Long Cress Poems
Long Cress Poems. Below are the most popular long Cress by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cress poems by poem length and keyword.
.Inspired From Sapper French's Diary from April 23. 1916
"Come On Over Fritz"
Rain like a shower down my back off a thin wooden lath
It’s cold and miserable unlike the remembered welcome hot bath
Air so bad we cannot breathe, today don’t feel much like taking this path.
Gas bombs are falling a thick yellow cloud is rolling our way.
Pray God the wind catches and sends it astray.
Thank God no gas lungs for us today…
We used the same trick as miners with a canary bird to test for gas
But we caged a mouse instead to test the air if it died we would not pass
We got sick, but the mouse survived, oh telling us; what an ass.
Got a cut upon my leg, the doctor says it’s septic
What a relief a hospital bed, lots of company, analeptic
I though this war was right, now I’m becoming a sceptic.
Back in the field scores of bodies lying dead
Personalities cut down stuck in mud ahead
Blood bath, bodies everywhere we tread.
Walking in water up to our knees without ease
Found water cress, so good with bread and cheese.
A little comfort, although not much sitting in this bise.
It’s strange something simple like finding water cress
Can give us an unsophisticated pleasure in this gory mess
Eating and drinking, amidst body parts - no less.
But we had to do what we could with for every inch we could gain
How the mighty fall the Germans came to our trench of mud and rain
With grenades, daggers and bayonets – most stayed, face down; slain.
A huge German solider was patched up by our own lads
An older man with a scratch; reminded us all of our dads
It’s remarkable we fight and kill, yet untold efforts to mend these cads.
August the tenth a strange day a German stuck his head over the barbette
One of our boys called out “Come on over fritz” as if he did it for a bet
Fritz relied in perfect English “no blooming fear” happy just to have met.
After the respite of banter back and forth
New orders went out to be followed henceforth
Anyone talking to the enemy would be arrested thenceforth.
Entered into Mark Toney's
Poetry Marathon mile 7 contest
There once was an alchemist gifted with the mortar and pestle,
Who could combine magic with herbs and wax in a glass vessel.
She used charms and floral elixirs to make enchanted scented candles,
Which melted under flames whose brewed fumes burnt wood of sandal.
One day a princess from the Fertile Crescent came to her store to buy,
Some hand-rolled incense for all her people who live in lands ever so dry.
For her people were distraught by the shame of the sands,
In their odorous markets entrenched by world traders' demands.
She had asked an apothecary from a market in her village,
For a way to freshen the lands that foreign trader's had pillaged.
The apothecary said, "My dear, you must visit an alchemist outside the city,
Who makes candles so fine they would impress a fine-robed gorgeous gypsy."
So the princess set out to find she who makes candles craftily,
With a peculiar and profound method of magical alchemy.
When the princess found the alchemist she asked for a wax candle scent,
That would impress all those who smelled it and hide the market's ferment.
So the alchemist made her a bunch of candles with nine herbs held in several glass quarts,
Cockspur, lamb's cress, plantain, mayweed, nettle, crab-apple, thyme, fennel, and mugwort.
So the princess placed these glass candles she brought,
Around her market and asked each sniffer what they thought.
One man claimed he smelt roses while a woman smelt lavender,
And a child smelt honey while an elder smelt chocolate and coriander.
Confused about the mixed reactions, the princess returned to the alchemist,
And asked why many people claimed to smell different scents, including piss.
The alchemist replied "I sold you some candles meant to impress,
All those who smell them, smelled something different I guess?
For the candles I made you emit that which you might tell,
Of the most pleasant of scents that one can ever smell."
Should i have said something
Did I miss a memory
In this hierarchy
Did I understand
On the other hand
was I misunderstood ..
Was that an opportunity
That's the reality?
Was I supposed to help ..
Was I suppose to react
Was I supposed to persuade ...
Was I supposed to be afriaid worried or dounted ..
Why am I now this way ,
Decision went wrong ?
Here begins the troublesome song ...
The inorder hits
Why do my thoughts decay
Why can't I order them and be okay
all a could have should have mess ...
I need to stop the is an instant cress ,
Cant think I want to think i need to study I need to Be there
I need to relax and need to be up
this moment is here , but why isnt it the other moment now what have I done ,
Can i reverse this , Can I repair
Why am I asking so many Questions
Its all in my head ....
To find the rinse of inspirational peace
.... , I need to hold up ,
Theres a lot on. Smile
Awareness inhale
SO many things to take note of and
Cant obey it all , Its all a trace, left behind
what do I note what do I not,
How do I remember the moment..
But kill myself over remembering the unremembered...
