Long Dish Poems
Long Dish Poems. Below are the most popular long Dish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dish poems by poem length and keyword.
If chickens learned to carry knives
Just think, when dinner time arrives
We’d be in for a big surprise
With no more fried breast, leg or thighs
They’d turn the tables, we might be
A tasty “People Fricassee”
Fried elbows may be what’s in store
For chicken’s menu “Dish Du Jour”
And if a cow could pack a gun
We’d be a burger on the run
If pigs condone this twist of fate
What might be on their dinner plate!
Though I love me, some chicken wings
I may consider other things
And hope as I begin to chew
I don’t turn up in mushroom stew!
My Blue Cheese Is...
A favored dish on most menus
and often more expensive too;
this treat for some still continues
to be for me a huge taboo.
Selective eater, I am not...
I like all veggies and most meats
presented as both cold and hot...
but NO to creepy-crawler treats!
No, thanks...to 'beetles' of the sea...
crustaceans with long antennae!
No Lobster tails and claws for me...
to eating bugs I won't comply!
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: A Stunner 2018
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Judged: 03/18/2018
NOTE:
"The thick slabs of meat you get off a good-sized lobster are a little hard to conceptualize as insect meat, I’ll grant you, but according to the most modern data it really is accurate to think of lobsters as ocean-bound beetles..." Ref: https://www.geek.com/news/lobsters-really-are-cockroaches-of-the-sea-1614260/
The eternal seaman
Coming from the sea, he stayed at a B/B hotel Churchill
near the railway station in Liverpool, a handy place for working women
to bring their customers, who would come home late
blaming overtime at the office.
At the hotel was the captain/lieutenant waiting for secondment,
he suspected the wait would take some time because the officer
had seen a blue angel In Hamburg,
The army officer was an expert on the railway system in Germany
why the army would like to know this in 1972
when they could buy a timetable, a leaflet that explained it all.
He, himself, was a seaman when tired of confinement on a ship
He paid off and spent his money in a small hotel, walking around
drinking beer and lunching at a Chinese café, usually a curry dish.
He was constrained by this lack of imagination.
Not that he was unsightly, women smiled at him
he smiled back
he walked on, not knowing what to do.
He had been a seaman all his life and never found his way home
his experience with women involved money, sex without any
emotional entanglement.
Nearing middle age, he, in the evening, drank with people who
meant nothing to him, like the deluded officer and his blue angel.
However, lately, he sensed dissatisfaction with his cozy life, like it
was ending or perhaps he would find his way back home.
I stood on the step by the unopened door
Far from the meadows that precede the shore
Grasped tight the railing I longed to explore
Searching for truth in the lies
Looked at the mat as it welcomed me in
Wondering when all of this would begin
Washed up and worried and covered in sin
One that the world would despise
Juggled a dish after dropping the spoon
Spotlights were shining, they lit up the room
Still not enough for this unending doom
Praying the end would be near
Paced cross the stage as the audience stared
Thinking I saw one who looked like she cared
Checking my pockets for things that I shared
Knowing not what I might hear
Then like a siren but quieter still
Came forth a voice that presented a thrill
When on my spine formed the funniest chill
Just as she called out my name
Chris, was the echo, a melodic song
I have been waiting for you for so long
Something like this surely cannot be wrong
I don't care who is to blame
I took her hand and my heart skipped a beat
Who would have thought that an angel I'd meet
Me, oh so sour and her, oh so sweet
She must have come from above
Then I awoke with a yawn layered scream
Only a nightlight providing the gleam
All of this poem was merely a dream
Waking before I found love
I harbor a mean spirit
but not in my soul
He roams through my
consciousness as havoc and pain
Trying to break through
to that place where he’s banned
Trying to break through
to where my innocence lives
Again and again he forces
his will
But it all goes for naught and he
waits till I sleep
Where Laura’s on guard
in my dreams to protect
With insomniac hell
he still tries to invade
Her will ever stronger
than his fleeting advance
Each night he comes knocking
as she turns him away
Until with mocking futility
he warns me again
In words that are cursed
and bathed in disgust…
“You can run to your Muse
and hide if you wish
But temptation and trial
are served from my dish
Go be safe in the womb
but remember outside
When you leave her protection,
—there is no place to hide.
(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)
Sow seeds before green garden ye savour,
Eat fruits of toil and sweat only thy own,
Quote no quotes often chewed, void of flavour,
No garden goes green, not by hard toil grown.
Be it an insight, brainwave as never,
One’s own muse is most inspiring maid known.
For long man, who’s forbidden fruits desired,
Goes on a wander lust such fruits to fish,
Why the Garden of Eden is admired,
Why things proscribed go for greater relish.
It is no sin to get by greats inspired
If you add your own, cook not someone’s dish.
World is the sole piece of creative art,
The rest is inspired, all of it or part.
