Long Filleted Poems
Long Filleted Poems. Below are the most popular long Filleted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Filleted poems by poem length and keyword.
No Birthday Acknowledgement...
From thee... eldest daughter,
who need not brood,
nor does padre whoosh
to stir loess hood family feud
(hence an attempt merely
to convey melancholic mood).
Profound contrast extant between
your high achieving
life a wonderful hit parade
on the go compared tummy mellow
existence, yes rather staid,
now devoid of any parental
responsibility since years back, ye bade
farewell to yours truly
(perhaps forever), atop a jade
did apex inverse to my nadir paid
with ignoble deeds soul limb lee,
dissimilar to thee,
a young vibrant woman, unafraid
to take life by the (figurative) horns,
owning free choice (linkedin, nsync,
prevalent...) with autonomy swayed
independent lass not succor tubby paid
tummy, nor does this "sir" ask (delayed
by one day) for thee to "FAKE" express
sing nonexistent affection,
this decision...opting to evade
papa, who must accept such choice,
asper his first born, fortunately UNLIKE me
she earned top notch grade
nonetheless, this dada before he gets laid
to rest (actually most likely cremated),
whose ashes tubby scattered across favorite sites,
yourself and Shana Punim played,
which wistful nostalgia plucks heartstrings
rubbing raw thy psyche, who cannot trade
past concupiscent transgressions (emotionally
turbulent waters I did wade),
and no intent to telephone and invade,
sans audiologically your ear space,
this paternal, essential, and critical need
my psyche weighed, lamented, and encumbered
grief, nonetheless proud,
thee "star student" made
herself whip smart
by dogged academic pursuit
in tandem with ardent biological
bone a fide exemplary filleted
(within chromosomal dom) mignon,
similar, when Semitic forebears
risked frolicking under shade
of night - countless elapsed generations aid
ding random genetic dice throw begetting
Eden Liat, whose irrepressible
atavistic feral guaranteeing immortality obeyed
viz, call of the wild indomitable
animalistic hankering impossible to evade,
these genealogical ancestors actions unknowingly,
unstintingly, and unwittingly
helped forge, craft, and affect every blade
of grass, and yoked, (a chicken and egg thing)
hereditary survival of fittest
present day unchoreographed masquerade.
Every friggin day
mother hen runs amuck,
while all chicken's
beady eyes appear awestruck
drawing particular
agitation, irritation, perturbation...
of Punxsutawney (Doctor) Phil
(well grounded) woodchuck,
the latter glaring at henpecked
yours truly rifled
tail feathered rooster,
whether communicating
nonverbal sympathy
towards me, a garden variety
Gallus gallus domesticus dumbstruck,
who doth make feeble attempt
albeit without explaining
rhyme or reason
poetic, plaintive, pathetic... cluck,
regarding doomed pyrrhic victory
against incessant cackling
more fowl and upset
than goosed duck,
she that casus belli hideous source
feels cooped up bred to lay eggs
absent any pleasure to fµç*
out her tail feathers fin
hushed yoked for sole purpose
mutter under beak, what the "huck"
subsequently, she takes frustration
buzzfeeding me 'bout chained to
chicken feed to earn
breeder (yours truly) favorable luck
yielding "FAKE" farmer
Matthew Scott Harris megabuck
regarding top quality accolades
raves subsequently generate
he invariably feels moonstruck
matter of fact expanded business
necessitating workers to drive
state of the art rigorous motortruck
the missus decries mistreatment
scratching thru mire and muck
to fill little beasts in belly,
eventually retired, repurposed
relieved invariably chef
buoy or gull hardy sole destiny,
whereby one or another
hired hand will gingerly pluck
every spruced, primped,
groomed... feather
in short shrift priming
precious helpless creature,
(who bemoans lack
of state bird status)
into slaughterhouse five
butchered, filleted (maybe), quartered...
routed to household kitchen
gamely served at potluck
toothpicks applied to teeth
loosening gristle unstuck
after appetites satiated
belt unbuckled years ago
purchased before Sears Roebuck
shuttered stores, plus
bought linens and things
comfortable pillow perfect to tuck
under drowsy sudden sleepy head
unaware coop d'etat mutiny hatched,
whereby sly fox weasels him/
herself to guard henhouse
finding petrified slack beaked
AC/DC powered chicken coop,
where prating poultry thunderstruck.
