Long Gravy Poems
Long Gravy Poems. Below are the most popular long Gravy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gravy poems by poem length and keyword.
Once a friend of mine invited me for lunch,
a celebration he planned for his culinary book launch.
I was hesitant to join for my stomach was upset,
but he pleaded with me, he couldn’t change the date.
I decided to not enter into a friendly row,
but to go and occupy a chair in the back row.
While the fervent food rested untouched going stale
we proposed a toast to his success as a chef of style.
Matching the rhythm of our warm and lyrical whine
rosy wine swirled in pallid glasses with metal sheen.
I was delighted to see on the table dishful curd,
so much good for my stomach, with no discord.
The fragrance of famous basmati rice I saw rise,
I favored to have it instead of bread at any price.
Spring onion shards with smell of spring in fish curry
added to the gastronomic delight, a treat far to carry.
Meat in gloomy gravy with emerald layer of basil leaf
met the cooking acumen of any expert chef.
My friend’s hospitality won the hearts of one and all,
we departed before dusk thanking him without fail.
For the food we expressed abysmal appreciation loud,
as much as our bountiful minds could sincerely sprout.
Simple were the things that brought me so much joy,
During the fleeting summers when a Hoosier country boy!
As free as a soaring eagle in the vast wild blue yonder,
As o'er the meadows and through the woods I would wander!
Old Sol would rouse me beckoning through the window bay,
As if to say, "Up lad! Great things I have in store for you today!"
After a bite of ham and gravy bread I would scurry outside,
Barefoot of course - those worrisome shoes were cast aside!
There were crawdads to catch as I waded in the 'crick'.
Along the path there were blackberries I'd tarry to pick.
There was the ancient oak to climb and on a limb I'd stretch,
As I watched vagabond clouds and boyhood dreams I'd sketch!
With a safety pin for a hook, a willow branch for a pole,
I'd meander along the winding path to my favorite fishing hole.
If the fish were languid and of fishing I'd had enough,
I'd shed my patched overalls for a quick dip in the buff!
'Twas truly a delight on a mellow Hoosier summer's night,
To capture fireflies in a mason jar on their winged' flight.
'Tis so pleasurable now and again to pause and reminisce,
About such simple times and those summers of youthful bliss!
Entry for Janis Thompson's "Summertime" Contest
10 eggplants sliced 1/2 inch thickness
10 yellow squashes 1/2 inch thickness
10 zucchini 1/2 inch thickness
marinade in.....
1/2 cup of sesame seed oil
1/4 cup of olive oil
1/4 cup of parmesan cheese
5 Tablespoons of crushed garlic
5 Tablespoons of crushed red peppers
1/4 cup of dehydrated onions
1 tablespoon of salt
2 tablespoons of cayenne
1/4 cup of lemon juice
1/4 cilantro
mix together and allow to stand about 3 hours before you bake at 350 for about twenty minutes, or until browned.
4 cups of onions
1/4 c butter
1/4 c olive oil
4 New York Strips sliced (1/4 Inch strips
1/4 c of red wine
7 garlic cloves (crushed)
salt
pepper
in a large skillet, bring oil and butter to a good heated temperature, add the meat caramelize the pieces, and remove from the pan(cook, rare, rare), add onions, allow onions to become translucent,
reduce heat, and brown the onions, then add the garlic and wine, and about 5 tablespoons of butter ,place meat back into the pan
place in oven for about fifth teen minutes, drain the juices, make a gravy.
serve with baked potatoes or mashed potatoes.
"beyond words
those which express devotion
and those that express the gratitude of
people who love being together
people who love one another
and people who like being loved by one another"
Beyond Tomorrow's land we wore ancient robes.
Carrying crows until blisters burst from concrete clouds.
I remembered your name in the mold of a scattered song.
Lifted was my body through a castrating light.
Golds, greens, and my uncle's lost salamander.
The pain that pushes and tosses takes all forms.
Just like the joys and the more rugged dials riveting inside you.
Trampling afoot father's garden you forsake your own belly-aching.
Buy-the-ticket-take-the-ride, drink-the-gravy-and-get-over-the-hill.
Everyday flashes with the flapping of a film reel.
Take heed of your vices and waste not your days.
They'll always be a another garden, a new song, some dog named Jojo.
Keep your eyes open and your mind more so as we drift ever further.
Shall I liken you to a leg of lamb?
You are more toothsome than marrow bone.
Though cuds do crop in Jersey cow and ram,
And all have great fondness for spam and prawn.
On winters cusp, hot roast lamb reigns sublime,
And often the gravy broth most slurpy;
And juicy parts fine as most fine wine,
By chance, both your legs are shapely;
Let not our leggy longings limply fade,
Nor droop to bagginess nor wilt or falter,
Nor lambkin legs brag on being so well made,
When in time all pegs wither and alter.
