Long Ingredients Poems
Long Ingredients Poems. Below are the most popular long Ingredients by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ingredients poems by poem length and keyword.
Every now and then,
When the moon is in the right quarter,
I think of my daughter,
And then,
I want to bake a cheesecake that is even better,
Than the one I baked to impress her then.
An invitation to tea when the moon was in the right quarter,
So out came my old recipe book then,
A lemon cheese cake, could not be better,
A week to get the ingredients then,
And make a cheesecake that trumps the last one I made my daughter.
And then,
Back to the recipe book before the moon moved to an unfavorable quarter,
Now where in the book was the lemon cheesecake recipe then,
It had to be there, the moon was still in the right quarter,
What other explanation could there be then,
Later after an hour and a quarter,
I found I was not yet going out of my mind then,
And could put off upsetting my daughter.
If it is a lemon cheesecake I told my other daughter,
That is what it should be called then,
Especially when the moon is in the right quarter,
So why call it a superb cheesecake then,
As I have no wish to upset my daughter,
Before the time comes when?
.
i
I relish being hungry for popslop grub...
(on second thought lemme join anorexic club
until rib cage protruding taut and visible
doubling as drum to drub
synchronized with heart that goes lub dub).
She painstakingly lovingly doth strew
haphazardly she threw
leftovers together,
this snowy December seventeenth
two thousand twenty
thoroughly cooked in microwave until...
poor excuse for my meal appeared
with consistency of shoe leather.
Think of the missus not afraid
to experiment buzzfeeding me
questionable resultant glop pantomimed
for my guessing pleasure
never in bajillion years
as amateurish Marcel Marceau charade
performance courtesy the spouse,
an entrée she gave - yours truly
immediately sought to evade
me subsequently evincing
horrific puckered mealy mouth
as though I swallowed hand grenade
figurative exploding oral cavity
feeble futile gesticulation inveighed.
Thus, methinks himself wise
to don cooking apron
please do not ask why
trumpeting self as master chef boyardee
so move over wife and allow husband to try
his hand (using skill - let) me prepare Thai
and/or other Asian cuisine dish,
cuz when free to potschke
(To fuss or "mess around"
inefficiently and inexpertly), I haint shy
to blend (indiscriminately) ingredients
ofttimes yours truly barley able to ply
boiling water since significant other
does not give this garden variety
and generic, gimlet eyed
gourmandizing guilt free
Earth friendly gumption goaded guy.
Every so often yours truly
gets so hungry, he could
(not neigh sayimself) eat a horse
(yours truly jest kidding hoof course)
truth be told, I only eat one meal per day
all day from son up to son down, me a force
tubby reckoned with,
who if he gives way to vice
event chew wooly experiences remorse.
Hum glad to share mine reasonably rhyming hook
twenty six letters linkedin amidst
various combinations, formations, permutations,...
allows, enables, and provides a look
into the mindscape of Matthew Scott Harris
doth show himself with steely dangling
nonsense with sense and sensibility he forsook.
With springtime now upon us,
If your town has lots of Jews,
The supermarket has some foods
You might have need to use.
For Passover’s approaching
And the holiday demands
No bread nor pasta be consumed;
Thus, stores have made their plans.
A special section’s filled with
All the substitutes we need
To serve at Seder time, just like
The ancient texts decreed.
There’s matzoh meal, gefilte fish
And macaroons and cakes
And all of the ingredients
For anyone who bakes.
This Passover array depends
On neighborhood and store,
So often pickings might be slim
While other shops have more.
For Jewish folk with markets
With no matzoh, I’d behoove
You to tell the owners how you feel
Or do what I’d do - move!
Penny was cooking turkey and cake
Ingredients measured set to bake
Blades rumbled in motion
Mixed then baked her potion
Then discovered her false teeth misplaced
Shaking her bake a chatter was heard
Sounded like a gobbledy gooch bird
Screamed to what she had saw
Dropped the dish on the floor
A turkey talking, she saw and heard
Gave such a fright she shook in terror
Was then realized her own error
Food got mixed by mistake
Turkey Cake did create
Topped with fine grated cheese cheddar
After that, pair new glasses were made
New set of teeth and a hearing aid
Story became her fame
Came a new cash flow gain
With riches, employed cook and a maid.
13.12.20
Syllable count on each line and verse 9/ 9 /6 /6 /9
With no arms and legs, pill escapes are hard
They all look the same inside their bottles
Like prisoners shaved bald at executions
Like new recruits, army jar head bald
Pills all look alike to their consumers
Swallowed down with no remorse
They don't read labels, don't know their fate
Once in a while one falls on the floor
Rolls away under the bed, plays dead
Never seen again
Then fire comes after a time
Consumes rooms, burns down houses
Storms follow, turns into floods
Breaks homes apart
Flows down the river with them gone
Pills in bottles go down as well
Bob up and down on swift currents
Avoid being taken again with water
Protected, sealed, warning labels revealed
Wanting only to remain dry inside
Freed to enter Mexico without visas
Illegals in bottles and jars
Breeding and marrying jumping beans
To make families from multicolored ingredients
Baby tablets, capsules and sainted aspirins
Pills hate people with medical conditions
You will never catch them with a cold
Or with dreaded sickos who swallow them whole
(While escaping, pill boxes keep them from sneezing)
If it smells good and tastes good, I will be munching
Eating is not about caloric number crunching
My taste bud is the judge and not the dietitian
Water, oil and heat there is no complication
Vegans have turned me into a carnivore
Better run, can’t you hear the canine roar
I dig deep into my fried chicken and t-bone steaks
I make a nutritionist salivate and dieting fake
Sorry dietitian I am lost in your jargon
The directions I look for, is how to get the tin open
The ingredients just look like a periodic table
I am used to recipes and not a chemical symbol
I keep simple it, greens for thin
I make the oil ripple, meat for fit
I can't lose touch with the starch
Some extra protein wont make me a glutton
My poems propagate themselves
stirring ingredients like adjectives and adverbs
as I slumber, gloriously out of my mindset
I give my muse permission to pay attention
for I am not in body. Astral travel is my go-to-dream place
Taking no credit, I blink awake often listening to Trixie, my muse
whispering the last line of a poem
she has apparently been working on
several hours before I wake
I am being humble? No. I am giving credit
to a part of my brain that does not
travel with my soul at night
the part that regulates breathing insuring my fleshly continuance
This is why I readily give my muse Trixie
credit for a great deal of my poetry.
