Long Creams Poems
Long Creams Poems. Below are the most popular long Creams by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Creams poems by poem length and keyword.
The last time I went to the beach
Watching my grandson play
He was caught by rogue wave
Was being pulled out of the way
I tried to run through waist deep
Water, to pull him safely in
Just had grabbed into my clinch
When a horrible a pain did begin
I was sure something humongous
That had bitten me
Shark had to be his name
I screamed and let go and no one came
I ran to get the child again
Even though I was in terrible pain
Just as I had him in my grip
The thing bit me again
I held on this time
Dared to not let go
In horrendous pain
I pulled him safely to the shore
When I got out of the water
The pain was even worse
I went back and washed
In the sea water to try to ease the hurt
We evetually got to a pharmacy
To see what they suggest
He gave me some medicine
With which to keep the places wet
The lesson that I learned from this
Be careful at the beach
Because there could be something lurking
Just under your feet
(It was a jelly fish which I never saw and he stung me twice. I had places on my thighs and
both lower legs. To this day I have an indented place on my lower leg where I guess the skin
was digested by the poison. Two weeks after it happened I shaved my legs and the intense
pain started again and I had to go to an emergency room. I had to have shots cortizone and
dose packs and anti-itch creams and antibiotics. This was no fun. I do not have an
understanding husband and this was one of those hurts that was in the poem "Unloved".)
Form:
A pegged round point gleams a dream as a passerby
pauses briefly at some display of hearts. Creams alot
enchanted in velvety reds filled with sweet treats that
address the same in my deepest fantasies. Employed by
the Creatures that slither their way, shading their point in
passing. Then a heavenly-sent gifts a genteel speaker
drifts a spun floater albeit a dove's solitaire feather.
Angelic hands reach down to gather it up in chorale
chants achieved its disciplined course. In brevity
breathes deeply, exalting with the soothing blessed
Suite, performed by Johann Bach. Toccata, Adagio, and
Fugue in C Major, with cultured ivory chords and refined
pedals as the fantasy seized a day.
One little girl with a smile on her face
Comes to us with a promise of taste
Her products are the best with milk as the base
It’s AMUL- the taste of INDIA
Frock with polka dots is her trade mark dress
Red on white adds more beauty, no way less
She stands for true taste &truth
It’s AMUL-the taste of INDIA
Girl in the polka dress serves all &reminds all
About best butter, cheese, ice creams &milk shakes
Like a full moon she shines in hearts of INDIANS
It’s AMUL-the taste of INDIA.
(This is prepared for poetry soup’s Polka dots poetry contest)
Details about AMUL can be found at-
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amul
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amul_girl
God’s plan has worked beautifully.
I now know what sixteen days of pure hell feels like.
I understand more about chronic pain, and I will have more empathy than ever before.
I had no idea this was going to be my introduction
to my summer vacation.
God has a plan. It is much bigger than mine, so I cannot buck it.
This introduction to the world of pain has been a nightmare that I hope to wake up and
walk away from. Every day I say “Tomorrow I will be pain-free.” I am so ready for that.
In God’s time. Not mine.
In God’s way. Not mine.
A reminder that I am not in charge here.
That I have no say in the when or where of it at all.
I am helpless, a minion, fighting exhaustion and lack of sleep due to pain and pills.
My exhaustive efforts have in no way brought me the relief
I thought they might.
I have used creams, salves, ointments, and I have been
on fourteen different medications
diagnosed by seven different doctors or nurse practitioners.
God has a reason.
I sure wonder what it is….
And when will it be satisfied?
Pleasure primes pain,
Wit wonders why?
Glimpse gutsy gain,
Style sanguine sigh.
Fancy feels faint,
Big blossoms bulge;
***** questions quaint,
Ideas indulge.
Prompt payment plays,
Ask apt award;
Death delays day,
Reap real reward.
Action aids arm,
Buzzy blooms bounce;
Cherry cheeks charm,
Pretty play pounce.
Wanting woos wealth,
Migraine mulls meet;
Hurts hurling health,
Gloomy groans greet.
Desire dreams day,
Big blossoms beam;
Pure passion plays,
Dear dancing dream.
Sense sensuous surge,
Bright bearings boom;
Play plunders purge,
Greet glory gloom.
Bright blooming book.
Charm creams cherry;
Lasting lines look,
Love leaps lovely.
Soar sweet stanza,
Choice charms charade;
Apt agenda,
Poise primes parade.
Grab grouchy gaze,
Loss litters lull;
Doom defers daze,
Moments mimes mull.
Dare describe deuce,
Loose lines lessons;
Meet mindful muse,
Words weave weapons.
Leon Enriquez
29 Apr 2014
Singapore
Would I change from a girl, and give up all my curls?
Would I quit wearing dresses, stop paying hairdressers?
Change places with him? Be a “he”, not a “she”?
Be a guy? Would I buy it?…For awhile I might try it!
I’d rise in the morning, shave off my stubble
Put on some clothes, no need for much trouble,
No lipsticks, or makeup, no blushes, nor creams.
What should I wear?….Just a shirt that is clean
I would wiggle my toes, discard panty hose!
