Long Ladle Poems
Long Ladle Poems. Below are the most popular long Ladle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ladle poems by poem length and keyword.
"mathew" 6: 12-13
“and forgive us our debts”
(not only does a sheep get 3 squares a day,
but it is also believed that if one begs the
sky enough, one’s problems will just
wash away---this is to be the subsequent
consequence of ALL humans following
suit & getting down on four legs, growing
their thick coats & chewing grass)
“as we forgive our debtors”
(as the sheep thinking that their problems
are solved by an imaginary listener in
an imaginary trailer park in the sky,
so do the sheep continue grazing with a
sort of “live and let live” mentality,
until they are picked off by hunters)
“and do not lead us into temptation”
(so, the same imaginary listener who resides
in that imaginary trailer park, who seemed
to be the one that all the sheep were
comfortably baaaaa-ing to, now is
something to be feared as well? perhaps
that which one feels the need to submit
the whole of their will to is the same
corrupted core inside that would come up
with such a ridiculous hoax to begin with,
as found in the schizophrenic comment
here in the command to oneself (a baaaaa
into the mirror, if you will)
“but deliver us from the evil one”
(the EVIL ONE? is not the concept of
evil just that which goes against the
simultaneous baaaaa of the herd in the
grassy field? was not the GOOD ONE
just told in the last line to “not lead us
into temptation,” thereby being the only
“one” which can do so? make sure when
getting the ladle of kool-aid dumped into
your dixie cup, that you ask if said
dumper is EVIL or GOOD…certainly at
that point it will make all the difference in
the world)
“for yours is the kingdom and the power
and the glory forever”
(there is no other imaginary listener, whose
two-faced multiple personalities, residing in
an imaginary trailer park in the sky, handing
out its ladles of kool-aid, whose overwhelming
passion could be heard any louder than that
which dwells within the very heads of the
already brainwashed sheep baaaaa-ing out
the rest of their days, dissatisfied with the
actual physical world around them &
waiting for the end of what they deem as
a great big thorn in their side---that is,
the rest of us who are not convinced, and
who are not baaaaa-ing with the rest of
em’)
“amen”
(right there, in a nutshell, the whole lie
itself was conjured up by “a man,” or
a few men---all who had way too much
time on their hands & a rather limited
imagination).
please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create a lingual Loch Ness
(when hens canst come home to roost
especially, encountering
the following conglomeration
in matthew scott harris patois).
He readily admits writing inventive
attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
and certainly less
to impress.
Gnome hatter intent toward
cogency, fancy ingenuity,
levity, the inevitable
resultant wrought gobbledygook
fascination for Lingua Franca
feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
and splatters Asia Yukon guess.
Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
swimmingly enervated
via erotic laced sentiments
perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
hollering, gesticulating floundering,
(in close proximity to Davey Jones's locker)
to avoid drowning at sea
perchance comprehending passionate influence.
Upon espying a signature poem of mine
forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
tib hush anonymous re:
dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
taking him/her to the brainy
(briny) deep brink
Icon fess
this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
alphabetic wanton soup,
or figurative egg drop bub
bling broth (el) doth brew)
pronouns Sibyl affectation
affliction sans plethora,
where each ladle full adrip with
richly flavor Verdana Font lee
and sincerely textured vocabulary.
Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
(blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
particularly expectorating flashy
hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
vis a vis plagiarize plethora
amidst storied plentiful English droppings.
Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
temptation to bask exultantly,
professed glorious unrequited love
announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.
Form:
...Only children still believe in friends, and only stupid children at that...
We come off the same tree like berries
Who would've thought we would grow to become adversaries
Out friendship didn't last
Maybe because we grew too fast
I guess the past is the past
Not in your eyes though
You still hate me after 3 1/2 half years
I could careless
I've yet to shed tears
See the problem with you is you never feel you are wrong
That's why my respect for you is gone
Starting lifting weights, traded glasses for contacts
One by one you stab your friends in the backs
Except for me, you went for my neck
Ready for war over a girl, what the heck
You took my soon-to-be girl
I took yours
You tried to put on the locks so I kicked down the doors
Worst part is you look at me with a straight face and swear we still cool
Smiling faces tell lies and I'm no fool
Everybody say you're jealous and you just want to be me
You turn your head when I come around like you don't see me
Seems to me your hate for me is a snowstorm that will never end
It's cool with me, we can never be friends
I guess envy is a trait you wear like the hottest trend
Friendship is too valuable, your supposed to give, not lend
Label me a punk all the time, but call me to assist you in battle
You ride phoniness like a horse, here have a saddle
You drink jealousy juice, I'll pour you some with a ladle
That was real slick, to have my girl kissing you
If I was to let anger control me, your family would be "missing" you
But she's with me so if you want her come take her back
You're a sucker for love
Stupid
Ask Cupid that
You 20 years old dating an eight grader
Disgrace to all alpha males
You testosterone degrader
No morals or principality
Courage annihilator
You are who you associate with
You make me sick
I need to be more careful of friends I pick
Even when we die your cold feelings toward me won't end
It's cool with me because we will never be friends...
