Long Dished Poems
Long Dished Poems. Below are the most popular long Dished by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dished poems by poem length and keyword.
The cat cries out as he wanders
through my bedroom. He can’t
understand why he can’t go out
for another time—I can’t explain.
He goes into the kitchen and looks
up to people in conversation standing
at a countertop. We’ve filled his
food and water dished. He cries out,
I don’t understand.
He comes to me
and I scratch his neck while flipping
through You Tube videos. The next
moment he jumps onto a tote and cleans
himself. Someone online asks for a poem
about cats
[I look to him]
Two years ago
someone brought him in a cage
[He looked at me, I looked at him]
Oh no, I said.
I never knew I was a cat person
but he chose me.
As he cries to go out, I say to him
why don’t you keep me company
as if he’s a child, and maybe in some way
he is. I interrupt what I’m doing
to clean his litter
a duty to dread and embrace.
I sit down to read and ease the night
[and he finds my lap]
I feel his warmth.
Poor Santa Claus encountered a delay
There was thick fog that made him lose his way
He went on yellow pages
Then spent some of his wages
A gps he ordered for his sleigh.
Santa dotes on his true love – his missus
Even though she can be so suspicious
But he knows that with a kiss
He can fill her heart with bliss
In return she bakes him pies – delicious!
On Christmas night his tour was much in doubt
Because he ached all over due to gout
He thought of his appointments
Would not have disappointments
On Christmas night he dished his presents out.
[Let us spare a thought for Santa, come Christmas night;
in spite of all his problems and setbacks he still delivers!]
----------------------------------------------------------------
Contest: What’s Up With Santa
Sponsor: Jerry T. Curtis
Everybody’s looking for Christ
Everybody wants salvation
And everybody pays a price
For the bigger situation
Everybody tries to conceive
Of a Paradise somewhere –
It’s at the end of history –
Or it’s way up high in the air
For some, the Kingdom is near
For some, the City is far
Some want their banquet right here
Some envision it beyond the stars
Everybody wants to end pain
Everybody wants to rejoice
A plan, reasonable and inhumane
That speaks to the inner voice
Everybody yearns to believe
That everybody’s equal and free –
The diversity of the leaves –
The solidarity of the tree
For some, the Kingdom is near
Everybody would rebel
Against a prison after birth
Be it the cauldron of Hell
Or the rusted factory of Earth
Everybody craves to receive
The body and the blood of man
Either dished out by a priest
Or exacted by a politician
‘Cause for some, the Kingdom is near
While for some, the City is far
Some want their banquet right here
And some envision it beyond the stars.
In the late 1960’s, Granny washed dishes
By hand – no dishwasher for her;
Though she often had her daughter wash
Who was 10 years older than I was
Who I followed every waking hour
Who I loved as only a sister is loved
Who I would always, to this day, admire
She was the one who taught me everything –
To dream, to paint, to dance, to pray
She was the courageous, outgoing, fireball
I was quiet and shy, a curly haired introvert
~
When she washed dishes after supper
I stood by her side, on a stool which lifted me
High enough to put my hands on the side
Where the rinse water would be poured.
~
My Granny was faithfully sanitary to say the least
She rinsed her dished with boiling water from the stove
And that was just what my aunt-sister did that day
As I screamed from the pain that caused those
Angry blisters over my small arms and hands.
Institutional Jargon
Strait lined jacket,
A wheelchair line-up peruses the pasty walls
In synchronized fashion
Secured by schedule
Where the pristine uniform
Clicks heels and strides with purpose
Adorned the fob with pen in pocket
To check the clock and the parade
Of faceless dozers where faraway tellies drone
Dismissed the saline droplet from folded eye
Ignored the fragmented desire to talk
Removed the self seeker to elsewhere
A teacup trolley breaches the languor
And summons the sleepers to take a drink
The war hero must wear his plastic pinny
He wears it with pride just like his medals
As he slobbers the luke-warm liquid
Dished out by the silent and the sullen
Quick automated wipes all round
That tidy up, maintain a dignity
Then charted as fluids taken well
Documented protocol of excellence
That safeguards an ordered day
And eliminates disruptive sound
That cause the uniform to sigh
And break from flippant social chat
To conceal the noise in far off room
Because she’s wearing anothers clothes
And so the day drifts into eve
Food hastened to maintain an early night
And ease the plight of the nocturnal uniform
Nothing untoward in this institutional paradise
There’s nothing at all.
