Long Gram Poems
Long Gram Poems. Below are the most popular long Gram by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gram poems by poem length and keyword.
Grams The Menacing And Hot Pot where's my breakfast- -
Whose pot is that? I think I know.
Grams is quite happy cooking yo!
Full of joy like a vivid rainbow,
I watch her frying homemade biscuits Oh.
She gives her pot a shake,
And laughs until her belly aches.
The only other sound's the break,
Of distant waves outside kitchen window birds awake.
The pot is menacing, hot and deep Gram where's my breakfast,
But she has promises to keep,
After making cakes and lots of sleep.
Sweet dreams come to her cheap surely they last.
She rises from her gentle bed,
With thoughts of Karo® syrup and pancakes in her head,
She eats her jam with lots butter on her bread.
Ready for the day ahead.
Lastly with bacon and grits and gravy, thanks ya gram
Sheila wants to go to Europe, her man, Lou is thinking Mexico.
Just go, said their teenage son, pack up and go! Go! Go!
You would have to come, they argued, but he has a job.
I’ll stay with him said Gram, who was fond of her grandson Rob.
Sheila and Lou hit the road, it was a smooth, happy start.
They traveled through the Midwest, each with a loving heart.
Formidable five-wheeler was packed with the supplies for a week.
They were like teenagers again, on bit of a honeymoon streak.
They went through Mississippi in the middle of the night
Traveled to Georgia, where they saw many an amazing sight
Wandered down to Florida and spied a large gator cross the road.
Oh, this gives me the creeps said Sheila, now in mama mode.
Let’s try Route 66 said Lou, so they turned that bus around.
Traveled through the Midwest, their eyes on boring ground.
When they hit Wyoming, they were cheering at bison who roam.
I cannot wait to get home, said Sheila, so I can write this in a poem.
A conference for four hundred and twenty-five
I was the only one extremely open and alive
Met a guy with a badge who claimed name of Fred
After trying to converse, realized he was dull as dead.
Woman named Nama was the next one I was to meet.
Extremely boring, brought her husband flaccid Pete.
They hold this conference to give us joy and jive.
Four hundred peons, I may be the only one still alive.
I wanted to spark a little vitalizing, sparkling happy fun.
No other participant was on board with this, not a single one.
A conference that was advertised to revitalize us with joy.
It was a bust, you can ask my gadabout Uncle Roy.
He whispered in my ear, let’s blow this place!
We had to drag gram out, she was a disgrace.
She farted and burped, also threw up her lunch.
Making their conference a tad better, maybe a whole bunch.
Small palms pressed against her ears
Reddened five-year face of tears
Third stair from the top she sat
Next to a little striped cat
Neither could rest with all the noise
She'd thought she knew of girls and boys
But maybe there was more to learn
She should just wait 'til it's her turn
But this time seemed more serious
Dad had taught her not to cuss
Yet he was doing it a lot
Mom broke a dish that Gram had bought
"I think this time, it's up to me"
She whispered to Mr. Stripey
She stepped into the kitchen light
"Hey Mom, hey Dad - you're in a fight"
"My teacher said to "make amends"
She said it helps people be friends
I don't know how to make them yet
But Mom and Dad, I really bet
If you can find the recipe
All will be fine and then you'll see
Amends will make everything right
Then this can be your last big fight
Love you. Goodnight!"
She stood between them; one-arm hug
For each of them, held nice and snug
She turned, and joyful, skipped away
Satisfied she'd saved the day
She climbed into her princess bed
Her little face was no more red
Mr. Stripey next to her
His lullaby - contented purr
Sex in the air
The mirror is over there
Don't lose the razor blade
Take a line or bump babe
All your fears will fade
Snort, sniff, lick, anyway you want
Feeling sexy & superhuman
Business for the connection is boomin!
Never been this anxious
Paranoia makes me suspicious
Injection is not suggested
Euphoria is the feeling manifested
Addiction has to be said
It's not a problem if I can't find it
If it comes near me I'll find it
Snort, sniff or lick
Line, bump or rail
Hits the sweet spot without fail
Living fast and loose is a rocky road
Debt piles up in f*ck loads
Where did all that money go?
High as a kite and never felt so low
Powder, snow, coke or blow
By the gram, 8 ball, or kilo
Laying out lines in rows
Always ready to go
This is kinda like an Ode
Self-destruction and no where to go
One minute u r up & next u r down
When u r at ur peak
U can hear every sound
Wisdom isn't what u seak
Ur next fix is what u crave
Family is something u should try to keep
Money is something u should save
Eyes of ur loved ones should never weep
Addiction should be pushed away
Hopefully, it's ur soul that u keep
In Jesus nails I doubt but
it doesn't make me less faithful
therefore
for a gram of material glory
I'm swapping
freshly delivered Virgin Mary's proclamations
just this morning
she confirmed to me
the time of broadcasting
even though she is pissed off
because of the leakage of one of her favorite messages
which says that for earning a seat in the first row next to the altar
you have to wear a proper hat
but
in christian spirit
she gave up of criminal prosecution
only thing she ever wanted is to give people God's word
and
she did it
to the threadbare knees and questions about working hours of the Lord
within TV schedule
the prime time was given
world became televised
one big cinema screen where
everyone is trying to plug in their own scenarios
yesterday God went on holidays
so
loosed from any common sense
public opinion was divided by two pieces of a modern thought
by one was spoken a shaved truth
how is possible to be promoted by having a child
from call girl to pillar of society
by second one was brought in question an honor of favorite croatian people's hole
F*** it
in accordance with a label of nation
which is highly ranked on global moral scales
our every national debate
regularly ends with polemics about
the crotch.
raise your two fingers one that
at least once in her life didn't lay down with a pig
Sitting in church on a warm Sunday morn
we were thinking of food as the service drug on
Instead of the sermon, we could hear tummies rumble
in spite of my Grandpa, who grumbled and yawned
Pews hard, and uncomfortable, and fannies would squirm
waiting to hear the preacher's last word
A prayer and a song, and the very last one
at last it was time we could finally walk home
.....
