Long Crisps Poems
Long Crisps Poems. Below are the most popular long Crisps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crisps poems by poem length and keyword.
The shock that I felt was enormous,
as the tab on the cat food I pulled,
a fountain of biscuits shot out of the top-
the box, it was actually full !
I stood, disbelieving, bewildered,
this never had happened before,
I finally came to my senses again
and swept all the bits off the floor.
'Contents are liable to settle',
I've seen it on loads of foodstuffs,
in some cereals, where half of it is fresh air
and what's left is just not quite enough.
And bags of crisps, don't get me started,
whatever the flavour or range,
seven flakes, powdered crumbs
which just coat both your thumbs
and then leave your tongue feeling short-changed.
Forgive me, for always believing
(and I think most folks do, by and large)
that the air we breathe in now and always has been
since the dawn of mankind, free of charge.
So why do the makers of products
include something already free?
Just give us lots more of the thing I paid for
and leave all the breathing to me.
And when my time one day is over
and no longer am in fine fettle,
the box I'm carried off in,
on the lid of the coffin
write ' contents are liable to settle'.
Across the Atlantic ocean
They have a pedantic notion
Quip us Brits have a frantic lisp
Did slip..meant to say chip not crisp
Semantic antics causing a commotion
Misunderstand our land’s devotion
To the sensory explosion that is a crisp
So why the linguistic demotion
Respond to across the pond & beyond
Have donned a wig of blonde
Seem fond of being conned
They need to be told
The reason Brits abscond from the fold
Will break the mould
Skip this blip and let rip
A chip is hot and if not.. is cold
Such umami gold is actually factually
A crisp!
Our gung ho American foe
Will still go & crow..
Blimey those slimy Limeys
We’re the aficionado…so no bravado
Must surely know a chip is always
Made I’m afraid of purely potato
(unless I guess if its chips at a casino)
Displayed for trips in dips
Not just crud dud spud chips
Bud..could be made of wheat
Sworn am often torn
Could be swayed by corn
Synthetic aesthetic can’t beat
Heart attack in a pack food p*rn
If Polenta is the mentor.. its a chip
But if some parsnip you did flip
In oil then it is definitely…definitively a crisp
Got a hunch that if for
Lunch.. earlier at brunch
Or just for a munch
Thick or thin as a wisp
If it does go crunch
Then it’s crisp
Not being trippy.. dippy or too lippy
Don’t be hasty and haughty
Nothing beats..tasty treats
Seriously salty.. deliriously naughty eats
That's why we say crispy.. not chippy
P.S ..The only crispy beast feast
Where’s there is no hackling
Tackling or shackling
A snack as a chip or a crisp
No cackling…is when it’s crackling
Oops somehow a new row hatching..isn't
Fried pig skin..a pork scratching
But Colombian cronies are dispatching
Such phony baloney..there's no matching
The show ponies that are chicharrones
If you don’t have a romantic partner,
You have all kinds of versions of you
That you can choose for yourself.
You don’t need a partner to offer a mint imperial
And place it in a hand.
You don’t need a partner to take a mint imperial,
Place it in your mouth
And decide how long you want to suck it
Before you bite.
You don’t need a partner to send a good morning message.
You don’t need a partner to have a good night.
You don’t need a partner to eat
- Ben & Jerry’s
- Fondant filled chocolate
- Pukka pie
- Crinkly crisps.
In fact, you get more without one.
You don’t need a partner to have
- A passion flower
- An hour long shower
- A good trip with a loved one up the Eiffel Tower
- To pick up in rush hour.
So don’t rush into a relationship.
You don’t need a partner to be part of something,
Like a group of volunteers, a community, a movement.
Who needs a partner when you have an entire team?
And without a partner,
Which team you join is completely your choice.
You don’t need a partner to say
- “Please show me the way”
- “Salt n pepper please”
- “You’re so cute together”
- “Happy Valentine’s Day”.
And you don’t have to limit your Valentine’s wishes
To crushes.
In fact, saying it to crushes is the riskiest.
You don’t have to limit your Valentine’s wishes
To people in romantic relationships.
Valentine’s can be a kind gesture to a friend
Or simply an exit from a bus.
Cheers.
Candles and nightlights flickering bright,
blackout curtains shutting out the moonlight.
Snuggle down cosy with blankets tight,
perhaps the war will end to-night.
Dripping setting from Sunday's roast,
spread so thick on Monday's toast.
Meat bones simmer on the old gas ring,
Pa's homemade soup,the 'real thing'.
Paper chains cut and glued,
beer in glass bottles brewed.
Christmas puddings with threepenny bits,
the Meccano present made to fit.
Sunday school outings upto Coombe hill,
my first ever train ride,so quite a thrill.
Walks over corn fields to the Bugle Horn,
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn.
A weekly soak in a round tin bath,
towelling off by a fire in the hearth.
A viewpoint from childhood scene,
growing up at sixteen,Beech green.
STROLLING IN THE VIBRANT OF AUTUMN
Strolling down the park, marvelous sight of wonder,
God’s beautiful landscape in kaleidoscope. My heart
in salutation in vibrant color of the leaves. Celestial
spheres, seems to meet the earth and sky, in bright
hues of stunning red, orange, yellow and purplish
nirvana.
