Long Curried Poems

Long Curried Poems. Below are the most popular long Curried by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Curried poems by poem length and keyword.


Farewell

You've been a rock
When I felt vulnerable and unsteady

You've been a comfort
When I felt weary and downcast

You've been a balm
When I was in agony and distrust

When those I counted as friends betrayed me
You stayed true

When others regarded my feelings as a doormat
You gently placed them in a jeweled box

When those closest to me could not vindicate me
You affirmed my intelligence and sanity

When others dismissed me as less than human
You regarded me as more than just a man

When others took more than they gave
You gave more than you took.

A greater portion of comfort
Was derived from the fact that
You were only
A one hour drive
A mere train ride
Away

But now
Life inflicts yet another reminder
That the best things never last

Although it is for the best
It is a bitter, painful pill to ingest

Although it is a comparatively  short distance
Shorter than the Oregon Trail
It is a far distance 
Far from your jokes, you’re your sisterly scolding
As well as your shami kebab. curried okra, and chai

Although I am happy for you
And although I wish you much success and joy
My heart is tearing at the very seams
Of your own mending 
And while your map can lead you to your destination,
My abundant tears, like Hansel's breadcrumbs
Can easily lead you back to me, when G-d is willing

For you have been more than a friend
You have been a sister
Though you have the courage 
To keep bulls at bay
You have the tenderness of a lady
And the wisdom to know when to use both

Where yonder can I find your duplicate?
Whereabouts may I find your twin?
For there is no one I know of quite like you
And your absence will be a void
As craterous as the Grand Canyon

Therefore keep me in your heart
Even in the tiniest nook
And never forget me, sister
For as sure as the sun in the sky
And the blood in my veins
I will always remember you 
In my heart.
© Lord Bard  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Prose


Available Choices Informing Me

I can select scant options
available among figurative
menu of life (mine) case in
point, this ordinary day (July
10th, 2019) typifies small
number routine prospects

regarding how I will while
away hours, cuz restrictions -
circumscribed, linkedin,
predicated by sought hade
curried parameters incorporating
genetic propensities inscribing

mental, physical, and spiritual
potential random talents bestowed
upon yours truly in tandem
with environmental factors
during childhood (upbringing,
middle class household income,

homogeneous Caucasian
neighborhood...), plus outcomes
wrought by countless decisions
(unfortunately usually, lapsed
deadline determinant and/or
nonpositive avoidance behavior -

identified as passive aggression
by mother dearest, she passed
away 14+ years), since...tender
boyhood age, when volition
allowed, enabled, and provided
restrained freedom (limited by

parental approval until arbitrary
18th birthday), thus this moment
essentially represents rapid
flowing confluence regarding
cumulative outcomes, whereby
nexus (Lexus) of one outcome

determined possibilities for next
situation till present, which
narrow bounds straitjacketed
alternatives to utilize liberty
productively, i.e. cultivating
strengths finding this garden

variety baby boomer (crying
the blues) frittering time courtesy
non beneficial trivial pursuits,
which tellingly (no surprise)
did not bring happiness to this
life, where loose analogy being

imprisoned since essentially
majority (default) actions not
serve best interests (mine),
though recently conscious
proactive effort to hone writing
bred thru existence as bookworm.

I conclude non jarringly tipping
figurative hat to Fiona Apple,
The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than
the Driver of the Screw and
Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More Than Ropes Will Ever Do.
Form: Bio

I Still Remember Mama's Cooking

I still remember mama's cooking.
It is said that one never forgets , no matter what age, now matter what stage, mama's cooking always remains,etched in my memory.
I remember her famous fried chicken, her stewed peas( hold any Jamaican man) and rice the aroma of succulent pork, not often ,but a taste to die for.
I remember her Sunday special, it was always special, as it was that time of the week for bonding, I looked forward to that, Sunday matinee on then JBC ,Sunday family chit chat.
Tales of what happened at the hospital, the gruesome,detailed tales,lol, but somewhat riveting,almost as interesting as the movies.
I remember mama's cooking. Come to think it she was always there to cook Sunday dinner, even now that I think about it, she must have been exhausted, after a long ,arduous day at the hospital, but never failing ,she was always there to cook Sunday dinner.
I remember mama's cooking.
Mama always seem to have the touch, that special touch to make everything taste delectable, anything ,Calaloo, greens of some sort, which I guess most children hated at some point,curried goat,dumplus, and her chicken soup,hmmm!!!, THAT!! I have fond memories, the cure for any and all ailments ,whatever it was ,it was just right, after all ,its my mama's cooking.
I remember mama's cooking.
She taught me how to help myself, as in the future, believe me came in very handy " A man must learn how to help himself in the kitchen," she always said.
I remember mama's cooking.
Even when at play one knew that ,by the fragrance from the kitchen that dinner was nearly ready .Funnily enough her cooking was the bench mark ,all others are judged , wifey, girlfriend, if its not up to mama's standard ,you better learn and learn quick.
She doesn't cook anymore , ( sigh ) but wherever I go ,I still remember her cooking ,my mama's cooking.
Form: Ode