Time still is here , I write in these simple words ,
I need to get back , wheres it gone , there is a puddle and there everything sinks
How do I dive and get it up ,
to be assosiated with something else
How do I know all I said here is not false?
Whats all the cause
I need to focus
I need .... optimus
Now its all a clear desk ,
As I let go , the tribe is at rest
Cant it be accepted in what is happening ...
Im too affected , Please , stop the unpredicted gest ,
Hence no surprise... yes
recherché rhetorical flourish(es) impress,
yet mine deliberate vocabulist predilection,
I haint gonna stress
aforementioned quirk
also includes zero apr
(annual percentage rate),
may be subject with excess
sieve jejune ennui pullulating Kudzu like
indecipherable haphazard gobbledygook mess
abhorrent brashness claptrap discouraging
further harrowing progress
into thicket of verbiage, perhaps...
unwittingly encountering Loch Ness
cheesy Munster gussied up as...
transgender logophile, alias Hermann Hesse,
which obvious immediate
long winded atavistic feature will
allow, enable, and provide
dead giveaway clue to guess,
whether yours truly be
mouse or man (chess
champion) meandering along
stream of consciousness,
whereby succumbing to wordiness helpless
(fear not coronavirus,
nor other mortal affliction)
even if exuding fifty shades of gray pus,
the only bonafide surefire
holistic, iambic, therapeutic... recourse
I reluctantly, lamely, and feebly confess
to ameliorate slogging thru
metaphorical marsh cress,
(a veritable poetic nightmare)
volunteer self as unsuspecting to acquiesce
(lest no lifetime allowance
courtesy United States mint printing press),
whereat Impractical Jokers profess
gut wrenching, humiliating, insulting...
pranks, albeit dudes harmless
(think) only psychological state at risk else
suffer interminable, objectionable, unutterable...
mother (ƒµ©****) eternal duress
unbeknownst to thee multisyllabic
stranger vowel things in consonant
essentially Mattspeak trumpeting
as sesquipedalianism (the lesser of twee vols)
temporarily rendering, manifesting
sudden impulse to emulate... me,
and damaging basic cognitive process.
Not too much said ‘bout a
Drainage Ditch
‘cept spring you have frogs
and come Indian Summer
they morphose to toads.
Rains drying up does it.
Makes those ditches no
better than the land they’re
banked on. Plain parched.
Headless cattails. Water
spiders long played out.
Cress gone to seed, tastes
like pepper. Like watching
the end of the world –
worse since who or what
gives a damn for ditches?
‘cept critters and farmers.
Farmers and critters. Slow.
Farmers carve those ditches
and critters sow plants
and stitch the banks. Why?
Water. Nothing more than
water. Fertile water.
Leaves and dries those frogs
to toads. Come late fall
those frogs morphose a
second time.
‘cept I haven’t figured out
what to. But I know the
rains snowing up does it.
- mcackerson
Just as days long ago, when decorum resolved,
before composure, and poise,.. were corsages, unknown
Where propriety mattered, and was favored as gold,
high society, has gathered to flavor their tea
There's a trellis, embraced by a rose climbing vine
Places are set, for dining in jade
beneath shadows that stretch under arthritic old trees
While slivers of sunshine, squeeze through the branches
of silver leafed limbs, in magnolia bloomed shade
Tea will be served, by large knuckled hands
at several round tables dressed with Swiss lace designs
Wearing lavender silk is our proper Grand Dame'
who fits her surroundings, as vintage as wine
Voices are lilting like the birds in the trees
Laughter and chatter, mingle with soft, summer breezes
A bouquet of old friends, around a few scattered tables.
Silver coifed hairdos, to make celebration
Crepe myrtle and wrinkles, beneath ashes and maples
Water cress munchies, and triangle creations
Sweet honey-suckle, tucked over the porches.…
Rose petal blossoms, are painted on china
Bridge cards, tumble by Blue Willow dishes
Biscuits from England, crumble sublimely
Large bosoms bouncing, and big floppy hats
Gossip dished up with lemon-sliced frowns
Up in the tree is the neighbor's calico cat
who catches a glance, and a chance to crawl down
Are they ladies of leisure, from a time that is lost?
Or a painting I've seen on the wall from the past?