all seasoned readed and fried
one trout filleted
6 medium shrimp
six slices off procuttio
six toasted and garlic buttered
hoagie loaves
lettuce tomato pickles
fried onion
with Specail sauce
6 tablespoons of yogurt
5 tablespoons of mayo
1 teaspoon of garlic
1 tablespoon of chives
1 tablespoons of tarrogen
1 tablespoon of lemon juice
1 tablespoon of chopped green pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons of hopped bacon bits
6 burgers cooked well to medium
12 slices of cooked bacon
6 slices of provolone
6 slices of cheddar
1/2 cup of fried onions
mayo
lettuce
tomato
in a muffin pan
place eggroll wrapper
add 1 tablespoon of butter each
add one slice of porcuttio
chop olives 2/3 cups of black olives
3 tablespoons of olive oil
2/3 cup of chopped onions
2/3 minced mushrooms
3 tablespoons of minced garlic
1 teaspoon of cayeenne pepper
2/3 cups of chopped bacon
2/3 chopped sundreid tomatos
4 tablespoon of golden current or rasians
5 tablespoons of chopped green pepper
1 tablespoon of celery sed
2/3 cup of grated parmesean
1/2 cup of chopped asparagus
add to a pan all the veggies (except the parmesans cheese)
cook until onions are tranlusent add parmesean and remove from heat
add 4 tablespoon of sweet port or sherry
1 tablespoon of fish stock
1 tablespoon of lemon juice
cut pork loin into 1&1/2 inch pieces
salt and pepper deep fry for about ten minutes nearly cooking
the pork well.
set aside and half a portion to tell the donest
cook more if neded.
assemble
veggie mix a tablespoon in bottom of pan
top with pork
and cover with tablespoon of veggie mix
fold eggroll( Double the wrappers if wanting a thicker crust)
fold neatly eggwash and cut a puff pastryornament to cover the eggroll
design and bake until golden brown
in a sauce pan add pork stock cream and creamed chese to
with sweet port or sherry
to make a sauce
and serve with swet potato frnched fries and white potoato fries mixed
with a healthy garden salad
When I was thirteen years young, I filleted my upper right thigh.
47 times.
In one night.
In one hour.
I wrote suicide notes,
Every night.
I folded them up and put them in a drawer where the hid.
Similar to the thoughts in the back cabinet of my mind.
Dusty and untouched by the ears of any but my own, I rip them apart.
Showing my emotions was always difficult.
But so was showing them.
So I hid my scars, along with the rest of my body. I had become a being of pure collagen.
I festered over myself to become whoever those who were around me had wanted me to be.
I folded under such slight pressure, a gust of wind could have put me away for months at a time.
I was a Petri dish for one of God’s unexplained.
Marching into every day like a virus in a new repertory system, “Hello, here I am!” And “No I don’t think meds will help...”
So I had quit taking them.
The anti depressants.
The sleeping medication.
The meds you take the morning after sleeping medication, to deactivate those sleeping pills, so that you’re at least awake to be numb.
I stopped taking them, because I felt sympathy for factory machines.
They’re told how to run.
When to be off, when to be on, and the second they are off when they should be on, something is presumed to be wrong.
I felt shame inject itself into my cardiovascular. I felt it coursing through my veins.
I saw it
in my hands
the night I introduced my flesh to an eyeliner sharpeners blade.
What they don’t tell you when you start medication, is that your brain senses this new and regular source of this chemical, and stops producing it.
So I, was a literal wreck.
I cut everyone toxic out of my life very quickly.
I took my antidepressant.
I gave myself time to heal.
I figured out what kind of person I wanted to be.
Kind
Forgiving
Brave
And I brought her to life.
Even if yours truly could repeat every grade...
