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.
A collection of eaters
sharp glints on dull knives.
Silver forking service
dunking bread permanently cancelled.
I do not like
a hot-mike talking dinner.
I do not like the tinkle and clatter
of plates and dentures.
I want to eat a hoagie in a dark closet.
Slurp my gravy on a lapping tongue.
Gustation and gab
the flap of white lining and napkins
no, I do not like it.
Spoon my soup
through a letterbox,
let me finger my food
in a gut gulping gestation
far from the marinara
the red stained drip of dipping neckties.
Give me a take away,
give me gobble space
some bones to stew upon,
but most importantly –
long before the crème brulee
let me eat
ALONE.
Last Night
There is a stillness in the house
While I wait, as quiet as a mouse
I soak it up, this quiet respite
For very soon, I'll be more desperate
I will need the peace inside myself
To put my needs up on the shelf
For at this very moment
I hear the gravel of the tires
No warning shot, no cannon fires
Coming up the winding driveway
I can hear the troops, they are like an army
I hear them comin' ...., (and yes, I love them!)
This Morning:
Pots and pans fill up the sink, with baked on, crusty bits
There are several plates of dried up cheese, and dips with soggy Ritz
The kitchen floor has sticky goo, where the bowl of gravy spilled
And scattered glasses here and there, (a few are still half-filled)
New sofa pillows are on the floor, the dog is sleeping there!
The gift of chocolates, someone brought me...have somehow disappeared!
A rumpled afghan, lies in a heap, where someone took a nap
Beneath the chair, a scarf, a shoe, and someone's fleese lined wrap
There is Chex mix, legos, tinker toys, helter-skelter around the floor
Chocolate crumbs, beneath my feet, and handprints on the door
The remote control, was out the door, I found it on the porch!
The telephone was ringing too, and took an hour's search!
I'm finding candle wax, and a few thumb tacks, a mix of this and that
I keep finding things, ...then can't find things, has anyone seen the cat??
A turkey carcass stares at me, ......(I guess I'll make some soup)
A messy bunch of people, they are, but if you think I'm duped................
Thanksgiving Day, with family here, (although they leave a mess...)
A holiday, the best of things, and yes, I know I'm blessed!
Purple Butterflies and Raindrops on Roses
Open my eyes. See the window covered in tiny beads of wet. Hear the raindrops on roses that line the building. That isn't right. Why can I hear the soft beating of rain? Smell sulfur and smoke and ozone? I turn my head.
Soft, cotton leggings of pink and white, hug chubby, adolescent knees tight.
A long tailed pale pink shirt with white ruffles on the neck line, hem, and arms, Picturing Sponge Bob Square pants and his BFF Patrick Star.
Tiny white sandals with pink plastic flowers.
Purple butterfly clips hanging onto blonde pigtails on each side of her head. Kindergarten lunch hour.
It looks as if the butterflies are struggling to lift her up by her blonde curls to fly her far away.
Bright sky blue eyes…eye? Eye.
Empty orb but for the black blood, framed by stark white bone instead of long, flirting lashes.
Like a candle crying tears of wax,dripping red,
Veiling pale cheeks and freckles. I turn my head.
Raindrops now streaming down the window, each one rushing toward something…frantic, panic. Wash it away! Wash it away! Wash it away!
Soft, cotton leggings of pink and white, hug chubby, adolescent knees…
that will never again kneel by a bedside to pray.
Red polka dots on white sandals, one covered in congealing Salisbury steak gravy and spilled milk.
If only her purple butterflies had flown her away from school today… taken her to the fairies to sing and play.
A high pitched tone, raindrops now slowly, plop…plop…or is that blood dripping?
The ceasing rain and silence merge.
The stillness after gun fire is the loudest noise ever heard.
Running the 95 from Jacksonville to Richmond
On a Sunday afternoon in June
The thermometer and the road signs read the same
Sunny and hot, the miles were winding away
When the gas tank and the hour called for a pit stop
Down the ramp we went to Small Town South, USA
The sign said BP and Old Time Diner, half mile away
I fed the car first and then snuck across the two lane
The Old Time Diner was not much to look at
The wife was not enthusiastic about the place
However, the boy and I were hungry
Chicken was fried, pork was smoked, beef was slow cooked
And smothered in gravy, collards were sweet, lima beans,
Corn on the cob, biscuits warm, corn bread, banana pudding
Can you smell it? Can you see it? Can you taste it?
