Long Linguini Poems
Long Linguini Poems. Below are the most popular long Linguini by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Linguini poems by poem length and keyword.
I don’t dream often, but I dream of Jeanie,
the only one who ever touched my Nadi.
I met her bathing in the Irrawaddy.
You’d classify her as an in-betweenie,
but looking pretty hot in that bikini!
She got me going when she called me ‘daddy’!
Jean self-identified as “thorough baddie,”
but never let me see her Kundalini.
I couldn’t leave her working in that paddy,
so whisked her off to Venice. Like Houdini,
she made the transformation: loved linguini:
but part-time jobs (a waiter, then a caddy)
meant I could not afford her. One bellini
cost forty bucks! Forget the Lamborghini!
She was one good looking chick
Straight out of Vogue, or a Spiderman flick
Her back was straight, she had that glow
Blonde hair, green eyes, healthy head to toe
And she had a fixation, that fixation was me
My heart jumped, I wanted to agree
But then I realized the attraction was an illusion
An evolution induced mental confusion
To exist our genes need reproduction
So they evolved romance, not to mention seduction.
I looked at her and thought "she may look great.
but she's descended from a monkey, a large-brained primate
And though what I feel may be infatuation
Internally, it's just a mental computation.
"Take away the hair, color the eyes brown
Remove your species privilege, you'll feel like a clown
Internal opiates, and a hormonal stew,
Without internal messengers, what is she to you?
So said to her "Babe, go back to your former beau"
Wasn't he Jimmy the knife, and wasn't his life low?
I just can't date you, after thinking out loud
I've lost the mystery, it's all a pall and a shroud
No romantic haze, no mystical link
The magic left your gaze, I'm just left to overthink.
She replied, "My Dad's is Vinny "the vacuum" Vortellini:
You say no to me, he'll make you into Linguini
You're my choice, and you must understand
Your opinion doesn't matter, you're mired in quicksand.
I looked at her again, I saw the psychopath beneath
But oh, that blonde hair, those eyes, and those perfect teeth!
I'm just a primate too, I realized inside.
So I jumped out the window and committed suicide.
So all you men, you need to comprehend
A lovely woman can bring an untimely end
It's all a trick perpetuated by DNA
You must transcend nature's imperative and disobey!
We are a tragic species caught between biology and mind
Don't let nature interfere, don't let instincts bind.
You are the stuff my culinary dreams are made of.
Unending shapes and sizes.
From skinny linguini to the rounded orecchiette
and squiggly fusilli.
As my tongue tastes morsels of your saucy tubular goodness,
I compose a rhyme of the ancient marinara to atone
for my over-the-top pasta love.
Stuffed, plain, buttered. Swimming in Sunday sauce.
The tastiest were those plain whites I pilfered from the pot
before nonna caught me. Whack! with the wooden spoon.
It’s rumored my very first uttering was mangia – an oft-heard word
spoken by mama as she attempted to feed me.
“You’re going to turn into a rigatoni
if you don’t eat something else,” she implored.
Ha! If I were a rigatoni, we’d be cugini.
I only liked you, beautiful al dente you.
And semolina only, please. I accept no impastas!
You’ve been with me through thick and thin,
mostly thick ... around my hips.
Late night comfort snack,
midday bowl of depression-busting goodness.
The breakfast of strong Italian women!
You are Sophia Loren’s guilty pleasure.
Mine, too. With the emphasis on pleasure.
One bite and I am transported back to childhood.
Visions of homemade pasta drying on pristine
white flour sack towels tantalize my taste buds.
You, dear pasta, are la bomba.
My love for you is unending, until we all farfalle down.
Hear the clip-clop of iambic beats
Sounds like Shelley with a side of Keats
Is that the scritchity-scratch of a goose quill flickin’
Or just the tippity-tap of some mouse you clickin’..?
So you a prophet poet, regular Marley meets Dylan
Writin’ about oppression and unjust killin’
Shootin' the Sheriff with a Reggae song
Inspirin' your generation with a sing along
A shot of tequila with a wedge of lime
Saddle up and bide your time
Every line don’t need to rhyme
I can give you a million examples
You don't seem like the lyrical type
Kickin' cold turkey with oranges ripe
That's the fruit that rhymes with nothin’
Fresh squeezed it's good for somethin’
Citric flashback, Tang for the brain
Hyperspace wormholes one cannot explain
Sun dippin' below the rim of a rhymeless plateau
Cow skull and cactus, a timeless tableau
In the twilight gloom, a weather-beaten sign
Free Verse Ranch is the place to dine
Gorge on rhyme-free wordplay victuals
Linguistic linguini and cage-free visuals
Specialty of the house: lemon chicken couplet
With a side of mashed onomatopotatoes--plop!
