Long Dinner plate Poems
Long Dinner plate Poems. Below are the most popular long Dinner plate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dinner plate poems by poem length and keyword.
The rising of the seventh moon in an ornamental lampshade is equivalent to a nice round smiley dinner plate that had been recently washed,
Recently washed is neither a rotating wimpy wishing walker and neither is it a raspberry wafer wobbling,
It takes a lot of effort to squeeze a giant igloo through the eye of a needle,
And this is not pleasant for the spectating polar bears whose fish was being fried inside the dwelling holes,
But only a mini strawberry could flex the muscles effectively to cause a jam in a mile of traffic,
That is not good news for the jars who are already late and to be late is said to be as irrational as using a fork to make a morning brew,
A stew is far more intelligent than a gravy as many components equal more experience and more experience means that even a metric metre of labelled combinations could entice a bear from a sleeping hole,
But only when wearing a jacket made from paper,
It is nice and neat and true to form,
But format was often found to be a flame of frog leg on a carpet of mystical swirling frogspawn,
It is wise to offer up a little cup of cat milk to the buds then sit back as the colours loop in and swirl in a sky of answers,
But this can simply not be achieved nor archived when the moon is in the bin and the sailors are racing in the sun ship,
A trade is traditional and traditional trade can be nothing more then a hyper-fluted mini skirt of a skating rabbit on a promenade wearing 60 pairs of headphones,
Metronomes moaning making moronic motionless mixes,
And a nice little pair of glasses on the mantle-piece was swaying in the wind but not swearing for swearing was reserved for those who act out tanker talks,
Themes then?
Yes.
Where there were many now there are few.
But in fuse boxes the conversations are often quite absurd and who would put a floating camel in a tank then send it into a plane to cross the clouds,
Criss cross is a cleaning duty for a mission opinionated cloth wearing layers of clothing,
So what will one bring to the fair?
A mare
A single bud
A sanctified saint cushion with sparkles and satin.
And a heron in a pan of water with 60 fish to eat.
Consummation is the creational consumption cream of cropped chartered chunks. Said the 90 feet of cat by a door.
Z Leptailurus serval Z at 54 lemon sponge cakes laughing at 21 empty flan cases.
Form:
hereunder is served some poetry pouches full of love,
dear reader, stir them as you like,
if you wish you may crack them to pour into mouth,
you may smear them on your body
or you may sprinkle them on the ground
and then chant the name of god
with love and enjoyment
1.
the simplicity that rolls down
from the body of the sweet-meat
made by my mother
let it bring light
to our radish-red love-story
to hear or to notice
love
does not need
putting an ear on the wall
of the wall-street journal
the bottle could be filled
from the voice
when you go to fill the bottle
you would see that everywhere
the arrangement of picnic is ready
when i want to take part in that feast
my neighbours would drive me towards
the home
although i’ve spent all my life
running behind the love
2.
who’s won the muddy-battle
was yesterday’s politics
my addiction is actually to cater
the pouch of love
to develop all vitamins
and all bathrooms
people say you don’t love
the claps of the rats
yet i’ll come down
from the branch of a guava-tree
as a wave-of-shopping-mall
to the lake of your love
now i’ll jump out
from this computer screen
to register a kiss
on your lips
don't miss to applaud
by clapping the hands
3.
the heart is half-sunk
in the window
to some extent
in the lipstick too
on the dinner-plate
there is the feelings of the lord
that means
i’ve to be burnt more
i do agree
i would become
the sculpture of khajuraho
this happenings may have been
the right search for love
on either-side of which
a green is being worked out
by the nostalgic-cycle
whose colour-texture is very much harappa
which has too many geometric-memories
4.