Hand in hands, we strolled, emerald green and
gold splashes walkways. Beds of mums in rustic
classic, some view in bright solid chromatic hues.
The kinder breeze, sending the aroma of
thanksgiving feast.
We felt melancholic in the woods, trees dressed
in elegant gold, tears of farewell, to find rest
on cold grave.The sounds of crickets, signals
male calling, a night of dating. Migrated monarch
butterflies, finding a warmer home, to lay eggs.
Squirrels and herbivorous hare, busy digging burrows,
storing food for winter chill. That afternoon walk brings
romance in scented cold air. We tap dance to the tune
of crunchy leaves, stomped, laughed and rolled on the
bed of crisps and colorful leaves.
©aroque
All rights reserved
My missus has a liking for those cheese and onion crisps,
the taste and the aroma she finds tricky to resist.
Yet oddly the real thing she simply will not eat
but me I find the real McCoy is just so hard to beat.
My favourite is Danish Blue but boy, she gives me hell
not just the weird appearance she cannot abide the smell.
You'd think that I could get away with something like a Gouda
but no, I find if anything her nagging just gets louder.
For Gorgonzola I am itching, but she just keeps right on bitchin'
and I get relegated along with the cats from out the kitchen.
Both our cats fancy some Edam, but she simply will not feed 'em
since the thought of touching it can make her shudder,
her distaste remains stolid over anything that's solid
if it started off in life inside an udder.
Things did come to a head half an hour before bed
my breath smelt of cheese, she was not impressed,
took a good swipe at my head, spilled my wine on me instead
you could say that I was now Chablis dressed.
I cannot understand, with my cheddar in my hand,
why she won't try it for once but anyhow,
I can still console myself as I put it on the shelf that she has one thing in common-
she's a cow.
For contest- Here's my whine now pass the cheese, sponsor Phillip Garcia
A slightly bruised Viv Wigley, with a plate of Camembert, August 2nd 2016
CANDLES and NIGHTLIGHTS
Candles and nightlights flickering bright,
blackout curtains shutting out the moonlight.
Snuggle down cosy with blankets tight,
perhaps the war will end to-night.
Dripping setting from Sunday's roast,
spread so thick on Monday's toast.
Meat bones simmer on the old gas ring,
Pa's homemade soup,the 'real thing'.
Paper chains cut and glued,
beer in glass bottles brewed.
Christmas puddings with threepenny bits,
the Meccano present made to fit.
Sunday school outings upto Coombe hill,
my first ever train ride,so quite a thrill.
Walks over corn fields to the Bugle Horn,
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn.
A weekly soak in a round tin bath,
towelling off by a fire in the hearth.
A viewpoint from childhood scene,
growing up at sixteen,Beech green.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2012
On his way to the stream
Leaves fluttered and dance with the breeze
His flops screaming crisps sound
Like it was being forced to step on dry leaves
Naked except for a short and the abundant grieves
Lying inside his empty bony stomach
He got there slowly running out of believe
Crouched on the sand and whispered all
His deepest grievances, tears honouring his words
The silent stream listened but replied not
But the reply came through breeze unknown
O man, what ya doing all alone
Shedding tears, you dispirited bone
The stream you disclosed your deepest secret
To it I shall give all honours and merit
Despite us dumping all our garbage and waste
Still moves on, never does complain
Gritty, resilient in pursuit of it goals
Up stand you, start motivating your lazy soul
Candles & nightlights
flickering bright
blackout curtains
shutting out the moonlight
snuggle down cosy
blankets tight
perhaps
the war will end to-night
dripping setting
from Sunday's roast
spread so thick
on Monday's toast
meat bones simmer
..on the old gas ring
Pa's homemade soup
the 'real thing'
paper chains cut & glued
beer
in glass bottles brewed
Christmas puddings
with threepenny bits
the Meccano present
made to fit
Sunday school outings
upto Coombe hill
my first ever train ride
so quite a thrill
Walks over corn fields
to the Bugle Horn
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn
A weekly soak
in a round tin bath
towelling off
by open fire in the hearth.
a viewpoint from childhood
seen
growing up at
number sixteen Beech green
Year Posted 2012
CHEERS!
Jolly jubilant Jack Frost jogs on snow
Wonder of winter shows snow in white glow.
Fun of smooth ice-skating on snowy track
Children throwing snow balls in front or back.
Crisps of thin snowflakes flying out of grip
Knife of ice hits heart of winter too deep.
Dazzling Dahlia nodding abloom face.
Snowdrops though shy, gorgeous no less.
Severe chilled morning greets with fog and mist.
Woolen sweater, pullover, all in list.
Couple comes close in single comforter,
Embracing tight, pressed lips, not to chatter.
Winter enters in frolic festive mood
New Year to enjoy with sumptuous food.
Have fun, make merry, dance delight: Cheers.
Beat drum, sing in chorus, laugh loud, no tears.
01/08/19
Edited on 04/04/20
Third Place
'STRAND CHOICE Z' Contest by Brian Strand