Long Julep Poems
Long Julep Poems. Below are the most popular long Julep by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Julep poems by poem length and keyword.
If I were to decorate the winter trees,
arms gangly gray in a crooked freeze,
with leaves of mint sugar and paper mache flowers,
how long do you think it would take?
I would need ladders and pulleys and twining to tie
and large canopies, for the birds that went by
would dive bomb my leaves and drag off my flowers
for perfect sized, bright colored nests.
I would need moon drops for sleeping
and hammocks for reading and backpacks for keeping
supplies (such as cookies of lemon and afternoon tea).
My eyes would need sunshades in white.
If I started five years ago, I'd still be working
even if every elephant from every circus
quit their careers to help me to tie blossoms
we'd still only finish a patch.
I would be tired and burnt by the sun
and the elephants would quit because 'it wasn't no fun'.
Even though I'd pay them in peanuts and cheese.
Trunk to tail they'd stomp off for home.
I'd look back on tree limbs in color for miles
and see all the flowers in wet, soppy piles
for the rain would break through the low cloud cover
and start on a job of her own.
Defeated and gray in my mood like the trees
I'd fall to my knees in the rainbow debris
and close up my eyes, fall to sleep patiently.
Mint sugar leaves on my lips.
When I awoke, from just one night's earth turning
I'd find that the spring's midnight oil had been burning.
Tips of tree limbs with blooms near to exploding.
In one night the world wakes up sweet.
With all of this knowledge comes patience, endurance
to wait for the earth and her natural occurrence.
I'll save my mint sugar for julep this summer
when the flowers give way to their thirst.
Form:
The old black man plowed the ground in that baking sun
And sang all those old gospel songs
The rows were straight as an arrow all through the field
As I knew this was where his heart belongs
He was just a share cropper and a mighty fine man
And I never saw him angry or raging mad
All I ever heard was the songs he was singing
Plowing that mule in that field owned by my dad
He rested at the end of row number two
And drank from the water jar I brought
He nodded his satisfaction, then turned that mule around
As old Julep did the best at what she was taught
When he wasn’t plowing he and I sometime a go fishing
As he’d always caught tenfold more than me
He’d laugh when I shook my sweating head
And say while laughing, “it be’s what it be’s.”
Every year the old man would be seen in the old field
It seemed to be twenty acres or more
And his wife always waved as he neared their house
As she rocked in the shade close to the front door
One day he didn’t make it to the field to plow again
And my heart was saddened to the core
He had passed in the night into his final rest
And I knew that those songs I would hear no more
It’s been thirty years since I was down on the farm
But I went back just yesterday
The fields are all grown up, seems no one planted there
And my heart was broken and I couldn’t stay
I went back to the city back to the grit and grime
But I think of those days long gone but not forgotten
And I see the old man smiling as he’s out plowing
And soon all that white in that big field of cotton
A Symphony Of Sound Still Around
Three ladybugs on a succulent pose.
Two tired tulips in my windowsill doze.
New dark dahlias will soon surprise.
Begonias in sunshine will always rise.
Under damp leaves these amphibians can be found.
Their enormous backyard chorus, their symphony of sound.
A bullfrog’s baritone beat, lulls me fast asleep.
A Chorus Frog's peeping has a dancing beat.
Croak,
ribbit,
repeat.
Like a member of the French Cirque Du Soleil, he balances on wires but sleeps in a drey, cautiously watching for my beagle all day.
Parachuting from a pine to an oak, he forges for nuts in his furry cloak.
Could the new life he plants with one brown treasure, grow a mighty tree that may live forever?
He defends his family on the ground, with
a hiss,
a tweeter, and
a grunting sound.
Bachelor button blue, tree bark brown,
They fly, dive and hop around.
Echos repeating, chicka- dee -dee diding.
Sweet wren’s tweeting.
Swans trumpeting,
woodpeckers tapping,
Clicking, whistling,
Are you listening?
Do not spray on your sweet Chanel, a stinging bee can always tell!
It's mint julep they’d rather smell.
"Excuse me, but does the Queen sip honey tea?"
Sometimes, buzzed her nectar inspector.
With a rapid vibration of beating wings,
piping,
tooting,
buzzing,
These whimsical insects really "sing"
Their symphony of sound is still around.
What do you think of when I say the word “love”
Flowers, blue skies and sunshine
And so when you think of total “commitment”
It's a lifetime of souls intertwined
When you hear the phrase, “cool as a cucumber”
Does a vegetable come to mind
Or a frosty mint julep on a hot summer day
When you leave all your troubles behind
What d'ya think of when hearing the word “gorgeous”
Long legs, nice boobs and derieres
Some slender bodies with flowing blonde hair
The slenderer, the more merrier
How about, “he bit off more than he can chew”
Certainly has sexual overtones
Okay this is bringing out the bad in this fellow
Thinking I may have to postpone
What do you think of when I say the word “charlize”
A most beautiful South African lass
She's got everything a young man could ever ask for
Old guys are even cooking with gas
When you hear the phrase, “not playing with a full deck”
“looney toons” sure comes to mind
Don't like to categorize but with some guys it's obvious
They're beyond being helped I find
© Jack Ellison 2015
Ray Charles on a lonely night
Feel it mostly in his fingertips.