an undertone is speaking
from within the solitude
now i’m in very much
distress
or i’m in love
i don’t know my love is what-for
may be that’s an arrangement only
so easily are those interactions
stitched with words
strenuous or effortless
in flight
initiated
with seclusion
but when in the sinking of the playfulness
i write the games of the street-charmers
the birds again and again
pierce the archery
thus becoming ashes
through travelling
in time-gaps still
the audacity to compose poems
on you
~I don't need, In case you haven't heard~
I don't need to strip for no crown, unless you desire large breast
Casarah, there's no need to be deluded by money hungry psychics,
Reading leaves from a tea cup, a misguided fortune of bribes
Can't you see satin gold already streams through my veins
It's not about wanting it bad or how low I would go
I don't need to threaten you or order dominoes
Never would I clean or do your chores,
Rather, I bet you look good dressed as a French Maid
Cleaning and writing around the beauty of everything
Forget the honorable mention, I want first place
This is your week, blank out the pretenders, fakers and haters
They will never have your back once the contest close
As for me, you've been on my dinner plate, since day one
I don't need a grammar base pen, rhyme pattern to win
What I got is hotter, by far the best rates on everything
I don't need Jan to be my friend, Andrea, to address me with a hello
What I have is satisfaction and loyalty everywhere I go.
I got flaws hotter than the sun, strutting my stuff just for you
No need to scratch my back, what we need is a back massage for two
Calgon will give us the youth Greek Gods can't top in 60 seconds
Unwrap yourself from Broken vines, it's time you deal with--
a moon as gold as every word you ever poured from your pen
Let's enjoy the Groveling moon, together we can enslave and take control
You don't need a genie lamp, you are worth more than diamonds and pearls
Together we can toss that lamp back into the Silent of the shadows
Before, greed becomes a misery --- Casarah darling
I got to admit 1,000.000.000 dollars sounds decent
Too bad, Michael's check bounced before it had a chance
Together let's take these sweet little bribes and make the world of it
Flip the bird, burn down all abandon houses
Built another strong community, wait, something is amiss!
Someone owes a gambling debt, coming to you with casino chips
Casarah, I'm not trying to please your mind, or give voice to my bride
I don't NEED to give what you already earn in your honest way
What I want is to win, no attorney needed - I rest my case
Love the Poet Destroyer
standin on a corner he looks up to the sky
his phone rings as he steps into his ride
no time to think
when it rings its because do's on the other side
red and blue
panicked, frozen like a mannequin
flashing lights he catches on the other side of his panaoramic view
wondering if its for him
then realize it just the paramedics crew heading to what'll never make it on the 11' o clock news
paranoid
wonderin if he ever got caught by the blue, what he would do
like i siad no time for that,
rent to pay
with nothing on the dinner plate
this time next week, he just may be sleeping in his back seat.
no one to comfort but southern comfort
good guy just on the wrong side
misguided when life put him on the sideline
no one to guide him right
but his mind
while he walked on the wild side of the life many choose not to sight
turn a blind eye
to what they dont see as right, but i guess thats just life
a pool of water overflows the bath tub because his own foot
covers the drain
you paved what you walk on today
if you ever wanna live better
dont be the reason why your seasons never change
seeing nothing but rain in his plain
consumed by the pain that rarely escapes from him
an apiphany hits him
a bit delayed but soon to be appraised
he wants out but never knew how
he tryed callin his father
but that man diddnt even bother
he never really fathered him to begin with.
so it really wasnt something he cared to level with
learned his lesson, way back when
your just getting the message
considering how long its been
he thought redemption would have been ready for collection
still theres a long way to go
aint it beautiful?
how bliss ignorance is?
remembering the time he showed his report card to his mother
and how happy she was
tellin him he was bound for anything he set his sights on
but to always tell right from wong
at that moment. curtains closing
its 3am
witching hour for the superstitious
but an hour of power for a man to put stitches to his scars
pick himself up off the ground
head to the lost and found
just to find everything that made him who he was
before what is now
ignorance is bliss
an he knows that now
The Mystery ship
I have read about things like people from March
with dinner-plate eyes and long, thin bodies
If these people are among us, why aren't normal
like Elon Musk, he is smart and will be as well
for a small investment in his business
can give us
riches and free electricity.
Sometimes, when the now and the past collide
we can, in a few seconds, see people that are
no longer among us, we can also call these dreams
as for ghosts, no, they don't exist, but they are great
evil has happened, we might sense a residue of
a whiff of the horror.
in 1950, a ship with scrap iron left Bangladesh
bound for Australia
a day before her captain had
sent a cable requesting a place to doc.
That was the last message
the ship disappeared
wise heads thought they must have sunk
due to a gas- explosion! On a vessel carrying scrap iron?