Sometimes I read it and I think “Who wrote that?”
Then one phrase or one word will click
and I know that I know nothing about my creativity
or my dream state
But I do know that it is much easier to give Trixie credit
for I am not one who knows what she is about
flying by the seat of my soul most of the time.
One day
When we all thought Saturday was a depiction of the sky raining with birds..., singing..
Blue as the day comes with heat..., ready to call itself a sunny day
My loved one received a call...
Her father has just passed on
A phone call that changed the flavored air that was in the room that had bottled up oxygen made up from the amount of deep breaths taken by the thought of perfecting a goodbye
One day..., One of us...,will cover the cost of a funeral with more than just groceries and R200 airtime
My love...,
there could never be forever's here, So you will have to hang up..
God is on the other side of the speed dial
I have never lost a parent before..
All my life I have watched those who are near and dear to me trade a touch for memory
So Dear Mother
Before you pass on I will marry this woman
and together we will spread and stretch the branches of our arms to keep her warm
I will believe in rituals, I will believe in the forever part
I will believe in the story of two souls conjoined in one body...,
you will live in her eyes
Dear Father
our timeliness do not have eternity printed at the back of the book, so I am coming Home, the smell from a dish death prepared for us has made its way to my kitchen
The ingredients are of accepting life as a flash of the moment
I am hungry
Dear Mom and Dad
I will be a walking monument of the characteristics of your morals and values
before you pass on...
Please answer the phone
Dear Parents
I love you
Slap that cocktail shaker
Find the right fit and tap that baby together
Put a little bit extra in the slap
Mind picturing that ass-cheek reverb
Colors of spirit and mixers rush together
Creating works of art ia what I do
Free pouring or percise measuring
Slinging beers for the masses
Wine stored at proper temperature
Grin & Smile as u never really know someone
Happy to cover up my sadness, anger, or stress
Aiming to please
Looky no touchy as his girlfriend eye-bangs me
Reading body language
"Vodka/Soda" with a lime wedge for Her
"Hemingway's Daquiri" for Him
Just a Modern Bartender, Post-Covid.
Late nights for a lot of places are no more
Must cram as many people as u can into a 5 hour day
Traditions & History in every "Old Fashioned"
Ratios & Ingredients
Social Interactions get a little dicey
Some people think I must talk to them
I am a person and if u r a dick u will be treated as such
Does she want me to flirt or not?
If nothing is said, how do I know?
Every night isn't a party
Every night isn't fun
Every night I have to be the life of the party
Every night I have to look like I am having fun
Romance fills the room as the lights dim
The sun sets and chaos concludes
Last Call For Alcohol
All Tips counted
The last glass washed
End of the night
Did u take someone home?
Walking out alone
The Silence outside is deafening as u exit
Thoughts of the day flood my head as I try to forget
A short-term memory is important when doing this job
I have to forget what happened today
Because I have to wake up and do it over again 2morrow
I dare claim to be a poet, yet I am
One whose home is situated in a tropical paradise
Of a snowy winter, I have never felt
Still
I can open my mind, and even my heart
To let the magic of a snowy winter overwhelm me!
A snowy winter would chill my bones, true
But it would also melt my soul's bump
Pray, it has been years since I have been trapped
In life's messy venomous vines
It has been years since I have chosen to live shrouded in darkness
It has been years since I claim to have entrusted the Lord with my heart
It has been years
Yes
It has been years lasting too long!
Now
The feel of a snowy winter
Surrounded by familial warmth
Plus a loving gaze
Accompanied by a cup of warm cappuccino
Would be all the magic that I need
To fall back in love with life
To enjoy its many paths
To enjoy toiling
And serving
To enjoy its little joys
As well as its load of hurdles!
Why
Life is as it is
Life is certainly not to be blamed for my plight
I acted out
And life merely reacted!
Always have I thought that no one would be powerful enough
To have me change my mind
And my resolute decisions
But the flakes of snow
The cold chilly frozen breeze
The sight of the lover, back from a day's work
The warmth of the season, even if it is cold
The bond of a delicious dinner
Are the perfect ingredients
To cause my soul's bump to melt!
Pray, snowy winters are magical
I am sure in such times
White angels, disguised as snow flakes
Roam about,
And heal the trodden souls!
Yes, of a snowy winter I do wish to be given a good treat
Yes, of a magical winter, I do wish to experience
Life lasts only for a while
Better would it be to live it with an amiable temper!
25 Dec 2016