Long Curry Poems
Long Curry Poems. Below are the most popular long Curry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Curry poems by poem length and keyword.
What are you doing besides being a cat? Can you do anything other then that? I ask Josh this on many a day and he always responds in his concise meowy way. If I get on the floor with my yoga mat and start doing poses to stretch out my back, Joshua joins me in cow and cat. When I sit to meditate Josh is in my lap, he thinks it's great. While sitting on the couch to catch up on the news, Joshua's always beside me just taking a snooze. If dinner is salmon or chicken curry, Joshua comes in a hurry. When I sing his Joshua song, Joshua cuts in and sings a long. At night as I go to bed, he purrs so loudly by my head. What are you doing besides being a cat? It's quite ok, just keep doing that.
Oh soul in a young frame she came
to learn unto me I look into her eyes
I feel a heartbeat as I hear the light
that shines bright from her eyes
she sparkles she's at peace
so alluring I come in curry
In the pleasantries of her
Beautiful in her blessedness
I must confess
she's pure as snow
she shines so bright
she's the light
in the night
O' how I love her so
be it so
true I'm in love with her
as she does what she did what she do
I am in love her soul is love
I'm in love with her soul, so
5/4/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2024
A streak of moonlight cuddled by the chair placed in the balcony, outside
The ricocheting time and I, and the solar moonlight, a moonlit foamy, a subtle tide
My daughter beside me, and a diamond stud, her nose knows her black heads, in a way, fortitude
A face and a lit, a solar and a misfit
a questioner, closest, midfielder, lifelong
my quenching oasis, amidst my torn life, vagabond
I saw my brazen Fenugreek, my curry, my grave failure, a Maugham outspoken in mom
My dish said a delicacy long ago, with your perfect soft, melted ambiance
my soul, my Mosul,my Samara , my mina and my minaret
They kept your calendar tales and fruit punch , they never quite gripped
The midnight hymn and the enclosing, merging with the foamy sea, rhythm
I saw a morn, a corn, of the needle in a haystack, where even the arch angel ask.
My daughter, sleeping beside me, my soul within, in the depth of the moonlight!
Ted was a professional farter
and at his windy recitals he’d boast
that could even toot Moonlight Sonata
If his wife fed him baked beans on toast!
There was an annual farting competition
Held in downtown Chicago, (the ‘Windy City’)
Ted had pre-loaded his guts for the mission
To lose his title would be such a pity
Ted knew that the competition was stiff
His groaning guts how they gurgled away
He farted an exceptional guitar riff
hoping he’d be winning the trophy that day
Ted raised his left leg and let rip
But disaster was about to strike
His todger got caught in his zip
The searing agony Ted did dislike
Limping off the stage in great pain
Bitter tears fell from his blue eyes
He re-adjusted his trousers again
Could he retain that coveted prize?
Now Ted returned to his farting position
With the microphone close to his tush
And with determination and good nutrition
He farted all of ‘Mystic Rhythms’ by Rush
The audience gave Ted a standing ovation
(Lucky for them they weren’t too near the stage)
And much to Ted’s delight and jubilation
The judges thought his farting was all the rage
Ted was eventually declared the winner
And he returned home to his lovely wife
She’d prepared chicken curry for his dinner
To safeguard his job for the rest of his life!
06-30-17
HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
Happy birthday to a lovely lady called Jan
Who's a poet from The Isle of Man
So please raise your glass
To a very nice lass
Burn (s) the candle at both ends while you can.
Have a great birthday Jan and enjoy Burns night, I've done you a few limericks, sorry I didn't have time to wrap them.
MABEL.
There was a thirty stone woman called Mabel
Who liked to pole dance on her table
She heard a loud crack
Fell off broke her back
Now cannot get up she's not able.
MEG
There was an old woman called Meg
Had woodworm in her wooden leg
The leg gave way
She started to sway
And hopped to the shop for a new peg.
MATT.
There was an old man called Matt
Who lived on the tenth floor with his cat
The cat chased a ball
Out the window did fall
Matt heard a meow then a splat.
MURRAY.
There was a young fellow called Murray
Went out with his friends for a curry
The curry was off
He started to cough
Ran off to the loo in a hurry.
NELL.
There was a young nurse called Nell
Who was carrying a potty and she fell
It went up in the air
And all over her hair
Now they avoid her because of the smell
FARMER.
There was an old farmer from Surrey
Who was always running around in a hurry
Got startled by a bell
Tripped over and fell
And ended up face down in some slurry.
FRED.
There was an old man called Fred
Who spent most of the day in bed
He lit up a smoke
And started to choke
Couldn't breath now he is dead.
Hey buddy, let me tell you what's goin' down.
Listen closely, you'll hear the sound
of my kitchen, underground.
What I'm cookin' is so hot, as it were,
you might call it nuclear.
I'll make some for him, some for her.
I churn out the grub, hot and fast.
My cooking's like a firehose blast.
As much as I make, it won't last.
I put some dough on a sheets-a
where a jalapeno and mushroom meets-a
you've got yourself a red-hot pizza.
Hey man, I'm cookin' - don't you worry.
No time to waste. I'm in a hurry,
I'll need peppers for this veggie curry.
Time for burritos and enchiladas -
pull up and eat, this ain't the Ramada.
I've invited the Spanish armada.
For blazing chow, you are itchin'?
Grab a knife and chop. Come on, pitch in.
It's the first underground nuclear kitchen.
A is for Australia, full of weird beasts,
Where even the cute ones can bite you at least.