My Brief Perception Sans, American Democratic Paradigm

Thee United States bedrock foundation 
built upon premises sans, 
Greco-Roman template, 
whence freedoms as liberty, 
life, and pursuit of happiness 

revered as constituent concepts, 
precepts, and tenets, 
within which complex edifice 
(unique to these United States), 
which metaphorical palimpsest blueprint 
analogously enshrine 

(akin to interlocking mortise and tenon) 
quintessential sacred scores
constituting, fortifying, 
idealizing Magnum Opus
allowing, enabling and providing 
nebulous yet magnetic gestalt

cuddled ,culled, and curried 
from the crucible
whereat whirled wide web 
witnessed Weltanschauung
woven weft and warp wrought,

awakening whispers down alley oop 
see daisy budding attempts
at abstract applications 
(while Atlas Shrugged)
eventually ancient begone civilizations

bequeathed domain fundamentals heralding
a brave new world 
where enterprising anonymous minds
wrought principles preserved 
jarring “invisible hand” 

predominantly writing writs 
rendering realistic aspirations
roiling with fits and starts
*****Sapiens ambitious modus operandi,
asper systematized (albeit) 
unrecognizable crude

bare drafts, barley experimenting flavor
hop ping tum malt ensues
jamming, kickstarting, livingsocial
perfecting quintessential salient rubric
training cognizance with deliberation

fostering general heuristic trial and error
limning knowledge upon primate tree
rooted tracts venerating wide-eyed 
yoking zealous basis daring fanciful flights

germinating human insight kraaling management
of fledgling political organization 
pollinating fecund minds hankering
toward conceptualizing justice.
Form: Lyric

Government Teetering Upon Precipice of Anarchy Abyss One

Disposition tilts dogma of poetaster
elicits, nevertheless adopting role jester
trending toward vagueness exhibited
by Addams family uncle Fester.

Yours truly makes exception to his
preference for law and order, viz
sanctioning upheaval particularly
avast mayhem curried kindled, biz
zee ness linkedin courtesy divine whiz
hard re: coronavirus (COVID-19).

Oh...just a slight digression duration
approximately no longer than left
middle, or... right third eye blind blink
a show of hands via augmented and/or
virtual reality who recall children's pink
cuss Zuckerman lyrics, I roundly think

nonsense verse skidda marinky dinky dink
though a curmudgeonly fella, a catchy tune
me and the boys (at taproom) sing up drink
dated to more apropos synchronize Asia chink
lets the sunshine, thru trumpeting don vizier
touting America upon self destructive brink

allowing, enabling, and providing participation
within convenience er... rather forced lockdown
yet safely and soundly sequestered blame ratfink
microscopic organism (alluded 17) lines above
pitching capitalistic qua Laissez faire economy.

Accordance to crude Dickensian nostrildamus
whose predictions noted for reference to nose
everything about hmm... sax and violins crows
excitedly (pretend ye did not read orgasmically)
as United States of America pushed to breaking
into bajillion pieces metaphorically, aye suppose


Premium Member Grappling With Gratitude

GRAPPLING  WITH GRATITUDE 

Oh Gratitude, 
Gentle as a butterfly.
You alight upon
my emotional reverie
to birth my questioning.

You have risen 
as an inward glow 
of unexpected proportions,
ready to bleed silently 
into my emotional pores. 

Oh Gratitude, ,
I sense your presence,
your cautious ambivalence 
that yearns to express 
some mystical feeling
of unknown origin.

You pull and play
inside my mind like chimes 
against an autumn wind. 

Oh Gratitude, 
Can I truly appreciate 
the acrobatic dance 
so easily played,
that allows me to indulge 
in nature's grand banquet?

And if so, shall I now,
in repetition, repeat phrases
that glorify and recognize 
the splendor of  existence;

or, do I ignore, the bounty 
of a creation little understood?

Oh Gratitude, 
Should I dismiss your pretentiousness,
those gaily colored  brush strokes 
of  memory frescoes embedded 
on the walls of my mind?
 
Or will you, gratitude, 
be the expressions of thoughts 
confined to a limited time; 
all held in hostage to a holiday season’s 
heightened senses of roasting fowl
curried with fragrant flavors?

Oh Gratitude, 
When the holiday day is done
and I am appeased,
will I still commemorate
the theology of my brethren 
who suggest I thank my creator
with 100 daily blessings?  