Just as days long ago, when decorum resolved,
before composure, and poise,.. were corsages, unknown
Where propriety mattered, and was favored as gold,
high society, has gathered to flavor their tea
There's a trellis, embraced by a rose climbing vine
Places are set, for dining in jade
beneath shadows that stretch under arthritic old trees
While slivers of sunshine, squeeze through the branches
of silver leafed limbs, in magnolia bloomed shade
Tea will be served, by large knuckled hands
at several round tables dressed with Swiss lace designs
Wearing lavender silk is our proper Grand Dame'
who fits her surroundings, as vintage as wine
Voices are lilting like the birds in the trees
Laughter and chatter, mingle with soft, summer breezes
A bouquet of old friends, around a few scattered tables.
Silver coifed hairdos, to make celebration
Crepe myrtle and wrinkles, beneath ashes and maples
Water cress munchies, and triangle creations
Sweet honey-suckle, tucked over the porches.…
Rose petal blossoms, are painted on china
Bridge cards, tumble by Blue Willow dishes
Biscuits from England, crumble sublimely
Large bosoms bouncing, and big floppy hats
Gossip dished up with lemon-sliced frowns
Up in the tree is the neighbor's calico cat
who catches a glance, and a chance to crawl down
Are they ladies of leisure, from a time that is lost?
Or a painting I've seen on the wall from the past?
______________________________
Inspired By the Garden Party Contest
Sponsored By Cyndi McMillan 6/6/14
Let me publish a book, I thought,
And soon His divine blessings sought.
Bless me God that it’s received well,
And in markets makes a marked spell.
Forget it, my innocent child,
He said, desist from dreaming wild.
If put on poetry sites’ stead,
Be content if some do get read.
You know, e’en I’ve been a failure—
A slight till today I endure.
See, I've been writing scores of fates,
Have ye seen one that appreciates?
I once wrote a mega poem—
My greatest spiritual emblem,
Gita, put on a pedestal,
Talked ‘bout, but who reads if at all?
As part of a greatest epic,
I thought it might easily click!
So, perish such a thought dear child,
Be cool, they’re safely isled and filed.
___________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |13.09.2019|
Topic: humour, god, fate, poem
Aniruddha Pathak
Thursday, April 9, 2020
We won't find a soul mate dished up on a plate,
We won't find a soul mate if we always complicate,
We won't find a soul mate if we over compensate,
We won't find a soul mate if we procrastinate,
We won't find a soul mate if we don't participate,
We won't find a soul mate if their importance we underestimate,
or over their existence speculate.
Our eldest daughter found her soul mate,
And did not hesitate,
An example for others to emulate.
As for her parents fate,
That is up for serious debate,
Now that I suspect I have a friend who to me does resonate,
To me all the aspects of soul mate,
When it is too late,
Yet I cannot help but speculate,
About a different fate,
Or a late change contemplate,
Even though it might complicate,
The Warmth of a Winters Dinner
David J Walker
The blackened cast-iron caldron
Sat on the stove burner waiting for
The task to begin
the water and the low flame
taking its time
all day to claim
a winters meal
It would begin in the morning
with onion joined by
carrots and celery
Chopped on the butcher's block
In bite-sized portions
Adding a bag
of frozen peas
then
Salt and pepper
Eight cups of water
And cubed up pieces of
A frozen round steak, all
Bathed in a tomato paste
For a long-days simmer
The aroma of the low boiling
Flavors escaping the heave lid
Filling the house with the flush scent of
Each ingredient adding its
Own unique element of perfection for
The winters dinner to come
The smell of cornbread baking
In the oven invited everyone to
The warmth of the
Heart of the hearth
Where portions of the stew
would be dished into
the blue ceramic bowls we
knew well and used
all of our lives
The cold outside was held
At bey that night
in the warmth of
A winters dinner
In most villages away from the main citys
In 1950s say.? Life was that bit more gritty
Yet removed from 'power centers' and
Information bases, i see life was more restfull, the flow of events, went at acceptable paces? Here no connection through ideaology from the intellectual
Groups; leading down through politics and
Milatary boots, linked in; to learning centers, ensuring, speed of delivery, to all and any
'Even then, with consciousness, will, good
Sense, and approbation, disruptive and
Untried suggestions, were not dished out
Just arbitarily.' So even in these conurbations confined, dissconection offered, some respite we find, yet if you
Lived in the country? T'was much better there you lived, for life and not just some letters.'