_______________________
Sonnet |03.03.2009, revised Feb 2025|
Note: This sonnet does not follow the Pythagorean divide between the octave and sestet commonly found in sonnets, but an equal one followed by a couplet resolving the premise.
I
When a river in sea subsides,
Alive unto sea it still lives,
So does life unto death abides,
Departing, birth to new life gives.
The parasite in a womb dies
To live on its own volition,
A leech dies, lets new life arise,
To rise again sets a day’s sun.
On giving birth to a new life,
Udders flush with milk, ma cow
Turns to newly born calf in love,
Death too is with milk of life rife.
But when ye come at your appointed hour,
I wonder why that milk of life goes sour?
II
Drops of rain as new life giver
Die soon as fall upon parched earth,
Whilst falling into a river,
They die no less, never their worth.
So doth Death come: no life to end,
Nor with breath ceasing, the life ends,
Life to a new journey extends,
For fresh start, Death, thou art a friend!
And sure indeed Death is my friend,
This I know as everyone knows,
Only, when Death extends his hand,
I wonder where my wisdom goes!
A new life forming in a Petri dish,
Wonder where all my wisdom doth vanish?
_____________________________________
Sonnets | 02.07.2010, revised April 2023|
would conveniently scare bejesus
among any hooligan tween
ready and willing to cause mischief
while prowling for methamphetamine,
or other drug of choice
one motley crew member seen
dodging, evading, fording... police
eventually cornered unlike Steve McQueen
(the late actor), who escapes behind screen
of smoke unscathed unlike
formerly acquitted, alluded mean
and aforementioned hoodlum
who suffers gunshot wound
rushed to same hospital
lay disabled fugitive ruffian took lead
fired into buttucks bullet punctured
evident by derriere oozing bloodshed
as self, both us nearly dead,
asthma doppelganger wed
did in sweat upon abdomen,
now aching pain in ass spread red
hot poker radiating throbbing inside
excruciating did quickly thread
into noggin i.e. fifty shades red
dully permeated gray matter
inducing severe agony with head,
though mustered energy to scrawl
obituary envisioning said
on same page as op/ed
gallows humor sought instead
of relief courtesy synthesized drug,
thus laughter as best medicine
linkedin chowing down unsuspected bean
dish licked plate sparkling clean
mental note made to avoid
eating flatulence inducing food
prepared Das daring "frau" faux Queen,
though I certainly also enjoy keen
wah filling up growling hungry void,
and... appealing to this bonafide android
gluten free textured meals direction I lean.
In the arena of wrath, patience takes hold.
A silent predator, waiting to unfold.
With icy breath and a frozen heart,
Revenge embarks on its chilling art.
The thawed memories of a bitter past
Linger in the shadows, refusing to be cast.
But time, my friend is a cunning foe.
It knows how to mend and let blow.
Patiently, it weaves its intricate design,
Akin to a spider spinning a web divine.
It waits for the idyllic moment to strike.
To cast justice on those who inflicted the spike.
The hours turn to days, the days to years,
As revenge simmers, fueled by silent tears.
But vengeance is a dish best-served cold.
And time ensures that God sees it all unfold.
Written: June 15, 2023
Franky was seven and having a party
He told all his school-mates, except for Spud Carty
And once they had heard that Spud wasn't invited
All of them said they were really excited
And then at the party the kids all had fun
Which might have continued if Spud hadn't come
Spud didn't play games, he was not in the mood
He’d much rather stuff himself full of free food
He grabbed all the biscuits and scoffed the whole lot
And all the Bombay mix although it was hot
He snaffled the sarnies and some went down whole
Then grabbed the spaghetti piled up in a bowl
He gobbled so much that he struggled to chew
Then Franky cried out, that's not only for you
Spud simply laughed spitting food as he said
We all gotta eat... or else we'd be dead
And that was when poor Franky found himself wishing
His dad had stayed home and had not gone off fishing
Spud sucked spaghetti like slithering snakes
And said when I'm done, gonna find me some cakes
But Franky looked sick and he started to squirm
That sgetti looks just like a wriggly worm
And Spud got annoyed when he heard someone giggle
Don't be so stoopid, spaghetti can't wriggle
Spud swallowed more, that spaghetti was yummy
He said with a grin as he patted his tummy
You lot he shouted must really be thick
To get the food first you'd have to be quick
The front door swung open, there stood Franky's dad
He looked a bit angry, in fact he looked mad
I’m meant to be fishing but I'm running late
I got to the lake but forgot all my bait
I've checked out the shed and I've looked all around
Wherever I look there's no bait to be found
Was it indoors his son Franky enquired
So it would be handy when it was required
Right there on the table his father confirms
An old plastic dish, full of wriggly worms
And that was when Spud's belly started to grumble
And everyone heard his guts starting to rumble
Spud almost flew to the lavatory
What happened next was a horror story
And when throwing up seemed much less of a danger
He left with kids calling out, Don't be a stranger!