Long Cook up Poems
Long Cook up Poems. Below are the most popular long Cook up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cook up poems by poem length and keyword.
I strolled into a site,
The other night,
Timid at first
But I stayed,
Timidity quelled,
Impressed by the weld,
I was touched by a heart,
And I prayed.
Stirring and serving,
Of a kindred group,
A yummy delicious new
Kind of soup,
The fragrance of food,
Lifted up my staid mood
And seemingly begged
Me to taste,
I was somehow empowered,
As I ate, then devoured,
the letters in poetry soup
I was hungry I guessed,
I was filled and quite blessed,
And no longer feeling afraid.
There was plenty for everyone,
I had a lot of fun'
There was no lack and no waste.
I relaxed as I read,
And words danced in my head,
And for once I was feeling no haste.
You are what you eat!
I found the words sweet.
Strengthened,
I picked up my pen,
And from a deep well,
rising up to a swell,
I found in the flow I must wade
Welcome dear poet, you're loved.
Don't ya know it?
Welcome to a timeless tight group
You'll cook up your words,
Tales of flowers or birds,
And you'll see that with friends
You've been placed.
One look in the right Book and
You can ‘cook up a storm’ in your life by
Redefining the norm!
We were all born to release our potential
By displaying what we have inside of us!
A book presents the pattern
A book presents the plan!
After reading the book
You know you can miss a meal if you have to but
You can’t afford to miss The Book!
Just one look and you can redefine your future!
All you have to do is read and
Heed to the power of simplicity
He or she who has the most information
Will have good success in life
By picking up the Book
The Bible
Mark Frank
Copyright 2004
Even as a young boy, sitting with my pup
I’d come up with rhymes, before I’d cleanup
My paper sparkled with all I could cook up
Words livened my page while some I’d ball up
With every poem I wrote, I’d ink my pen again
Preparing it for the words lying inside my brain
Some verses were complex while others were plain
I never could really find the perfection to attain
Whispers, chills and hilarity filled all my pages
The mediocre ones came to me in small stages
I didn’t ever imagine I might go down through the ages
Or possibly find in time that I would make my wages
With poetry, there is never a doubt about the graces
When a stanza takes on a life of its own in other places
There are possibly more chances to reveal many faces
That come alive within the pages that have many traces
When the words come flowing, my pen seems to know
There is the chance I’m about to let go and finally grow
Poems wild and welcoming come to me in time although
There never seems to be enough words to truly show
Even as a youth, sitting alone with my best friend
There were words that I could never hope to have penned
Delicate verses that came in waves to forever commend
Those who knew the world of words win in the end
From boy to man, I learned what words would excite
Many words were haunting and brought on the night
While others sent inspiration and brought about light
I am forever grateful for the words that went just right
September 29, 2019
Image # 2
Realism Art Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
. for public domain
I stayed to keep Anna Lee company
for a friend from Turkey Scratch, Arkansas.
She found herself in all kinds of sorrow,
but did what was right for her fellow man.
She'd play a tune for you a now and then,
cook up a pan of biscuits and gravy,
draw a fresh bath for the soiled and weary,
"Jesus bless you", no matter what your age.
She had no fancy halo,
no mention in the Book of Life.
"I'm just the simple folk you meet,
just tryin' my best to do you right."
The day after Anna Lee died, I left,
carried her simple wisdom and fine memory,
walked in her steps and lived in her shadow,
a fine way of living a one life free.
My good friend from Turkey Scratch, Arkansas,
long passed, but now long remembered by me,
we'll walk together when we pass the Hill,
and sing songs of our tender Anna Lee.
She had no fancy halo,
no mention in the Book of Life.
"I'm just the simple folk you meet,
just tryin' my best to do you right."
I need a magic potion
I need a magic spell
I need a magic wand
To get me out of this hell
I need to make him notice
I need to make him speak
I need to make him desire
To be love sick and weak
I want to be ravishing
I want to be full of grace
I want to be bewitching
To see passion in his face
I want to be victorious
I want to reign supreme
I want to be the queen
To be worshipped in his dream
I need to cook up a potion
I need to mix it right
I need to make him drink it
To look at me with delight.
My magic potion is rancid
My magic wand is dead
My magic spell is useless
To make him love me instead.
What craziness will grandma add this Christmas? The relatives asked.
She’d be outrageous and creative. Keeping it going was quite a task.
She would be up to it, she’s had plenty of practice in ninety-two years.
Excited to see what she would cook up for her little grand-dears.
Grandma met us at the door and said, “Try to guess what is new”.