Gravy sloppin’ down slopes like molten lava
Washed down with mugs of fresh-brewed java
Buzzards circlin' the sky in a lazy ellipse
Moon moseyin' in for a total eclipse
Flee in the dark, take a steed for a ride
Jump the split rail fence to the other side
Leap back in time to a buzzin' hive
Looks like the vortex, circa 1995
Can barely think amid the din
Perfect time for the ‘shrooms to kick in
Tie-dyed girl where I left her spinnin' in place
Band still playin' a trippy Drums n Space
But how strange that I cannot feel my face
How did twenty years vanish without a trace?
Tumbleweed twirlin' down the rutted street
Empty rocking chair swayin' skee-reet skee-reet
'Taters still steamin' like a mini-volcano
Room reeks of whiskey stronger than Drano
Spilled orange juice tricklin' a fly-food slurry
Someone cleared outta Free Verse Ranch in a helluva hurry
The clip-clop of iambic beats, Sheriff on my tail
He wouldn't shoot an unrhymed man, would he?
(This is a fictional poem)
My arms, legs and ribs have been broken and I'm wearing a neck collar.
It happened when I went to a five star restaurant and was charged three hundred
dollars.
All my wife and I had were a couple of steaks.
When i told the owner that I didn't have enough money, a lot of bones started to
break.
He dumped a pot of linguini and clams over my head and then jabbed me in the
nuts with a fork.
He burned my hands on his stove and I started crying like a little dork.
He started beating me and he wouldn't quit.
He beat me so hard that it made me ####.
You may be laughing at me, you may think it's funny.
But you won't find it so amusing if you ever go to that restaurant without enough
money.
Form:
Q: Who is the current Chief of Staff?
A: The resident President.
Q: What is an old, lame, deaf, half-blind Sherlock Holmes?
A: A defective detective.
Q: Who is the magician who ate all the pasta when no one was looking?
A: The linguini Houdini.
Q: What is a day in the life depiction of the First Family on view in the rotunda of the White House?
A: An Obama diorama.
Q: What is a doctor who operates on a big fish to remove the roe?
A: A sturgeon surgeon.
Q: What disease did the star of "Veep" get from drinking unbottled water when she was in India?
A: Julia Louis-Dreyfus typhus.
Q: What is a debutante dance for snakes, alligators, etc.?
A: A reptilian cotillion.
Q: How do people in third-world countries view America's "open door" policy?
A: As an immigration invitation.
Q: Selfridge's was a fine example of what kind of department store?
A: A Victorian emporium.
Q: Where would you be if you found yourself trapped between this world and another?
A: In dimension suspension.
Form:
How do I eat thee? Let me count the ways:
sauced, buttered, plain,
sprinkled with Parmigiano Reggiano,
pesto, pancetta, bacon.
Rowdy rigatoni, flamboyant farfalle,
perky penne, funny fusilli, lovely linguini,
spunky spaghetti,
personality abounds.
An atavistic love affair
with semolina goodness
in all shapes, sizes
like my three Aunt Rosas.
Dear pasta,
I count on you
for your depression-lifting goodness,
accepting no impastas!
When you end up in hot water,
you come out better than before.
You’ve stuck with me
through thick and thin,
mostly thick around my hips.
Pasta al dente, the choice
of strong Italian women!
(Try to sing this one to the tune of MARIA from "West Side Story")
Linguini -
the most luscious cuisine that I’ve ever had.
Linguini, linguini, linguini, linguini.
Oh what flavorful things in that dish make my taste buds glad.
Linguini, linguini, linguini, linguini.
Linguini,
I’ve tasted a dish called linguini,
and now I’ll always wish
to have that creamy dish
again.
Linguini.
Style Parmesan has me singing.
Add garlic and wine and it’s zinging.
I’ll always be craving linguini -
the most luscious cuisine I’ve ever had.
April 14, 2022
For Angela Tune's To Lighten The Load Poetry Contest
As I stepped inside the building
A simple smell left me content
I spoke my wishes to a lady
And away with her I sent
I could hear a gentle sizzling
My stomach growled and arms went limp
A buttery garlic smelled appeared
And so I saw the Endless Shrimp
There were only five choices
But five choices are all I need
From the sweet and spicy wood grilled
To the linguini I shall feed
On to the second platter
I shall become a blimp
For there are no limits
To the Endless Shrimp
How do you think they do it?
What makes it so good?
By the time I had my third fill
I began to feel some pain
My stomach stretched just like a balloon
And so here ends the reign
Over fifty of them consumed
And to the car I’d limp
And never would I forget
Tonight’s Endless Shrimp