60 years later, a ship by the name of "Peik" asked
for a harbor pilot, a ship no one had heard of
but looking in the archive, there was a ship with that
name, but she had sunk
they birthed the vessel at an unused pier
and the pilot
when coming ashore looked pale and shaky
said the people onboard looked normal
her captain
wore an old-fashioned uniform, like the crew
was there yet, but seeing them through a film
of layers of time
When the customs officers came on board, they found
product no longer legal, like cigarettes and whisky
only marijuana was legal if smoked in moderation
the populace had stamps to ensure they
stuck to the moderation,
The authorities observed, that if
someone over-smoked, they tended to talk about
freedom of choice
The next day, the ship was no longer at the jetty
The Coast Guard's boat
was sent to sea to apprehend the ship, but no trace of her
those who had witnessed this were told not to talk about
the public must not know, but the pilot did,
lost his job, sent
to prison for spreading false alarm
All stories have a beginning, body and an end
This story was a journey that I would have to defend
We left home the last day in the hot glowering sun
We drove to the end of the bitumen as the journey had begun
In the Outback there can be long dusty miles to travel
As we drove the mystery of the journey started to unravel
Charlie Dinner-plate was one of our crew mates too
Who knew the land as one of the Arrernte people true
Onward with permission to Oak Valley north of Ceduna town
We sat in the dirt with the elders asking what would go down
They agreed for us to look on their land on the area of the map
It was the first hurdle in our search for the fabled gold track
But Charlie warned us there was one place we couldn't go
For The Dreaming legend of the Rainbow Serpent on show
So we journey through the area and explored the sites we found
And the task was difficult in the scorching baked rocky ground
Until there could be only one place left for us on the sacred soil
But Charlie told us it would mean certain death in our toil
There was a long discussion until he left us there on the track
And as he drove away I saw him looking one last time back
I wish now I had heeded Charlie's warning call
Leaving that place forever and not taken my final fall
It took us five days to find the gold in the rolling hills
As we staked our claim with so much gold it spills
But around the last corner we saw the elders standing there
In total silence they were just looking at us in a total stare
I stopped the car then the chanting started through the air
When the one in the middle pointed a bone at us with such care
Now that was barely a month ago and I have lost it all
My partners are dead from strange happenings in their fall
And the gold has disappeared as my fatalistic call has begun
As I sit in this cabin waiting for what to me will finally come.
© Paul Warren Poetry
There was a lame duck
Injured looking for a quick buck
And feeling struck
Thankful for the merciful luck
After being stalked and plucked
Taking a swim on the river
Avoiding a hunter looking for dinner
Good fortune appeared on the shore
In the way of a young boy image that stated ‘opportunity score’
With the hunter nowhere in sight
This lame duck was confident without fright
As the boy stood in the brush
Seeing the fowl now in a rush
Fluttering over to the boy
Hoping he will be his living toy
When the boy saw the disabled feather
An idea came ‘make the lame duck better’
“Quack Quack,” he started the health care debate
Calling his new friend a mate
Using his tender loving care
He worked to repair the tear
When all of a sudden inside the bush
The hunter made a sound when the plant felt a push
Hearing the rumbles
Instinctively the lame duck escaped bumping the boy as he tumbled
A shot was fired that was a miss
Once again the hunter was not going to get his dish
“Son,” he said.
Realizing the lame duck was not dead
“He was a slippery one,”
When the boy responded, “Are you having fun?”
Later that evening the hunter joined his son
Waiting for the restaurant plate to arrive featuring roast duck, well done
“You see my son,” the hunter quivered
Hoping his son had a good time and wasn't bitter
“Many lame ducks are out there, who are running scare,”
“So this is fair,” the hunter ended seeing the roasted duck daily special fare
“You are right, the boy started to pick up a fork ready for dinner work
“He had it coming,” the boy continued to reply, “the lame duck was getting ready to lie and die resulting in a send off to be fried.”
“We are well fed,” the hunter said
“Not in debt,” the youngest boy finished off
The roasted lame duck they both bought
Hello folks, I am your loyal fork - but had to laugh
At a comment below' hard to find a loyal one nowadays',
Fish knives are smelly,
Many centuries ago, designed for the sharp edge,
To be away from your face,
So that your nose did not have to brace
Itself, and your mouth was prepared to swallow,
This unsavory taste,
And therefore there was no waste,
No fridges or coolers in those days,
Had to eat what was served, spices and herbs
helped in many ways!