It's a shame these days that a friendship can't keep its life. I just thought since we grew up together we
can make a childhood last to adulthood. I guess you hated living in my shadow, I don't really know or care to
be honest. You have fun dating eight graders,and getting your home raided on local news and I'll just go back
to making an honest living...Sucka
The ribbon is cut
The die is cast
The cement is dry
Yet nothing lasts
The brazen rewarded
The hero a fool
All reason outdated
New fury the tool
A journey presented
Your ship to go far
With doldrums eclipsed
By the light of new stars
The lands will seem foreign
The people most strange
But they’ll smile as you pass
And call you by name
You run and you run
And you run from it all
With no map to guide you
The albatross calls
And then sweet intention
Returns from respite
Rephrasing the unmentioned
Where maybe you might
In fear of the tonic
All healing disdained
Right, left-side disjointed
The cork from the drain
The covers pull back
Your bones are now bare
The tiller is slack
And there’s nobody there
So you take to the helm
Hands firmly in place
And you care not a whit
If it’s all empty space
As a raven is perched
On the yardarm so high
A land bird that lurches
Cawing all truth a lie
And you wonder then maybe
Have you wandered too far
As you ladle the future
From a long empty jar
The wind starts to move
A gift from the moon
What’s whole has been halved
And the sun almost noon
The rigging is creaking
The mast ever tall
The wind has died down
With no new ports of call
The feeling still burns
In the fire within
To find that one thing
That unfound—to you sings
The ocean is flat
The seas become calm
The seasons repeat
From reflection embalmed
The night sky is clearest
The darkest the days
The winds have escaped you
Adrift you now stay
But then just a wisp
Of a breeze on your cheek
Portends of a magic
And the vision you seek
It strengthens and gushes
Throughout all the night
As the red sky last evening
Had hinted it might
As the headsails go up
The big linen comes down
And you climb up the mast
Stepping over a frown
The creak of the lapstrake
Splashes over the bow
The present’s in sight
Incarnate right now
You look down on a lifetime
In this moment of joy
As the smell of the brine
Covers anything coy
And an Island approaches
From the mist up ahead
As the stillness reproaches
And retreats to its bed
The wonder returns
All speculation begins
Of the magic you’ll find
In this newness again
At the top of a mountain
Strange trees then appear
In a shape that’s uncertain
Neither familiar nor clear
(continued in part two)
what
A multitude of dishes is just not a sanctuary of fishes. Ok? Did you hear the trinkling of the water omitting from the tap? Gaps are small and small is smell and smell is stagnantly sipping stoic spit. Judge not a golden orb of a heifer. Especially not when placed with great dignity on a platter. An apple achieving across-the-board according to acrobatic acronyms is very wise especially when dressed in a sun hat and a pair of shorts. But sailing pears can pair with the wind and this would surely exact much chaotic waving weaves for the tiny little wading jelly fish whose waters are at risk of great corrosion. Explode that then! I think not. Battle no burger bombing belly. Big bull. Bionic bacon brawl. And a trawler filled to the brim with ice cream is weaving it's way underground watched by the kilometre wide whale. Xenophobia of a hexagon should shut all the windows and not speak to kettles. And the fortification of a French Fri. Is neither akin to a brain washing line, a string skirt, a lute or a playlist of random energies. During a download one must eat copius amounts of sage, onion and lettuce casseroles with a nice pleasant dessert of melon served on a bed of floaty cream. Just watch that it does not float out of the window or it could be confused as an unidentified frying object. Flying you say? No that is merely a ground level rising to meet an upper arm akin to a wardrobe tackling the clothes in a wrestling match. Dumb no dim dinner and during dogma derive decisions. Ok then. Good. Ample is fantastic. But hundreds and thousands dancing on a little one centimetre cake is just not wise, clever nor pleasurable really so always wear a pair of spectacles to a game of rugby and play with arms and legs holding a seven foot spoon who is smiling at the antics. How quite articulate of the appearing ant then. Earthworm glow-worm flying worm speaking worm. And a large fathomable waltzing waters snake. Hahaha now pick up a dish and dance around the ten acre kitchen. Hahahaha ladle leaving. Xxxx serving a dollup of tea with sugar and lemon. Xxxxx combustibles z that was the p Y q reporting from the road on the road around the road and on nineteen lanes eighty three beaches ten forests and a ten centimetre pond. 89.0 radio p. Z z z z z applet z
Form:
