having won and lost
I used narcotic drugs many and they kept
gnawing into my psyche!
Once I walked with stilted gait
with friends and fans, amid laughter and haste
eager to please and to praise
Inebriated and effervescent were we
Fancied money could buy all we yearned
and turn this Earth-a virtual Paradise
But how swift was the twist of fate!
With no condiments, life suddenly turned bland.
The gorgeous castles I once built, burnt down to cinders
like dry leaves blown by the wind,
Friends, I thought never would desert,
flitted away one by one!
With dejection and despair warping me down
a rabid dog I strayed.
Grew irritable and vicious,
fled away from bond and bondage
spitting the saliva of my angst,I barked… barked at everyone;
“Where did vanish all the fabulous dreams
Whither gone life’s ritzy splendors?
But the wildfire burnt itself down,
now a passive stillness has settled in.
In this inert hush, as I grope,through murky corridors
with the sound of my footsteps falling like a thud,
a single query breaks out from within
‘Where shall I hide unseen
from this horrid loneliness staring me in the eyes?’
Meanwhile, our troop moved on down the trail.
One more bear episode needs be told.
We arrived at the next stop with out fail.
It was late evening and beginning to get cold.
Two of us went to the horse spring for a bath
And use the same one to clean our clothes.
As we left the spring we saw blocking our path.
A mother bear and two cubs, ...fear arose.
We hid behind a tree and watched them.
In our unlaced boots, carrying wet things.
As they walked up the path toward the rim.
We knew we couldn’t just appear threatening.
We slowly followed keeping the cubs in sight.
The mother had left the weanlings.
But reappeared on top of a bank on the right.
As she jumped we started yelling and arms flinging.
They ran, she ran, we gathered our stuff and we ran.
Yelling and flailing, we chased them past the adirondack
We...right behind, duck into it fast as we can
and tie the gate before they could come back.
Come back they did and playfully bite on the wire.
The boys were elated and good pictures taken,
To show their friends that none of us was a liar.
Bruce and I recovered after being so visibly shaken.
They finally left, and so came to a fitting end,
Our last bear episode and good laugh,
The other boys had at our expense and chagrin.
On the oldest boy and the “chief of staff”.
We hiked our last six miles with no major events.
Still time to glow for being a trail survivor.
Fontana resort awaited...hot showers, condiments
Then home...all slept soundly, except me... the driver.
© Mar 30 2010 Charles Henderson