Buy me some boots, holler and hoot
Own handyman tools, love my Lazyboy throne
Where I'll watch all the games, claim the remote
If I want to be cool, cigars too, I’ll smoke!
I could slurp eating soup,
then burp like a guy, and wear a toupee, unless I go gray!
If there’s gray at my temples, distinguished, ….how simple!!
Instead of Miss Clairol, I'll use a Gillette
Hold in my belly, and puff out my chest
Whistle, and flirt, at young girls in short skirts!
I would eat steak and fries and a big piece of pie!
Not stress over size, of my hips or my thighs!
I won’t drink tea so dainty, out of cups filled half empty
No tantrums or tears, just a beer with the guys!
Start a fight just to try it, get a punch in the eye!
If I pout, they won’t buy it, if the girl in me cries out!
Well, I gave it a whirl…I was a guy in my dreams
A dream that I had? Or a nightmare gone bad?
I’m glad I'm awake..and the switch I WON'T make!!
I woke up as a girl, it's not as bad as it seemed!
(Apologies to all the fine gentlemen out there!)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Our Easter prep began today..
we are to present a corned beef,
a cured ham
75 quails
45 cornish hens
20 freid chickens
and both store bought and homemede saucages
crawfish from the Creek
potatoe salad
garlick cabbage both gourment and family traditional
-------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------
I am a whore who is liberally deseatful.
Wines are more for midday
then the unsleep and awakened my enjoy dessert
with enough daylight to day calories off.
The hear is demanding requiring
a professional level of consistancy.
The pallet, the taste the style the demand
aND WORDS AND LAUGAGES THAT ONLY RESPECTFULLY SPEAKS TO THE
need of the chef and his staff.
The new Guy is stupid. Until he is eitrher wiser to our way
or we adapt to his we will say the guy is stupid.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She might wish more vegatables
tender sweet vegatables
the perfection of the cook to do so in such a tmely fashion
a tradational way out might sample boring. A spicey sweet treat that needs more time to prepare.
both winey sauces suttle suttle taste
garlicy rich creams
for example the fried tomato lasange
uses crab, a cheesey cream sauce
with arulagla and herbs and robust spices.
it only needs and squeeze of lemon to satisfy.
the rice is a dish all by it's self but coupled with the squab ,cornish hens and quail
it will cause you to speak in a foolish tougne sequence.
singing bravo to all involved.
------------------------------------------
Eye Love Her!
But I wonder about her loyality to whomever!
and the joy of cooking. His language and writing reflected a deep love for honest, regional American food James Beard would be Proud!
Most of the night
He had sit home
Waiting
Begging and pleasing
Reneocating
She had promised her time
With another
He had been seen as an
Alternative
She wished to be with
another
The evening came which
He had been seduced
Morning of soft crab breakfast
Where the creams
Had been reduced
Months later they spoke of
that night together
She was pregnant then she
Thought he'd say whatever
Of them together he asked her to
Stay
Maybe us together we should start
To pray
He wished her the marrying type
But was to fool to ask
She just played alone like
She was part of a cast
Emotions ran high
He was wise enough to ask
Said "marry me the foolish one
we can do it fast"
Slow down hell no, but will marry you
Than the awkward foolishness
Would all be through
Nature ages like Youth,
a bougainvillea wrapped
around a strapless watch.
Youth doesn’t look at the clock
but ignores passing hours unknowing,
innocent of the melting water.
It leaps and lunges without fear of a fading silhouette,
it smiles with missing teeth,
gaps filled with dreams that will change.
Youth giggles at the simplest of movements,
it blanches under praise -
it drifts along shores, feeling hearing holding then
abandoning the flotsam and jetsam of aging. It is a bundle of
yesterday’s plans
ostracised by calendars,
unaware that friends will leave, as
trenches are dug by
hands, wrinkled.
Youth is a promise milked into creams,
it is a sweating desire to return, rediscover the
suppleness of joints, of bones, of possibility.
Youth has not yet become a mouth that sighs,
is bougainvillea still free from being entwined, twisted and tied.
It is not yet conscious of time as an intangible abstract
forever
There is a place called beautiful nestled deep in my mind's eye
Gingham curtains crisply pressed frame periwinkle summer sky
Brass kettle on the old gas stove reflects cast iron pans
And always at the kitchen sink, I see busy, wrinkled hands.
There is a place called beautiful, I'm transported with a whiff
Of coffee brewing, dark and strong, I long to take a sip.
And in the air a trace of Tollhouse cookies baked this morn
And some perfume that only in this special spot is worn.
There is a place called beautiful I hear in perfect dreams
As Frankie croons and Louis wails all whilst the kettle steams
And as she works, she never tires as she hums and sings along
But the harmony of her lilting laugh is by far my favorite song.
There is a place called beautiful, it tastes like sweetest creams
Made in a bucket with a crank til her arms wore out, it seems
And topped with juicy berries that would burst upon each bite
And juices stained my mouth and clothes most every summer night.
There is a place called beautiful, I long to feel again
The naive sense that everywhere was as safe and free of sin
Where love and peace were daily served with a kiss upon the cheek
And grandma's kitchen always felt like you just found what you seek.
4/9/2019 / Poetry Marathon Final Placement / Sponsor: Mark Toney