______________________________
Inspired By the Garden Party Contest
Sponsored By Cyndi McMillan 6/6/14
An assortment of assorted asses assessed antelope antics angelically arranged
A vibrant and charming assortment of periwinkles, mints, truffles, sliced peanut cubes, diced baps, and a haddock basted in creamed lard. Now that must surely be an acronym for an actor but actresses prefer the wafer thin biscuit truffles under a melon spray and the painted opaque plaques of prawns and lettuces. Equilateral is a nice neat swooping swerve arriving at ten past six and ten past six is neither ten talking tents timing tuna steaks and nor is it six mammoths doing a handstand in a bandstand. All heads move then. Move around the garden plates with the trays. Little clinking cups filled with bud dews and sandwich stands to make a speech with the cress microphones and the cheese leads. Fantastically flaming flambés flamboyantly flashing fishes. And a little mouse holding a dish was hopeful to gather some creamed buttoned brie and camembert. But only if attired correctly. Rather swim in a puddle then on the top of a flooded skyscraper thought the pigeon. And the balls of the woolly moths and snails in all the walk in wardrobes worldwide clapped until the predicaments were aligned from the large banqueting buffers. Trains did not attend. And neither did Mr bus. Nor terry toweling tram. Bring the eleven cakes at once to get tote song. And strong is a stem and a steam is a stewing steak. Z representational Z at nineteen bangles booming to twelve aerial photographs of a little seeded bun. Z *** HAHAHA XX Z
Form:
I reminisce, I miss those days since:
Oblivion can never vanquish cherished childhood memory…
bonding our family together around bounty’s blessings
as Dad and Mom in their acclaimed cooking acumen
kept satiating everyone’s cravings with chef choice
we labeled as our comfort food.
Obviously, our Sunday’s victory is enjoying the Lord’s day
prioritizing church gathering as prompted by parents
yet my siblings and I (decades ago) confessed
luncheon time indeed as best ever while
feasting on our comfort food.
Over home dinner table of God-bestowed cornucopia
our brood would huddle together, mirth-filled
delighted to hear Dad’s thanksgiving prayer
with Mom’s admonition of chewing well
then, we savoured our comfort food*.
Oh, now that my brothers, sister and I have our own families
parents’ legacy of compassion, care, and faith lingers on
especially in fellowships where nostalgia creeps in
as “ethnic menus”** of Dad and Mom are served
sufficing our comfort food of blissful partaking~~~
I reminisce, I miss...
*Our native delicacies: Combination of “Pinapaitan,” “pinikpikan,” “dinuguan” with mixed vegetables, water cress, and/ or snail broth.
**Proverbs 27:27 And thou shalt have goats' milk enough for thy food, for the food of thy household.
December 10, 2020
Edited on March 27, 2021
1st place, "I REMINISCE I MISS" Free Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by James Edward Lee Sr.; judged on 4/13/2021.
Ain't no wonder we're baffled about eatin' - ever'thing is taboo.
We're deluged by self-appointed gurus toutin' their points uv view.
Can't they desist and find somethin' more productive to do?
They can eat their tofu and water cress- I prefer a hearty stew!
The experts can't determine which is best, reg'lar coffee er decaf,
So I slurp my mornin' joe, settlin' fer a mug uv half n' half.
Fast foods ain't recommended but I'd fight fer Burger King Whoppers!
Ain't nobody tellin' me what I can er can't chomp on with my choppers!
Some folks say aigs is good fer you - some say they're not.
I eat 'em boiled, fried and scrambled - it don't mean diddley squat!
Another profound debate persists and causes me to muse,
Is whether it's wholesome er not to partake uv a snort of booze!
Seems these fellers jes' confound our lives and like to obfuscate,
Leavin' the rest uv us bewildered as they continue their debate.
My cholesteral, glucose and platelets wuz perfect in my last exam.
I've survived nigh four-score years eatin' pizza, cake and spam!
I guess its politically correct to engage in the latest dietary fad,
But in brief, here's the case uv my dear old Mom and Dad.
They et what they wanted and survived four-score years and more,
Never mindin' the cholesterol, fats and carbs that docs now abhor!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I made my periodic visit to the medico the other day.
Said he, "Hop on the scale, I want to see how much you weigh!"
He didn't say a word, but I knew from the look in his eyes,
That I'd better opt out of eating cookies, cakes and pies!
Water cress, cottage cheese and tofu I really do abhor.
They just don't satisfy my cravings and leave me wanting more.
When meat and taters and fancy desserts are on the board,
For me, those are delicacies that just cannot be ignored!
I reckon I've tried every diet that is the latest fad.
My spouse tires of altering my pants to ensure I'm properly clad.
When that tire inflates and begins lopping over my belt,
Its time to diet again, slim down, and look a bit more svelte!
My spouse has decreed we're going on another exotic cruise.
What's a feller to do with all that grub from which to choose?
Bouillabaise Marsellaise, Beef Wellington, Lobster Thermidor;
That doesn't even include desserts, which I simply can't ignore!
I exercise, count the calories, but its tough to shed those pounds.
Will-power I lack when such delectable food abounds.
Lord, my supplication is to help me exercise more fortitude,
That my craving for all that fare will be of lesser magnitude!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)