It was pretty easy to see, as a giant grinch stood in her foyer blue.
He was motion activated, and spun his head around and said
“Merry Christmas you little Darlings!” Some of them ran out full stead.
Come back! Grandma hollered. You have not seen my Santa yet.
He was a giant blow up boy, sixty feet tall in back of her hamlet.
We oohed and laughed and sang and had the best of times.
Truly the best grandma of all; and she gave us each a roll of dimes.
We had the best cookies; they were decorated with unusual things.
Are they safe to eat? New relative asked. I think his name is Jing’s.
Did not know and did not care, there was such joy at Grandma Jean’s.
When we left I am sure she began plotting for next year’s major theme.
I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:
This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve
But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails
It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk
So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind
Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle
I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no payday at all, just your ego imploded
There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice
And now I am back as a voice for the ages
Except I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark
I bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
Dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat
Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe
____________________________
For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman
Looked up recipes
Making plans ahead of time
Happy Thanksgiving!
Will cook up good shtuff!
Delish dishes on my mind
Happy Thanksgiving!
Grateful for today
Preparing the meal - a treat!
Happy Thanksgiving!
Give thanks to the Lord
Give thanks to all the people
To those who earn it!
Can't wait for the food
Thankful for this holiday~
Can't wait for the love
Give thanks to loved ones
Welcome in, autumn good vibes
Happy Thanksgiving!
No room for sorrow
I daydream as fall leaves drift
Happy Thanksgiving!
My High Spirits lift
The sun will shine and we'll dine
Happy Thanksgiving!
SUNG TO THE TUNE OF “MY FAVORITE THINGS”
As Found in the “Sound of music”
Lyrics by JTC
I like confections, that feed all my craving
Macaroons covered with coconut shavings
Sugar plum cookies so big, you should share
Theses are the things that I like to prepare
Raspberry jelly, fills my cookie centers
The icing on top, I learned from my mentors
Sprinkling Jimmies fly free through the air
Theses are the things that I like to prepare
Marzipan made from pumpkin and spices
Covered in chocolate, serves all my vices
Lemon drop candies are made with such care
These are the things that are fun to prepare
But when the night comes, and the moons out
And I’m feeling dead
I simply remember, that I like fresh brains
And turn to eat them, instead
Eyeballs and ears with curdled blood icing
I hand the brains to others for slicing
Mincing the meat, to make pies with a flare
These are a few of the things I prepare
My special treat, are raw ladies’ fingers
As soon as they’re served, they seldom do linger
When pickling livers, the others just stare
But these are the things that I like to prepare
I boil skulls till they’re soft and chewy
Cook down the blood till it’s thick and gooey
Resisting these snacks, Is the thing I can't bare
Cause these are the things that I like to prepare
But when the day comes and the suns out
And I’m filled with life
I simply return to the living again
And cook up some sweets........ till night
Though not exceptionally
famished, I took one bite
after another until tureen
licked clean to the delight
of zee missus, whose tasty
two stuffed peppers numbered finite
adequately apportioned appeased
served December 26th, 2020
supreme supper highlight,
hers whose non verbal expression
translated high as kite
beaming satisfaction at husband
well fed fueled might
dare attempt to craft following
reasonable rhyme posted
for many readers onsite
passable endeavor hoop fully
buzzfeeding fanciful kudos - quite
acceptable to critique
mediocre outcome,
maybe ye suburbanite
dweller or thee might
perchance be longtime urbanite.
Nevertheless (me) de facto
de jure guinea pig cannot abstain
availing self as willing subject and feign
to gag on culinary entree with cuisine plain
no spicy food to avoid aggravating reign
of terror within
lower gastrointestinal tract,
a worse fate than being slain
in battle and/or
drowning within gravy train.
Most meals prepared courtesy thy wife
I masticate without any
(loose) indentured (sink false teeth into) strife
both of us quarantined as our typical nightlife
Covid-19 jazzmatazz planted
well rooted herbalife
such tranquility emblematic
when I become gratefully dead and
consigned to mounted afterlife.
Thus hoop fully
ye accepted poetic side morsel
(mine) somewhat wry
wordsmith (me) rather bland,
yet not averse to satisfy
merchant of Venice
much (moosh pit) ado about nothing, well nigh
preferring a midsummer night's dream afore
all's well that ends well
as you like it (poetry soup)
mine sense and sensibility doth defy
ratiocination minus any helpful alibi.
Methinks what future savory dish
the spouse might cook up,
what with an abracadabra
prestidigitation (Nike) swish
right before these myopic eyes witness
whatever mine heart doth wish.