The patrons were plentiful, the waitstaff was old
A sound track of greatest hymns serenaded us
I sang along as I know each one
The boy chastised my singing, but with a smile
It’s a joyous meal, I’ve had better vittles
And certainly, dined in more upscale venues
Never enjoyed a meal more!
For almost an hour I fed my belly and my soul
I was witness to America and her people
This was the America I know and love
The America that is everywhere, and yet
Remains hidden to the ones who would deign not
To stop at The Old Time Diner, Small Town South, USA
Meat and potatoes and chicken will not do
Has to be beef and genuine Iowa-grown corn-fed too
Mashed potatoes not those flimsy flakes from a box
Gravy stirred by loving hands valuable as Fort Knox
Dessert can be cake if you cannot get Mom’s pie
If you can there’s nothing better under this old sky
Scalloped corn and twice baked loaded potatoes
With thick bubbly cheese sauce that freely flows
You are on a diet? This is really no problem at all.
There is a always a leftover pile of carrots left in the hall
Sometimes a new relative brings a piece of lettuce too
I will eat the good stuff leaving rabbit food for you
She taught me to make biscuits and gravy
When to sprinkle when to pour
She taught me how to use cast iron
And when using salt, add a bit more
She taught me all the classics
John, Elvis and Shirley too
There was nothing like an old movie
A cup of coffee...me and you
She taught me how to keep a house
Sweeping, folding and cleaning
She taught me how to sing a song
Whenever you get the feeling
She taught me how to care for all
Yes, she treated everyone the same
She taught me how to love people
No matter their race, religion or name
She taught me to do something you love
So you’ll never work a day
She taught me to always be happy
No matter what they say
She taught me to love Jesus
To always put him first
When drinking from his well
One shall never thirst
She taught me how to show respect
She taught me to be kind
She taught me to give, not take
And definitely taught me how to mind
Yes, she taught me many things
The short time she was here
But how to live without her
On that she wasn’t clear
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.
He's the King of the goblins and should you displease
He'll pickle your eyebrows and eat them with cheese
Or cut you to pieces then boil your head
And mop up the gravy with slices of bread
But should you avoid this nobles displeasure
He will show you his strong room with all its fine treasure
Then returning above from the dark dungeons gloom
To the marble clad walls of the stately throne room
He will smile to his courtiers and wink with one eye
And you know deep inside that you're certain to die
For no one's allowed to return and proclaim
The things that go on in the goblin kings name
Pots and pans fill up the sink, with baked on, crusty bits
Here's several plates of dried up cheese, and dips with soggy Ritz
The kitchen floor has sticky goo, where bowls of gravy spilled
And scattered glasses here and there, (a few are still half-filled !)
New sofa pillows are on the floor. The dog is sleeping there!
My gift of chocolates, someone brought...have somehow disappeared!
Rumpled afghans, in a heap. Seems someone took a nap
Beneath the chair, two socks, one shoe, and someone's baseball cap
There is Chex mix, legos, tinker toys, helter-skelter around the floor
Cookie crumbs, beneath my feet, and handprints on the door
The remote control, was out the door, I found it on the porch!
The telephone was ringing too! That took an hour's search!
Dripped candle wax, and a few thumb tacks, a mix of this and that
I keep finding things, ...then can't find things! Has someone seen the cat??
A turkey carcass stares at me, ......(I guess I'll make some soup)
A messy bunch of people? YES !! But if you think I'm duped................
Each holiday, means family time , and 'though they leave a mess...
Would change a single thing?.....
........Of course not !! I am blessed!!!
_____________________________________________________
Thanksgiving Contest
Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
winter comes quickly
one day all is pristine white -
cars snow covered ships
This is when mother made her robust stew
vegetables and beef in the pot she threw
the aroma filled the house
all were sniffing like a mouse
meat so tender we barely had to chew
we loved the gravy would dip bread to soak it up- till there was none left
____________________
January 20, 2022
Poetry/Haiku/Limerick/Monoku/Can Still Hear Mom Yelling - HLM
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1431-186-20
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Charlie Hai-Lim-Ku
sponsor, Charles Messina, Judged 03/11/2022
Second Place