CAK 11-13-2013

Through Good and ... Good

Step by step, I steadily aged with time and wisdom.
I appreciatively obliged old bones to bow before kindred, king and kingdom.
Thank you mama for cleaning my snotty scum, 
thank you for caring when childish tears like rivers run, 
thank you for the sweet dukunu, the roasted breadfruit and the curried coconut rundung.
Thank you mama for reading Hans Anderson, and for repeating the giant’s fee fi foe fum;
thank you for the loud years of laughter and the many more to come. 
Thank you Big Dee for your bald-faced lying tongue;
thank you for being the reason I fled the gruesome ghettos of Kingston. 
Thank you creator for the many astounding things you’ve done:  
thank you for the death of pride, this bona fide self martyrdom; 
thank you Lord for my faithful consort, my daughters and my sons.
Through these streets my mind roams like fields of wild Sweet Alyssum; 
these streets like colleges spiraled from the sun stirred asylum. 





Dukunu is a cake made from banana and/or corn meal, coconut milk, raisins, cinnamon, nutmeg, 
brown sugar, vanilla, and eggs. The dough is wrapped in steamed banana leaves and then 
boiled.
Breadfruit is a large fruit that can be boiled or baked/roasted like a potato; it taste like bread 
when baked/roasted.
Rundung is a sauce made from coconut and Jamaican herbs and spices.
Form: Monorhyme

The Fairies Cheered


A BALLADE
THE FAIRIES CHEERED
~~~~~~

The fairies dance, they await their Queen,
elves her company, Royal escorts.
In neighbouring shire, she was last seen,
since then no more news, no more reports.
Her task to find a new King, of sorts?
Fairies, never before have felt fear.
They dispatch pixies to distant courts.
Good news they await, and if, they'll cheer!

A week now past the fairies worried!
Spells won't work on their Royal Lady,
she protects herself, spells she curried.
Some in her court think that is shady,
even think their Queen, a touch crazy!
A week, +one day, an elf, drunk on beer, 
he spoke one word then he died, "hazy".
Good news they await, and if, they'll cheer!

A loud cheer, the elf died a martyr,
hazy was the code for all is well.
Prepare, be sure to roast her starter.
Party for the Queen, new King as well!
The party great, the Queen loads to tell,
thanked all, for her fave fresh starter, deer.
King his story, "twas in love I fell"!
Good news they await, and if, they'll cheer!

Through their settlement no silent bell,
across their land, each bell rang clear!
On this story, many fairies dwell.
Good news they await, and if, they'll cheer!
Form: Ballade

Taste It

TASTE IT

Come & taste my delectable cuisine
That tickles your senses you know what I mean
A palatable pleasure that teases & excites
This is my doing my connoisseurs delight

One taste a smell you're already hooked
Trust me my food never gets overlooked

A bite just a nibble craving for more
Once the word is spread they'll be cues at my door

Ready steady cook or come dine with me
To impress the masses I do so easily

A clove of garlic black pepper a shake
I could impress royalty with the food that I make

A natural flair I have & I love to create
I know it's not hard for one to appreciate
Yes give credit where credit is due
Hmmm methinks I'll have fish tonight dessert apple stew

Anyways that's enough of my idle boast
Salmon pate seems nice I'll have mine on toast

I actually have a gift with the rhyming  thing to
Come try my coq au vin delve into my vin da loo

From curried chicken to a tuna bake pasta
  Just like Levi Roots I'm one talented black brother

Da Predman powriginalpoems2makeu:)
The Urban Poetry Collection

05/11/11
Form: ABC

Premium Member Limerick Contest

Tale of a Squirrel's Tail

There once was a very impudent squirrel
pretending to be an innocent girl
she wore a blonde wig
tried to act so big
dancing and prancing, giving life a whirl

One day I caught her peeping at my sill
gave me an evil eye...if looks could kill
shot back with a frown
had to take her down
I'll get that meddlesome squirrel. Yes, I will

She's not naive like sweet lil Goldilocks
but was wily like a devious fox
no porridge she'd find
I spanked her behind
with the heel of my brand new rubber crocs

She screamed at me until her face turned blue
"I'll get even with you, before I'm through!"
Oh, she is quite nuts
She limps 'steada struts
Whiney baby was crying, "Boo hoo hoo."

She cursed naughty words and off she scurried
Twitching her bushy tail as she hurried
I'd no cause to fret
Rodent trap was set
Tonight I'll feast on squirrel that's been curried

  ^..^   ^..^  
    4/27/17
For Jan Allison
syllables of 10-10-5-5-10
© Lin Lane  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Limerick

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