B is for Brazil, where football is life,
And people dance samba with joy (and no strife).
C is for Canada, polite and so nice,
Even their insults come with advice.
D is for Denmark, with pastries divine,
And a happiness level off the chart line.
E is for Egypt, land of the old,
Where mummies stay wrapped and pyramids hold.
F is for France, where bread is a dream,
But don’t ever mess with their wine or their cream.
G is for Germany, beer, cars, and might,
And sausages eaten at morning and night.
H is for Hungary, but don’t get it wrong,
They have food so good, you’ll eat all day long.
I is for India, spices galore,
Curry so hot, it’ll knock you to the floor.
J is for Japan, sushi so grand,
And toilets that clean you with jets on demand.
K is for Kenya, safaris so wild,
Lions just chilling while tourists get riled.
L is for Luxembourg, tiny but strong,
You blink and you miss it, but hey, it’s not wrong.
M is for Mexico, tacos and cheer,
But don’t trust the hot sauce—it burns for a year!
N is for Norway, fjords and cold air,
And prices so high, your wallet will swear.
O is for Oman, deserts and heat,
A land where the camels take naps on the street.
P is for Portugal, wine and the sea,
And a love for Ronaldo, as strong as can be.
Q is for Qatar, money so high,
Even their ATMs wear suits and a tie.
R is for Russia, where vodka is king,
And winter is long—it lasts through the spring!
S is for Switzerland, chocolate and banks,
And watches precise to time all your pranks.
T is for Thailand, food spicy and sweet,
With beaches so dreamy, you’ll never want to leave.
U is for Uganda, gorillas so cool,
Living their best lives, just breaking the rules.
V is for Vietnam, coffee so strong,
One sip and you're jittery all the day long.
W is for Wales, with sheep on the hills,
And words in their language that give you the chills.
X is for Xianggang (Hong Kong's other name),
Sky-high buildings and dim sum the game.
Y is for Yemen, ancient and grand,
With mountains and history spread through the land.
Z is for Zimbabwe, Victoria Falls,
Where nature goes big, and adventure calls!
—
So that’s the world, from A to Z,
With laughs along the way for you and me!
I woke up in the morning,
ready for the first sip of coffee,
the milk pot waiting on the stove,
the filter ready to brew.
But there it was—
the sink,
still holding yesterday’s water.
A slow sink,
a little task waiting for me,
a little drain
slowly draining my energy.
I pressed it with a brush.
Tapped it with my palm.
Tried a ladle,
then a hard wooden stick.
No, no, no—
the water refused to flow.
Something had got stuck,
somewhere in the narrow way—
a curry leaf,
a tiny piece of tamarind,
a seed,
a nut—
who knows what?
I pressed.
I pulled.
I pushed.
I forced the stick in,
trying to knock away
whatever had blocked
the path of the water.
Then came
a slim brush,
a needle,
a thin piece from a broom.
And finally—
a little natural fibre,
a strand of dry coconut fibre.
I pulled.
And there it was!
A tiny spiral of fibre,
perhaps a vegetable peel,
twisted into a little ball,
playing hide-and-seek
inside the pipeline.
Found you!
I pulled it out
and watched the water
find its way again.
The sink was free.
The flow was fine.
And suddenly,
so was I.
The morning had begun
with a slow sink,
but ended
with a small victory.
Sometimes,
it isn't the big problems
that disturb our day.
Sometimes,
it is just
a tiny thing stuck in the way—
waiting to be found,
pulled out,
and released.
And with the water flowing,
the coffee brewing,
and the kitchen breathing again,
I took my first sip
with relief.
A clear sink.
A clear flow.
A good start to the day.
( Put the date, the title chosen, and the name of the sponsor in the poet's note section :
Date : August 18-2026
Title Chosen : SLOW SINK
Name of the sponsor : Edward Ibeh )
Dismal tale of men and women in the dirty rail compartment
No conception of the charm being knitted by the movement
Of the necklace of gentle light in the pants shirts and blouses
All is too occupied in their struggle to notice the kind crescent
As they are returning home from their respective workplaces
Piteous story of apathy and woe all of them are absorbed in
An old lady chewing parched rice taking it from a rusted tin
In a dark corner is seated a youth with shirt all bloodstained
Suffering from tuberculosis and looking very fragile and thin
A worthless life of empty existence still wretchedly retained
Though no threshold he will come across leading him to a
Plate of rice and curry as at least one square meal a day
A hawker of playthings approaches them in a smiling face
A second vendor selling some human figures made of clay
A gloomy motion picture of life running in an unfair race
10/07/2017
Rhyme Time with 5 Poetry Contest sponsored by Laura Loo
Using the five words viz Piteous Bloodstained Threshold
Conception and Dismal
A young man, driving from work, my car would steer,
for some panang curry and Singha beer
Chao Krung restaurant, my favorite cuisine -
and Bangkok, Thailand in my dream.
A young artist, as I well recall,
painted Bangkok at night on an entire wall,
I can still see the city lights gleam,
the other City of Angels in my dream.
We were young. My, she was pretty.
I offered to show her the L.A. city,
the Angeles forest, a Malibu beach scene,
with my new Bangkok, Thailand dream.
But in a year, we went separate ways,
though I have fond memories of those days.
A laughing God, made fate intervene,
to the back of my mind went my Krung Tep dream.
The friendly Thai people live in the Land of Smiles,
but, from L.A., it's eight thousand miles.
Can this old man, live out such a scheme,
and visit Bangkok, Thailand, a forty-year dream?