So long as there are gams to praise and thanks,
So do I, love your thighs above all other shanks
bringing out the garbage.
not in bags but inside boxes.
smells so bad.
books and all my bull.
bristles.
barely able to breathe.
baked in butane.
burning it all into oblivion.
banished borders.
barriers.
brine and bristle.
bursting.
buried in the backyard.
benign, yet blasphemous.
bouts of boredom begin again.
blended with bacteria.
biting at my brain.
a billion bits of alphabet.
but none is ever submit.
betting I’ll never be bred again.
bed beckons.
but there’s a therein.
biting.
bleeding out in barometers.
blisters.
blasting me for a burial of bliss.
besides what’s better?
borderline or bipolar?
not sure anymore about it.
breaking bullets.
bits of bone in a barrel.
but I’ll begin again.
bustling.
bludgeoning.
blossoming.
becoming a beast like beating.
breath bleating.
retreating into the bleak.
black holes.
buttoning up my best dress.
breast beading.
leading to a baked out feeling.
no one believes in.
bibles on the battalion bar.
brittle from the battle but bustling.
by the by I’ll buy it all back.
then pry it open from behind.
it’ll be back.
brackish but boiling like butter.
brother doesn’t bother.
before it breaks into bitty bits.
bit into by the bitten.
backstabbing.
besting all others besides Bukowski.
perhaps Blake.
for Christ’s sake baptized.
but bound by some Beelzebub.
blessed be the blind.
because they know not beauty.
but it’s 6 a.m. baby.
is that our breakfast baking?
eggs Benedict and bacon.
biscuits with gravy.
it’s all over anyway but the blues—
I go to a restaurant owned by Wang Chung.
His specialty dish is shrimp egg foo young.
The food is the best in town without a doubt.
I usually go there when I want some takeout.
Wang is just too generous with the gravy.
It’s the most I’ve ever seen, and I don’t mean maybe!
Well, he didn’t put the lid on tight enough.
I had an experience that was plenty rough.
The lid opened and gravy was all over my shirt.
How do I get the stain out? It’s tougher than dirt.
Wang Chung sent me to his cousin who owns a laundry.
Wang told me that he was the one to see.
“My cousin can get your shirt whiter than white.
The first time only, he gets things right.”
I left the shirt at the laundry and departed in a spurt.
However, the ticket remained in the pocket of the shirt.
The next day, Wang’s cousin said this to me:
“So solly cholly! No tickee, no washee!”
March 1, 2014
A brown sugar glazed ham every holiday dinner planned
Christmas and Easter and New Year tradition
beside that turkey with Thanksgiving cheers
those holiday feast with family we remember dear
Crowned with pineapple rings attached by cloves
the smell in the oven baking tempts your nose
Display on the dinning table center stage
sweet meat candy the holiday rage
Sliced thin so more to go around
Happiness the taste of the holidays profound
Holiday baked ham and sweet potato pie
french green beans and cornbread muffins stacked high
mashed potatoes with plenty of gravy
mac and cheese and don't say maybe
So many foods and treats but that baked ham we love to eat
With bone or without, spiraled or whole there is no doubt
a favorite for the seasons and your tummy full
when first out of the oven the smell makes you drool.
Smokey, God rest his soul,
the poor old dog was very full
that Christmas day years ago.
We took the turkey out to sit
and left for church to praise the Lord.
It must have given Smokey fits
to see that big stuffed turkey sit
there, on the counter, not far away
on that holy Christmas day.
Back in the car we rode home,
singing off key "Where Shepherds Roam",
while our empty tummies groaned
and thoughts of turkey, gravy and pies
filled our hungry wanting eyes,
but as we entered the kitchen door
we saw the turkey on the floor,
with not a nibble left on the bones
as Smokey slept and snored and groaned.
What the heck, "Now if you please",
"We'll have to order out Chinese"!
So every year until today
we toast to Smokey on Christmas day.
sitting on the park bench
feeding the pigeons
it is times like this
i visit those wishes of mine
as a child
a vegetarian dog was on the list
Santa never came thru
a friend who would gladly
eat mom's vegetables
from beneath the table
i think i would be
a much better adult
if as a child i did not suffer
from brussel sprouts, spinach
the panoply that was in the way
of gravy and mashed potatoes
corn was not all that bad
i guess fruit was mostly good
but life could have been better
such as desserts
i liked those
we could have just skipped dinner
saved my mother all that labor
so as i evaluate it all
mom could have made things easier
my life could have been different
if i had had that dog
childhood tragedies fill my park bench
as i feed the pigeons
ruminating on the life i could have had
with a Rin Tin Tin vegetarian
OKC 5/22