He play in every shade of blue.
His touch be intimate and true.
Ray Charles on a lonely night
Come to Harlem like a fool for you.
He lightly tease his baby grand,
And mess around with loving hand.
Ray Charles on a lonely night
Must have Georgia on his dirty mind.
With unchained heart he hit the road,
To end up busted a la mode.
Ray Charles on a lonely night
Had a problem singing, What’d I Say.
He made the call to ill response,
And music critics’ nonchalance.
Ray Charles on a lonely night,
One mint julep doesn’t ease the sting.
America, it sheds its grace
On those who know and keep their place.
Ray Charles on a lonely night
Play a solo act with no Raelettes.
He can’t stop loving someone when
It’s always cryin’ time again.
Ray Charles on a lonely night
Would often say, Let’s go get stoned,
And seven Spanish angels be
The birds who keep Ray company.
Ray Charles on a lonely night;
Like Johnny Cash at Folsom,
But maybe even more so.
Tell me what’d I say…
I winced disenchantment whenever you fell
Through countless absurdities I held my tongue
While you courted your daydreams from hell.
I mastered the rules willing all to be well
As you blitzed career ladders splintering each rung
I winced disenchantment whenever you fell.
I laid low, so fierce your desire to excel
Your mint julep put-downs like scorpions stung
While you courted your daydreams from hell.
I wallowed in patience, don’t ask and don’t tell
I begged your repentance where hope’s crosses hung
I winced disenchantment whenever you fell.
A childishly reckless, indulged Southern Belle
Your frivolous insults so flippantly flung
While you courted your daydreams from hell.
For years poise and wit lulled me lame with their spell
I yearned for the charmed days when love’s fruits first sprung
But your mind’s locked up tight in a bright padded cell
I winced disenchantment whenever you fell
While you courted your daydreams from hell.
If love is not a butterfly, what then is love?
a ripe avocado pear, maple julep, honeycomb?
momma said I didn't know
much about honey bees that she kills the drone
first before accepting she is in love tune,
then hummns love melodies.
Love ; tastes of honey in my
mouth at dawn, at dusk It goes
sour or in between.
even if I let go, still your taste
like memory, a painful memory,
reopening itself into itself
like a wounded artery deep down
as my blood got congealed.
so love is not just a lovely butterfly
it first became a butter then flew
so if you say you don't love am gonna wait
till you drain of me. then you can humm
love tunes in melodies of me
Then love is a sacrifice,
but am I ready to be your Sahara?
Gideon Idudje
Hot in the south sitting on the porch
Fanning your face with a hand fan
Dressed in a beautiful white dress
With a cold mint julep in hand
Miss. JENNIFER, yes Miss. JAN
Do you believe what that SunShine Smile,
Said about me?
Her last poem was all about Me, Me, Me (Just kidding Sunshine)
She only thinks of herself living in luxury
Her poems seem to go Norway with a Rhyme
Now that Bobby is a handsome man
Oh tell me Mrs. JAN
I saw him in the field with his straw hat on
Working next to Gershon W.W. was fast asleep
Without a peep, but there was one so cute
He was the Only Silent One out of the whole bunch
Here comes Richard your husband he shot old turkey Tom I guess we are having him for dinner
Shhhhhhh, No more Gossiping
Sitting on the porch watching worlds collide
And wondering if the truth will be classified
Sipping a mint julep; knowing I should be horrified
Though I would consider that undignified
Gazing at the players moving their pawns
Fighting against destiny to become icons
Listening to the warriors singing their songs
And to the clanging of iron and bronze
I, the master puppeteer, watch with glee
As I make the once civil act so beastly
I have made them eat the fruit of the poison tree
And bent their will to suit my idiosyncrasy
I am the dulcet whisper in your ear
That tempts and beckons you year after year
I cajole with lies and caress with fear
I am the master puppeteer, the vile engineer
I went for a walk on a summer’s eve
with my lady on my arm.
With a summer dress and parasol,
she also wore her lucky charm.
We wound our way past a charming well
so a penny was wished upon as I dropped.
Well, lo and behold, right before our eyes
a horse and carriage; the walking stopped.
We ate a lunch on a river’s bank,
a turtle nearly crushed by my step.
Thank you, kind sir, now I’ll grant you a wish,
and back at the picnic, our cool, mint julep.
We finished our day in a field of clover,
and I wished on a shooting star as it passed.
I was so grateful to be given this day,
I only asked for things to make it special and last.