Once out in the sunlight, and on to the house
In a state of starvation, and patience long gone
Our lips in a quiver our salvation would be
to sit at a table filled with Grandma's reprieve!
Gram had been up quite early, since the first crack of dawn,
Mashing potatoes, and a bird, golden brown,
With gravy and dumplings, and tomatoes still warm
straight from her garden, with vinegar, poured
and pies from her baking during yesterday's chores
She would pray to the Lord, reverently asking for peace
Also "Please, Oh My Lord, when they flock here like geese
Hungry and squawking , and honking to eat
may they be always grateful for blessings we keep
and praise all my cooking as they take leave"
Smiles, and full bellies...It's what Sunday was for
Grandpa held hands, bowed his head, then to pray
and was always quite grateful for his blessings that day
But he also would add, to the blessings that day
"Oh Lord", help that preacher have a bit less to say!"
1
Sugar no longer belongs in tea,
only sugar-free,
and the sound of the spoon stirring.
2
The lady of the house,
the lady's kitchen,
gas, mixer, microwave,
the battle of the wok and the spatula.
3
A bottle-gourd vine creeps
through the kitchen roof,
white flowers blooming,
while frogs call out,
ghyangor-ghyang...
4
A harsh, ringing afternoon in Bhadra,
the street hawker
wearing himself hoarse,
calling out his wares.
5
A harsh, ringing afternoon in Bhadra,
ripe hog plums crushed to pulp,
gram-flour fritters and mustard paste
shoved down the throat
by a sharp, puckering sourness,
the taste of our boyhood.
6
Water flowing through the drain,
a fig tree beside it,
and a little farther away,
a plate of rice,
a lump of rice and mashed potato.
7
Darkness descends
over the tops of the bamboo grove.
A sky crowded with stars,
the sound of a fox's footsteps
crunching through fallen leaves.
8
Water hyacinths drift
across the middle of the pond,
and upon their leaves
a spider has woven
its delicate web.
9
Sour curry of ripe shol fish
cooked with green mango,
its more formal name:
amshol.
10
A Hemanta twilight,
a ring of smoke,
and on the electric wire
rows and rows of birds
holding their evening council.
11
I converse with the steps
in the afternoon,
and in their moss-covered bricks
find the memory
of my grandfather.
12
Heavy curtains hang
across doors and windows.
Life, too, has grown heavy.
I find myself remembering
my mother's sari-end,
her anchal.
13
A wall built
to hide nature,
and upon that wall,
a landscape
of nature.
My Grammy, smiling so whole
Creates the best pecan pies
A treat I cannot control,
When she plans a big surprise.
Those wrinkled, age-old fingers
Blend honey and nuts on trays
I wonder what secrets lie there,
As add-ons pile a display.
In the oven, goodies heat
Utopia in the making
Even young Sis tries to cheat
Moving the timer," Oh ring!"
On the table, sweet wafts hum
Grammy blinks, " Let's dine";
Buttery flavor; yum yum
Teeth sink portions all divine!
Pasty cheeks lined with syrup
All's finished I can't deny
Wanting more ; Gram hears my burp
"Left some for my Cutie Pie!"
Sheri Fresonke Harper's Plentitude Of Pies
by nette onclaud
10/16/2014
There are smells and sights and tastes which always remind
of Grandma with her rows of flowers bright,
the red of poppy the gladiolas white, the blue of spring violets vain
the scent of lilacs in the air and pine needles in the mix.
Sometimes too, the memory of her sweet breath does rise
of Black Jack gum or peppermint and all those summer times.
The search for new spout dandelions the mushrooms other times
And summer’s end brought black blue teeth a blueberry’s remind.
We’d dig for bait with cans of tin, Idella, grandma mine, and rise
from ‘neath the patched quilts of calico so bright.
By chance to fish within the stream, trout in our breakfast mix
along with silly shaped pancakes so placed on china vain.
The beauty of her sky blues eyes never was so vain
that wisps of salt and pepper hair gave time
its only claim. To rise like yeast a child within this mix
to hear a bark of terrier and feel Babe’s tongue remind
of childhood days a Grandma’s house. Idella our bright
find. Take those blessed tender hands and rise
Touch childhood cheek like dough of white and rise
have no dark dwelling thoughts of blue blood in the vein
the thinness of her fragile skin the dimmed light so bright
just remember love full of the better times.
And with the scent of venison and sizzling pans remind
laced with home made butter, fried onions in the mix.
How had Idella’s loveliness from German bloodlines mixed
together with the stalwart Grandpa Trussell’s rise
to birth the lively bunch of child my Mom’s remind?
When in the dark of night the rush of red rolls through my vein
mind light flies and flickers like the candle flame of time
and I return on winged horse within a dream so bright.
Smell the wood smoke from the stove caste iron bright.
See the siblings teasing cat and dog within the mix.
The mantle clock’s brass pendulum sings in time.
Hear the winter wind blow through the rafter’s rise
like tucked in chicks the storms blew all in vain,
now only grand kids live these tales and do remind.
Always in the darkest times I think of my Idella bright
and Gram reminds me of both joy and sorrow’s mix
soon like the wind on weathervane I'll rise to heaven and her kiss.