The soup spoon, seems somewhat tubby,
And looks a little, as did mummy,
But ouch, she wouldn’t like that,
She was only just a little bit fat!
But you, the steak knife, who do most of the work,
As you cut through rump, sirloin, pork or fillet,
Your duties like a military man, you never do shirk,
You master all foods proudly, we, the rest of
The cutlery in the drawer salute you,
Deserving of your Officer’s rank,
And we always rally to your defense, and flank
Each side of the dinner plate,
In every continent, country or state.
But who is the flirty one in the cutlery drawer
Why, the dessert spoon of course,
Used puuuurfectly seductively,
To scoop up deserts,
I, says the dessert spoon, make men drool,
As I lift my self erotically, to my mistress’s mouth,
Leaving some ice cream on me, which
She licks with her tongue, I assist her mischievous
Acts of eating with me,
As I enjoy the electric sensual romantic mood,
I’m no bodies fool!
Hey what about me, said the butter knife, as I slip
And slide through butter, and spread this indulgence
With lots of calories and love on your bread,
And of course dear little tea spoon,
Who stirs sugar and milk in your coffee or tea,
Don’t forget me!
So this dilemma as to who is the most
Important in the cutlery drawer,
Is easily solved
All eating utensils are equally involved.
It’s one of those days when my stomach is pressing against my chest, and my lungs is playing tick tock toe with its own breath. My adrenaline is running a hundred miles marathon per hour and my arteries are bouncing up and down the trampoline from the sound of the heavy metal pounding in the background.
This closely knitted community with all its clarity is composing its own rhythm but you cannot tell from whence it begins. The story about the crop and the young maiden wearing the new frock with the billiard balls positioned on the table waiting at the corner to make the first shot. I still have this strange feeling inside that makes me want to move but there is nothing substantial to choose from so I wait for destiny to propel me along.
The area around me is cluttered but I can still find a breathing space and water to wet my tired face. The threads on the tire are screaming, and my shoe laces are reeling, my dinner plate is waiting at the gate and the wood cutter is composing a new symphony with logs and aluminum pots.
All fears are boiled out of me and water is boiling at three hundred degree. There is always a story to tell even if you are trapped in the darkest hell.
The days are getting longer and my patience is getting shorter. I am surrounding with walls and trees and a big water tank leaning against the wall and if you stand against it, it will make you feel small.
Two concrete structures and a board house trapped inside its own middle are waiting on top of the hill for the drill, and the bushes around makes the board house look like a clown a long night gown.
The sky is turning blue and the crickets are composing symphony number two. The sound is celebrating with the sky and the trees are waving goodbye. I am pressing towards the finishing.
She was great with sheep or cattle, and would bound beside the horse,
always full of energy… a border collies best of course.
We’ve never owned another breed, but these collies we address,
we’ve had a few upon the farm… but none as good as Jess.
Two of her pups still work for us, and both bear her working trait,
Jess always kept them both in line, and ruled the dinner plate.
When de-horning, crutching, shearing, or the time of need to press,
one whistle from our Father… and first on the job was Jess.
And when her time came for motherhood, Dad never feared the worst,
because he knew that top security, for her pups came first.
If us kids were out of order, one growl would have us guess,
pat her pups then move away… leave the mothering to Jess.
Jess never was the playful type; she preferred her working life,
a stranger walking to the door would often feel the strife.
Not that she bit to leave a scar she just needed to assess
the territory that they stood on… did all belong to Jess.
Oh yes she would protect us, and front position she would take.
Once stood between both Ron and I, and a big red-bellied snake.
But that’s just one of many times, for our Mum to say, “God bless,
we could have lost one of you boys… if it hadn’t been for Jess.”
But time became her master, her sight got dim her legs wore out.
Instinct made her struggle, in the only life she knew about.
The pups were leaving her behind; she was coping less and less.
Many evenings Dad sat on the porch… looking down at Jess.
Dad took the gun and slowly walked. Jess followed down the track.
Mum, Ron and I cried at the table, when only Dad came back.
What broke our hearts most of all, and left an anguish inside me,
was little Brucey asking, “Why won’t Jess come and eat her tea?”