Long Eaten Poems
Long Eaten Poems. Below are the most popular long Eaten by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Eaten poems by poem length and keyword.
Down through the years of my complicated
life, I have been a Weakling. But I have
also been a strong warrior displaying much
Strength.
I have experienced Love, but I have taken
a roll in the hay with Hate also.
I have prepared food for my Friends,yet I
I have eaten food at my Enemy’s table.
My family has never got me, nor understood
me. They made me feel like an Ugly Duck-
ling. But they also made me feel like a Beauti-
ful Swan as well. That alone, was very confusing
to a child. I guess you can say we had a Love-
Hate relationship.
My relationships with the opposite gender
were interesting too. They would often
Break my heart, then Mend It and put my
heart back together again.I felt like Humpty
Dumpty.
Everything I've been through in life, Big
or Small made me the person I am today.
Sometimes I am Happy, and I'm Sad too,
but that's me.
Accept me, or reject me, that my friend is
up to you.
11/18/2020
Contest: Juxaposition
Sponsor: Silent One
CALL ME LORD
The phone is off the hook
Hadn’t paid the cell phone bill
He I see stands outside on the hill
Waving and flagging you down
Asking Lord for you to come on down
Call me on my heart strings
Pick up the phone now
Call me Lord, I’ll be here
Call me Lord I’ll be home
Call me Lord whether I’m in a group or I am alone
Call me Lord, I’ll be here
Call me Lord I’ll be home
Just call me Lord God so that I may talk with you
Call me Lord I’ll be round
Call me God I won’t make a sound
I’ll be right here in prayer, just call me now
Talk to me
Call me Lord, I’ll be here
Call me Lord I’ll be home
Call me Lord whether I’m in a group or I am alone
Call me Lord, I’ll be here
Call me Lord I’ll be home
Just call me Lord God so that I may talk with you
Picture me setting on the sunset
Hands rose to heaven with one breath left
I lift my right foot knee touch my chest
I shout out hallelujah with all my voice and breath
My ears are dirty my mouth cloudy
My cheeks are enlarged mouth filled with have eaten rock candy
Angel food cake devil food cake
Cavity ridden front teeth, still yet the praises for my God I will make
Call me Lord, I’ll be here
Call me Lord I’ll be home
Call me Lord whether I’m in a group or I am alone
Call me Lord, I’ll be here
Call me Lord I’ll be home
Just call me Lord God so that I may talk with you
Call me Lord I’ll be round
Call me God I won’t make a sound
I’ll be right here in prayer, just call me now
Talk to me
Call me Lord
03/27/14
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2014
I wonder if the homes in Venice
Have Venetian blinds;
Or if their window panes are topped
With shades of different kinds?
Are English muffins eaten
By the British with their tea?
Would Parisians recognize French toast?
I doubt they’d answer “Oui!”
If, in Amsterdam, I told you
That our meal would be Dutch treat,
Would a local understand we’d split
The cost of what we’d eat?
I’d be curious, in Leningrad,
If folks would start to sweat,
If I pulled a gun, suggesting
That we play Russian roulette?
In Istanbul, perhaps they’d think
That I was rather daffy
If I visited each candy shop
In search of Turkish taffy.
To Americans, such adjectives
Are charming and unique,
But I wonder if, to foreigners,
They might seem tongue-in-cheek.
the bridge
In the middle of the bridge, we leaned on its railing
and looked into the slimy, green, and slow
running stream. Its bank, decorated with plastic bottles,
used condoms, a long-since-dead dog, yet grinning as
recalling a filthy joke and a three-month-old abortion,
half eaten by discerning water rats.
Over this beauty of decay hung a reluctant, pale sun
refusing to lend light to this polluted river scene.
The first time we came here, the water was clear, we could
see fishes you held my hands, she said.
My hands were cold, spat into the filth below, dug them
deep into my pockets, hunched my shoulders, and
began walking. No bother telling her that our love was
like a river burdened by too much debris.
All we have in common is our shared solitude, but that is
a dad is better than being alone.
Adjusting Appetizing Palates.
I have sampled the variety,
I am the one who has tasted life;
The one who has had a taste of life.
Rarely indulged in the main course-
Seldom a full meal-
I come hungry-
To leave satisfied...
I want more substance.
Sampled the world on wooden toothpicks.
I have had itty bits of everything.
Piecemeal offerings to try entice my loyalty.
Old ladies with new recipes passing
them around on trays in supermarkets of the world.
I come back for more free samples.
The more I have traveled the more
I have sampled life.
Moi-Moi- and peanut butter stew.
I have tasted life with different seasonings and spices -
Tried a variety of cultural dishes - Some bland, some spicy
Tried the soul food of each one's pride as
I swallowed mine.
I have never gained control of my soul.
It wandered with me sampling life on platters.