Without fail, I would flunk preschool
farcical scenario aside
truthfully, metaphorically, emphatically
resigned to life as replayed
male live violent scullery maid
forced to spend existence locked
within veritable grotesque
dragon filled dungeon paid
existential dues many times over
horrible nightmarish masquerade
eternal punishment cruel fate
refuses to trade
redemption condemning freedom to fade
prefiguring edge of night
mental dark shadows shade
purposefulness reduced trite
poetry without reasonable rhyme
sole recourse to vent bitter tirade
black bile coursing thru
at woebegone permanently delayed
jollity sabotaged travesty
utter ignominious parade,
no surprise violent rage
bubbles up inside decayed
corporeal flesh, where psyche slayed
fledgling inchoate willpower
self destructive courtesy inherited
ignoble misdeeds displayed
havoc struck in utero a frayed
fetus, where mutated
deoxynucleic acid double helix played
out flawed biological blueprint
fetish, obsession, and zealot
regarding straggly tangled mane
salt and pepper grayed
quiescent, indifferent, and ambivalent
once upon a time
flirted deadly escapade
sought out anorexia nervosa
frankly zapped, starved, and
deprived critical decade
destructive, imperative, and operative
diabolical, inimical, and maniacal aide
de camp conspiring, kickstarting,
snapchatting umbilical cord strangling
again allegorical besieging enfilade
machine gunning, fueling,
and endowing tirade
erupted earlier today – 4:00 A.M.
spouse, racket she made
November 25th, 2019 waylaid
ordinary placid quiescent ruminative...
state, whereat as iterated I conveyed
or tried to elaborate intense anguish
thorny debacle arose
filleted here at Grosse and Quade
owned Schwenksville property.
The traffic was strident, lanes straight
the cars lined the street and froze rigid.
The cop with a glare of pure hate, directed
a line of gate crashers cutting.
The sidewalks segmented in rows, false
lure more tourists into a queue.
Cowed were young folk and old folks all queued
a ménage which was quite far from straight,
all had come for a peck at the Bard, false.
even a librarian or too, who waited with spines rigid,
and scowls on their lined brows like cuts
their critiques would be most direct.
Teens kiss in a clutch most directly
their faces make braces of queues
Scalpers hawk to the latecomers cutoff,
the elite meet and greet heading straight
for the red road with a rigid
line of bull filled with falsities.
Inside the antiquated theatre under false
the foot lights lining the aisles direct
Mayor and matron, gran and child in rigid
alleys to velvet seats also queued.
The stare of critic and patron glared straight
64 toward the author so pinned and cutting.
A bright white light cut
the chill air so false
and focused on drape lined straight
each fell open as artist directed
and orchestra swells filled their queue
and the author he sat stark and rigid.
His fate would he find in lines rigid
on the page of tomorrows review, they’d cut
make or they’d break his heart’s queue
these piranhas with smiles so false.
No fate could be more direct
this tonic he must imbibe straight.
So like dominoes, they fall lines rigidly, piercing cuts
Filleted be he by queues false,
in the end words directly aimed, straight to death cue.
BELOW AND ABOVE THE SEAS SURF FACE
Gone are the fishers pulling Lugs; the Gull its gizzard rusty hooked;
and barbed, limit its shelled Limpet supply as blown sand creeps;
smart gulls dunk and dip, clean away dry sand grit, clear their voices;
some gulls with salted eyes sing in the briny choir, in the sea salted air.
Cackle is not birdsong ! Choked thirst, on this new digital barren beach.
Crabs below do not sleep, scuttle quickly to pincer cuttle fish inside out.
Lurking above swirls a leaden sky, pressing heavy on a mirage horizon line;
Its distantly trapped! Sunk in long lost rigging, discarded twine tangled nets,
buoyant on the flotsam and jetsam of a weeded bed, stalked by big Congers.
The tide rattled brittle bleached bones, of well anchored nameless smugglers;
who had the timeless tide current wrong, unsaved by oilskin clothed priests.
Breathing smugglers, long shipwrecked in the “ale house” of sin staggering;
his mind baptises their lifeless sinning smiles; many bound drowned.
While plying their trade, in a tirade coined and jewelled, greedy and needy;
there are many hemp baskets, nets twisted around boney blooded fingers,
torn sails billow caught in brackets, and pulleys, long ropes snake about.
