Long Corn Poems
Long Corn Poems. Below are the most popular long Corn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Corn poems by poem length and keyword.
the edge of town arrives quickly
you hang an inscrutable left
only to discover
one beat-up clapperboard hulk
hanging over tall corn
as if time and land-wrecked it
or
you drive to the end of
a suburban tract
and while waiting for the lights
a blue wash of sky
paints out
the last inflatable swimming pool
the land becomes a swampy hollow
prone by a basking river
treads gets sticky
in pent up pockets of tarry sun
needles of flinty light
glitter the blacktops
the road has dropped you
beyond the town limits
now miles fly straight
bending only to the whims
of natural inclinations
the prim madam inside
your G.P.S.
takes a long nap
turning to your wife
or dog
you smile
acknowledging
that the edge of town
has once again been shattered
The bird on the hill wakes up early in the morning pulling and shaking the awning giving rise to a tempestuous heat that resides in the deep.
It is not one of those cool mornings when everything is in perfect harmony, the stock market is going up and down and the clown is running all over the town, while the distilled water that come from the head starts spilling over in the bed and I stood there waiting for the sun to rise.
The bird on the hill cannot keep still; it keeps moving from floor to floor knocking on the doors, looking for someone to join the pack. It mixes pepper with sugar and sauté honey and vinegar, while piecing together every single argument and scrubbing the dial pad with sediment brought out from the bag. The corn soup is too thick to share, you have to water it down with beer and the morning bears its punishment.
The bird on the hill cannot keep still, it flies from tree to tree increasing the temperature to a hundred degrees. It bellows out loud in the morning chastising men and women of their sins while the sniper waited for the chance to take a shot at it from a distance but the bird on the hill deciphers their tricks and hid in the cockpit.
It has a lot of feathers bundle all together and a gate leading to the shore that lies just behind the door and they waited there with great anticipation.
The bird on the hill cannot keep still, it flew in the middle of the hearing and broke up the benevolent proceedings and when it was done it gave everyone a massage cream to rub in joints and shoulder.
It flew back on top of the hill and starts flying around kicking up a dust storm all over the town, it landed in the middle of the court house stirring up a ferocious storm that sends the jury, the lawyers and judges back to the county to complete the journey.
I stood and watch it unfold in front of my face as the situation enters the final phase, horse on tracks, women in frocks and nude men crouching around the back with their hands covering their privacy and a ribbon stretch across their faces.
The bird on the hill cannot keep still it is waiting for its partner to come back from a trip.
Remembering being a newyled.
Having our very own, first humble
Christmas tree.
And that special red dress you
were so very sweet to buy for me.
Better a dress, than a sled!
Very little money did we have,
But love a-plenty, I never missed.
With constant hugs, and so well kissed.
Hot buttered, corn, we both enjoyed.
You, my forever huggable bear.
Into your moonlit eyes, I loved to stare.
Suddenly, God took you home.
You are gone, forever, now.
Sailing in the sky, in a grand celestial bow.
Still, I recall our first Christmas, so simple.
Delightful as your twinkling dimple.
One day, to meet again, never to roam!
12/23/2021
I’ll cry my little eyes out whilst he’s gone
Sincerity will overcome my mourn
Whenever I’m in doubt I’ll pretend he’s just about
Then cry my little eyes out whilst he’s gone.
I cry my little eyes out- he is gone
Whilst here dabble in some love and corn
To lighten up a load for lessons he has showed
to cry my little eyes out when he’s gone
I’ll cry my little eyes out- when he’s back
And jokes that I will tell will be a crack
For him to laugh along to my crying song
I’ll cry my little eyes out when he’s back.
We’ll cry our little eyes out when we’re one
From happiness not sadness, will be fun
Once again we will unite to have a little fight
to cry our little eyes out when we’re one.
PINEY WOODS
Robin Hood of the Piney Woods
passing out cobs of sweet corn,
reading the Holy Word – living it.
Loving others as he loves himself.
Fighting for truth and justice.
Rescuing foreigners from cotton fields,
giving them back to mothers and fathers.
Loving the whole Rachel tree of
the Free State of Jones -
America stands proud – looking up…
Sometimes sad, and madder than mountains -
Looking up at humans hanging from trees.
Looking up to those cursed upon trees…
Looking up to Jesus who bore our sins!
Telling tales of the forgotten old.
So many stories, that need to be told.
Freedom costs. It costs big!
But we survive. We breathe. We thrive.
Will you gather at the Piney Woods,
hearts bare, lion-hearted, prepared?
Kim Rodrigues ©2017
The bachelor sits alone
eating his microwaved dinner
the commercials say they're tasty
but he begs to differ.
tonight, its pot roast and beans
for dessert, a lousy brownie
honestly, I wouldn't serve this to the jailbirds
locked up at county.
They're cheap and easy to fix
or so they say
comes complete with a sheet of plastic
encased in a collectible tin tray
the advertising is clever
using words like low fat and carb free
but can someone please explain
what is a vegetable medley?
The bachelor unhappy with the evening's cuisine
grabs a book and takes a pill
it's for insomnia
not the kind to give you a thrill
shortly, the words are running together
the pill is doing its job
in a few more years
its teeth in a glass
and no more corn on the cob
The bachelor accepts
that he's challenged in cooking
and frozen nutrition will have to suffice
but what he can't understand
is why it takes him a half an hour
to cook a bag of minute rice.