Taxes are not talking nor are they taxis. But airports are often very congested. Packed tightly forming queues. Vastly unreported by news. News are neatly arranged newts in a bath licking ice cream. And a single melt of globular sploosh is merely an unwelcome loss. So washing becomes very dextrous in beckoning an eroded surface. Bubbles can form at will from depths of over fifty five feet. Whereupon a steely coloured beast of old will rise to take on even the mightiest of modern weaponry. When travelling in herds step left right left rigidly and always steer to the centre. Cinematic viewpoints of pathways filled with the patterned stardust trails. Break no saucepan in a rage. And cage no plant. It is to be said that at this time the potency of a banana sandwich with jam can run at great athletic speed over a basin drop. So always drag a meal to a ballroom. With chains. It is also wise and often imperative to shield eyes with cups and harness the knives,forks,and spoons. So as to avoid the high fluted champagne glasses who can be very nasty if crossed. Particularly if wearing a nine million pound gown. Sweep no lawn for lawns must be mown with a one centimetre pair of scissors. Many blades. Long time cutting. And dangling off the central high way at midnight is a feat only achieved by a very large circular bat. Pinnacles painting prisons playing political polo parties. And jester moments from the east and west ignite laughter and cheers from birth and south. So far heard by the eleventh moon many miles away. Air current velocity then. In a bowl. Chatting to a ladle about the state the potatoes are arranged in. It us simply not done. Unheard of in fact. To chop and place potatoes next to carrot and cabbage when all must surely know by now that this is unsafe as they simply do not get along together and therefore the soup will taste most sour. Dour diaries digging digital downloaded dreams. And a large portion of porridge in a mist on the horizon. Skipping. Hahahaha face of a thoughtful tissue. Hahaha exclamations exciting existential exotic experiences explicitly. Hahaha rotunda rotating rut. Xxxxx numerology Z that was the latest from the p y q reporting from a morning zoo next to a nice sty. Z cvb jackets Z.
Form:
Like cyclops (with one eye), like octopus (arms that encompass),
the wound of lost elm limb (a bull’s eye to witness home playground),
stares down what would harm me, the sun’s rays that burn! Trunk’s strong branches
and leaves put a lid on sky’s depths like a beach binds an ocean.
Round scar’s stump whose seasonal rings all looked forward to ‘man-child’
before I was born; limbs bear weight as I grow, link my future
to history, nothing missed secrets can know, or love cradle.
What’s savored in treetops by youth can’t be touched with a ladle
And rarely gets shared with a friend, or some climbing, winged creature!
My Teddy Bear’s there, for I trust him with treasures I’ve stockpiled
(like sweets bees love keeping!) Cicada complaints (just commotion)!
Folks never look up, feel they’re safe, tune out leaf avalanches
when Fall comes each year (though leaves tremble in summer) with wind’s sound.
So flavored’s this silence; chords dance for our eyes! Taste like tapas!
A youth can be shaken aspiring to touch elm leaves cluster
though winds don’t disturb him, thin limbs flex with movement; how birds feel?
I’m higher than roof’s peak; still, marvel how older boys tackled
town’s tower for water; reached ‘top,’ and returned with their pants dry!
It’s boys’ cross to bear, for if war comes, you’re ‘fodder for cannons,’
at best, ‘grist for mills!’ When the child of a rich man fakes bone spurs,
you serve in his place. That’s how poor (who stay poor) serve the nation!
No class you belong to but skin (but don’t dare leave your station!)
“No class” if you stay where you are! Is a fool one who prospers?
Who prospers, deserves a reward for good luck, who abandons
his family, friends, church, and home for own gain’s my best ally?
If so, let me gamble, risk death by the side of one shackled,
who fights for his life, not to steal a friend’s food! Watch Trump’s news reel!
A fool's on the hill! Let me fight for the Indians, screw Custer!
Brian Johnston
21st of September in 2020
Poet's Notes:
This wonderful computer art is by Mar Fandos, an artist living in Brazil. My poems and her art will soon be published in a poetry book for children called "Beary Tales."
Beneath the city the river fishing is good.
I roam with tackle and pole below those wiggling tapeworms
Wound around the cement underbelly of bridges
Devouring the guts of the city’s glamour
Down here where shadows are long as green moss
And the voices of old black dudes echoes to casts
“Damn motherer, you crossed my line!”
Splash.
To catch catfish on a wad of bread is a worthy fight.
It takes shoulder chest and wrist and it’s not just the fish
But the current of the Grand River pulling us over
That sucks us in like a Thanksgiving ladle
Into a whirlpool of brown gravy spilled on a dinner table.
The trouble with catfish is that they swallow the hook
Beyond the use of pliers
And when they’re too small
We cut the line
With a lack of guilt like Old Testament God
Throwing the creature back
Hoping for a miracle.