Now desirous of healing-fish soup.
I wanted more – Traveled;
Partook of more –
Tasting life's offerings from the - rich to the poor.
Drank out of Chrystal as well as tin cups.
I have eaten from Chinaware,
and drank from gourds,
I have supped on
Hors-d'oeuvre and canapes';
Inner-voices led me to hot rocks and tepees—
Sweat camps with medicinal potions.
Tasting life in places where strange
medicine men reside.
I have eaten rice in 2000 languages.
In Asian and Indian tongues.
I swapped collard greens for callaloo;
Then stepped up to taste breadfruit -
Filled up on Ackee and Saltfish a
Exotic palatable dish.
Though never full off of life –
Not gluttony statutes yet, I have done
more than get my “whistle wet"
Still, I am glad:
“Oh, how grateful to be alive”.
Able to sample the tender morsels
of appetizers so fine.
Even though I am a
Connoisseur of fine wine.
…and have enjoyed plenty
tidbits of earth’s great bounty--
In this life.
I have supped in the finest cuisines.
Treated royally as if I were a queen.
I have supped in mansions,
or sat, an ate under exotic trees;
Yet, there is nothing so satisfying-and no one abler.
As to be back in the hood, trying not to go berserk;
Waiting for a slice of Sweet Potato pie for dessert.
After getting my grub on, at Grandmas table.
The Intrepid
Tall Savannah grass, he had to drive on its only road it was narrow
had no pavement, he rode his scooter could see the ears of big cats
listening.
It was noon, the lions didn’t like the smell emitting from his scooter,
animals only eat when hungry.
He stopped switching off the motor he wanted to be attacked by a lion,
be eaten alive he thought life would give meaning to his futile life.
The silence was total heard insects crossing the road sound like a regiment
on war foot.
Now or never, walked into the tall grass remembered lines like
“I’m the master of my destiny.”
What rot! He knows nothing about the future.
The savannah was an oat field, a farmer shouted scared the lions away.
Sometimes we will be eaten by the worms in the soil
that is undignified.
Survival of the fittest
A bird on a branch, reflecting on existence;
Realizing everything it thought it knew about mortality,
Was really just how to show its own ignorance.
No possibility of death as it rides upon the wind so free;
Flying so high above the land,
That nothing could bring this day to an end
And there is still so much more to see.
An idea of creation so profound that it seemed the only truth,
But all it knew has come apart
And it has lost faith in all that which it views.
Everything has changed in the blink of an eye
And a stitch in time is not saving; it is slipping and sliding,
As the bird falls down from way up on high.
The friend it saw only yesterday has disappeared from its mind’s eye.
Gone in a second of time, its wings no longer flap
And the rotting flesh is more or less a piece of magpie pie.
Gone from its sight; no conversation in the morning light.
No dawn chorus, no warning; no more soaring.
Just a ghost of a life that has passed it by.
Eaten alive by the cat in the night;
The bird that no longer sings is no longer spotted flying high.
For that is that; it has no goodbyes,
So the bird rises from its branch and flies,
Up into in the great blue sky.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
I secretly do these things to my neighbor
make fun of her walk, her talk, her arrogant ways
draw her as a cartoon buffoon with a giant large ugly toothy mouth
paint her wearing gaudy neon colors that she would despise
wash her hairsprayed up hair in my toilet bowl in my mind’s eye
write her into poems that are less than flattering
yell despicable things to her while I am in the shower
throw rusty hatches at her in my dreams
devour her in my oatmeal, eating her head first
dance the watusi in her face, watching her back away in horror
envision her being eaten by a big cat who breaks her back first
ignore her arrogance and try to like her……..sorry. This was a lie.
I have sought to conquer death,
his reaping blade was just too impalpable against my neck.
Wherein I must traverse alongside a withering flower—
has society already proscribed death?
An incurable disease has fallen,
the doctors left disheartened,
my family already blasé.
Then why I must be anguished?
Ambrosia was never meant to be eaten—
it yearned to be saved.
And if consumed by entitled desires,
it would grapple all mortals to death.
It is inequitable for me to have the antidote
to a disease that was never meant to be cured.
I want to be sanctified once more,
but I am already disillusioned by the veil.
Teetering, seething random things.
Dragon-like hopelessness.
Rough and zig-zagging.
With eyes.
Or other senses.
With teeth and also roots.
Tippy-toe disaster senses.
Songs I pretend are dust but aren’t.
I had enough freezer burnt hair.
And computer ears.
There’s tangible stuff everywhere.
The stuff that gets eaten.
That gets low battery mode, and still lives!
Not much can come back from being that way.
Like taste buds.
Drop out over a sour attitude.
I really don’t know how to explain the gargling fresh cut grass feeling.
I have a lot of tangible things in this life.
Got hit by a freeze ray anyway.