Be it known as convenience food, junk food or munchies;
whether spicy, melt-in-your-mouth soft, or crunchy,
food, inglorious food, seduces with ease
and ensnares with the emptiest of calories.
Disguised as a comfort food comes macaroni
with creamy Alfredo and kin, Fettucini,
To not be outdone, spaghetti entices
with large fattening meatballs and sauce rich in spices.
“Deep fried” knows our weakness for fat, which gives pleasure
and saturates fast foods, it seems, in great measure:
KFC (finger-licking), batter-fried fishes
and chicken fried steaks -high cholesterol dishes.
Even fruits will attack with enjoyment unhealthy
as tarts, pies or pastries. That apple is stealthy!
Veggies can also be treacherous things
in guise of corn fritters and gold onion rings.
Too much of a good thing is pizza (so cunning,
so meaty, so cheesy), which no one is shunning.
The taco, burrito, and big burger too
in great numbers descend on us. What can we do?
Those delectable luscious desserts that we eat
have only to sit there; we cannot retreat!
Candies and chocolate, our decadent sin,
sweetly defeat us. We simply give in.
Ice cream, a smooth foe, knows when we are blue.
On a cone or a spoon, it drips, waiting for you.
As a milkshake, a frosty, a sundae or float,
or between split bananas, it sure floats MY boat!
Buttered popcorn is one salty foe, and we love it!
The hot dog implores in our mouths that we shove it.
Baked bread, so alluring, entraps with its scent,
which wafts through the air as if heaven sent!
The standards of junk food -America’s pride -
crisp bacon and nachos, chips and foods fried,
invade our malls’ food courts and lurk high and low.
Their smells overwhelm us wherever we go!
We might try but we can’t make our junk food desist.
for only the health nuts can dare to resist.
In the war with inglorious food I adore,
I say, Bring it on! Here’s my plate; I want more.
For the The Synathroesmic Cat Contest Poetry contest of Suzanne Delaney
*So now you can all know why I try to get to the gym a lot. hahaha
In November when frost was on the punkin and corn was stacked in shocks,
And the snows began to fall and geese flew southward in V-shaped flocks,
'Twas time to gather in the corn for a huskin' bee on the old barn floor,
Where neighbors gathered to have some fun and fulfill a vital chore!
Ma slaved over her wood-burnin' stove to provide fixin's for the event.
Pa and the boys squeezed apples makin' cider, hopin' it would soon ferment.
Lanterns were hung from beams and baled hay was there for seatin',
And Ma confiscated Pa's saw-horse table to spread the vittles for eatin'.
Folks arrived in scores by horse and buggy, some by open sleigh,
Tetherin' their steeds to hitchin' posts after feedin' them oats and hay.
The bee began with the belles and swains huskin' corn by the bushel.
Findin' a red ear of corn among the yellow was deemed so very crucial,
Since that person rated a kiss whether a lovely belle or the local cad!
The huskin' done and corn scooped away, there was more fun to be had.
The floor was swept for dancin' to the music of a fiddle and mandolin.
Good grub, fun and fellowship reigned til the wee hours of morn, therein!
Even grandpa and grandma were seen squar' dancin' which was neat.
The rafters of the old barn shook to the beat of dancin' and shufflin' feet!
Ain't no fun anymore since corn is husked and shelled in one fell-swoop,
By a dude and his corn-pickin' rig even without the aid of a scoop!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
I did not think I was hungry until I wandered into Grandma land.
She had a stack of light fluffy homemade pancake a mile high.
Already stacked on my plate, oozing in warm tasty butter and syrup.
I started to beg off, but then I saw her crestfallen look.
I picked up my fork and took a tiny taste, which was not enough.
You added corn! I shrieked, delighted.
I had not had corn pancakes for years.
Grandma knew they were my favorite!
No one made corn pancakes like she did!
Just the top two, she told me. Wait until you get to the second layer.
Pancakes three and four were peanut butter pancakes.
She watched me devour them.
I was gobbling my food so fast, it looked like I was in a pie eating contest for a new car.
Grandma, you spoil me! I said.
She was smirking and happy and so was I.
This was the best day of my life so far, eating with my grandma,
hearing her stories.
I cannot look at a warm stack of pancakes without thinking of my grandma.
And how thrilled she was that she had gotten me to eat.
I had been worrying my mother, with my starvation diet at the time.
I was twelve, and thought I was “fat” when I was actually merely healthy.
We have been roasting in the Sacramento Valley for the past 6 days with a temperature range from a low of 100 to a high of 107 degrees.*
We were not sure just when, but we knew the cool Delta Breeze would return. It was a hot 97 degrees today, and it's the beginning of a cooling trend.
We'll celebrate the cool-off tonight with a big barbecue out back. The barbecue grill is waiting and ready to go with a full tank of fuel,
and just in case there's a preference for charcoal grilling, it's also ready. We have hot dogs, burgers, ribs, steaks, boiled corn, and baked potatoes.
There are cold melons and an assortment of all kinds of fruits and veggies. Buns, bottled water, alcohol-free drinks, napkins, plates, utensils, and hunger.
The sun is setting, and the Delta Breeze has kicked in with all cylinders. Neighbors are beginning to smell the aroma and hoping for an invite.
07042018PoetrySoupContest, Summer Cooking, Kim Rodrigues *Not a specific event but based on real weather patterns