Logs are tipped over along the gooey shores
And upon them painted turtles sleep
Sunning like leprosy sores.
Even from down here in the cool mist umbrella from summer
We can see the smokestack vapor
Twisting overhead like a genie rubbed from its lamp
Thin at its head thick at its feet still stuck in its copper mother
Arms outstretched like a Christ-cloud spooking the sun.
There are other mysterious pipes
Lips rust red as strawberries
Bloomed from the banks dripping silver
While mouthing a lullaby
To the muck
Like a whore at the end of her exhausting shift.
A railroad bridge rattles to life
Swollen by the axles of its returning soul
A freight train pounding out the Blues
A rhythm meant for bass and drums
That part we don’t sing
But the swing that keeps our foot stomping
And in that noise
Software girls flutter about like orange ribbons
Untied from the hair of the downtown towers
Drifting along the river trails at lunch
Jogging in pony tails and pink shorty shorts
Fingertips stuck into their cotton ears
Ever on the lookout for us
The creeps.
The trick is to not make eye contact
I mean us with them
The fishermen the engineers the long forgotten wrenches
Screwing cranks turning knobs yanking hooks from helpless fish
Drilling the pylons through chemical gold
That holds up this magnificent city.
Dear people,
So...let’s face it,
this’s...
Taught to work hard and make it.
told;
‘Pull 'em boots up by their laces.’
But, Basically, history's based off biases. -
Got Histories of lies based off bias, they’ve provided,
The So called collectively decided.
So Then Why we hide Behind it?
Quite Secretly, in quiet: *shh!*
Remove said mistakes, cosmetically (to) hide, (it) correctively apply (it) like Make up,
pleasantly take up these Fake faces for the public’s- eye,
present a face for that eye, from out which form from, what they’were made up, (of )
Presently, the faces #1 focus’s a race, to map society socially. Rank openly create one self in contrast to the surrounding status of an indestructible class in a clash stuck between statuses, Racial identities, classes and wealth displacement, its tragic.
Labels from the past, pass, ladle it into a glass let’s go label-less at last,
hopefully helps us find a fortune, full of magic, for the unfortunate to embrace us to rip out the laces that hold us in tune with said races that rate us, chase us to race to replace one of our two true human faces with there-test template’s, its instinct at basic. it’s...fate?
No way to shake shape, no time to hesitate, to somehow-present late,
- to tempt fate, to amend faith, to Protest escape?
to live our LIVEs; contesting, concocting hate.
Picking sides; it’s…
A battle Behind the eyes:
...to needle in between to…
Try...
To... Train the outside to promenade, to long charade, simultaneously,
teach the inside to decide in & of itself is greatness-
At the same time, picket lines of hatred created. Create space, erase them...congregate, Stuck Safe in a place behind the one true face, in between the fake-front face’s-lace-curtain that divides us & hides us inside from ourselves, and decides which self stays in the shell, which self gets shelved with the surprise, of the placement,
of which one of ourselves from out ourself’ rises.?
Awake.
Awakened.
- for f*€%s sake people it frustrates me to the shakes? How many shakes does it take to awaken?
If I held a candle while the cold and dark wind blew
To light the way along for someone I barely knew
If I held a wise mans hands and listened very still
To know the things he knows. The things I never will
If I held a baby and rocked it through the night
To feel a piece of heaven while I held that child so tight
If I held them until they took that final breath
To comfort and try to ease the dawning of their death
If I held the lips that kissed the hands of fate
To feel the pain and burden of all who passed the gate
If I held the answers to make some rhyme or reason
To meet the very one who makes it another season
If I held a plow to plant upon the hardened earth a seed
To grow tall. Bloom. And millions would it feed
If I held a ladle filled with water from deep within the well
To quench the thirst of all who come to sit for a spell
If I held a prayer an tried to always keep the faith
To show acceptance and like all the others wait
If I held a heart within my grasp just so
To offer up my all only to see it go
If I held and touched a place deep down there inside
To once again take the culprit on yet another ride
If I held on hard and flew into the night
To keep holding on with all my strength and might
If I held up to the light all of my mistakes
To realize how many and they were mine to make
If I held an ear to listen to all the people talk
To watch one by one as out the door they walk
If I held and read all the books of the world
To learn so much for that little tiny pearl
If I held a brush to paint such a pretty picture for the eye
To please all the onlookers as thy aimlessly pass by
If I held a pen to write a thousand words for all to see and hear
To keep my soul grounded as it soars through the air
If I held my breath as I'm laid to rest on the mounded heap
To own all I've sown and what harvest there is to reap
If I held a loom to weave a million dreams come true
To awaken watching angels traversing the sky so blue
If I held the wisdom to know Gods plan for me
To know he sees all my faults and then still grant me peace
Amen
Copyright © by Scarlett Anderson