Chains with stains of rust, crush filleted bones eaten by black cats and rats;
old Teachers wander the shore of wave words, they fall over, their own hands.
Long gone are the fishers families; they are food now, for long stretched lugs,
Bubbling below !
These humorous lines were inspired by
Viv Wigley's "Food Fight" contest.
Could not resist the temptation:)
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Lettuce pray before eating.
He likes rabbit, but can’t stand hair in stew.
A carrot is worth its weight in gold.
To lam a lamb? Terrible!!
Is it wise to pare a pear before eating?
Chopin onions – not musical but certainly tearful!
The bull’s life is at steak.
Cross my heart said the honest brussel sprout.
The pig was too thin...that saved his bacon.
Wearing a bird costume sent me raven mad.
Buy caviar from stir gin’s row.
The servant was maid to eat umble pie.
She could hardly talk after eating hoarse meat.
He’s wrapped up in his food.
Humbug! This is apple sauce!
Excitement in the kitchen – fat in the fire.
A flounder struggles to walk. It’s flat footed.
I enjoyed my drink – pleased as Punch.
One look at the dessert...I scream!
Take the guilt off the gingerbread.
I invited the golfer to high tee.
Take your plaice at the table; we’re eating fish today.
Open the lid and reveal some of the meat.
What a pity! The gobbling turkey had a lump in its throat.
The peacemeal destroyed our friendship.
Make no bones about filleted fish.
Next time just ask for dessert; don’t mince words.
Keep your eye on the roast, or else it will go to pot.
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Placed 3rd
© 28th December 2017
How many years is it
From the long past decades
When we were young
And brought our children
To Martha’s Vineyard?
I often think “How many?”
How many pails of clams dug,
How many dozens of crabs netted,
How many pounds of mussels
Picked from the rocks?
How many kinds of fish
Wrestled in, gutted and filleted?
How many baskets of blueberries,
Or bags of wild grapes picked,
Or rose hips or strawberries?
How many dinners eaten of
Clams, crabs, and mussels
Dripping in melted butter?
How many dozens of jars
Of jams and jellies, carefully tended?
Where are the children now?
Grown and moved away.
Few crabs now live in the pond,
Some clam beds closed for pollution,
Some mussels still, but smaller.
Many places we loved to pick
The wild blueberries and grapes
Built up now with homes,
Even the once wide beaches
Eroding with each storm
So much has passed, but oh!
How many things remain!
Like our beloved ocean isle,
We ourselves have changed
And now have different dreams.
And so I think – how many yet
Of pink and gold Menemsha sunsets
And sunny beach days?
How many roses and beach plums to see,
And shifting ocean views?
How many drinks on the porch
And jokes and chats with friends?
How many velvet foggy morns,
Birds crowding at the feeders
And squabbling in the trees?
How many blazing autumns
And blue October skies?
How many blankets of snow and
Warm lilac rains? It really doesn’t matter
For we’ll treasure every one!
I was taking an early morning walk. A beautiful day had dawned,
cool and crisp, with only a whisper of breeze. I am told it’s revitalizing;
it will do my health much good. But, you see things to sadden you.
Sometimes being early kills you;
sitting on a tree
early bird scans the mowed lawn
for an early worm
I am told too to play it right. Stay safe within your boundary.
Stepping out of bounds can be dangerous. Tread the well-trodden path.
Not to take unnecessary risks;
did everything right
like fish stayed in my waters
got caught and filleted
Life is amazing. It’s an endless maze of dead ends.
It is not simple living a life -- It’s full of misgivings and mishaps.
We couldn’t figure out the purpose of life even after a life-time of living;
like guinea pig wheel
with all the running around
and getting nowhere
I looked at the amazing stone faces of long-forgotten gods of ancient civilizations,
From the Incas, the Aztecs, the Mayans, the Romans, the Greeks, the Persians to
the Egyptians -- they all believed in a continued life in the great beyond;
I picked a stray
stone and chiseled myself a
god; then, I worshiped
~Haibun contest by Scott Thirtyseven