Long Mango Poems
Long Mango Poems. Below are the most popular long Mango by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mango poems by poem length and keyword.
sizzling fish taco, spread with
hottest Tabasco
avocado, bassa fillet
pungent vinaigrette
mango salsa moist
deliquesce
melts!
June 2, 2022
"What's Cooking On The Grill This Summer" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: M. L. Kiser
Syllables checked by HMS.com
Our happy-go-lucky friend once invited us
at his place to what he called pickle party.
We all were intrigued and excited,
for he mentioned the unique recipe,
which would be delicious cheese sandwich,
each one with filling of different types of pickle,
such as dill, lime, gooseberry, brewed in vinegar,
carrot, mango, and red chili, soaked in brine.
He had carefully laid out the table for us
with an array of six casseroles,
each one containing similar looking sandwich
of cheddar cheese with filling of specific pickle,
indicated by its transparent bottle placed
strategically in front of each casserole.
After we took a few sips of chilled beer
we were asked to taste the sandwich.
We chose all the different types,
except for the red chili one,
for none of us wanted to blaze the tongue.
As we took one bite we jumped up,
for the red chili set our mouths on fire.
We became the invited victim
of the culinary prank of our friend
who had fun seeing us in pickle at pickle party.
________________
August 19, 2022
Contest : It's A Pickle Party
Sponsored by : Mystic Rose Rose
marauding foxes
mutilating fruit
minutemen mischief-makers
marching upon us
pick our pockets
laugh at our loss
“No mangoes for sale”
maimed, mangled, mashed
sweetness shamed
to death
ants and gnats feasting
off illicit mango chutney
sly scamps
evade
like Bolt-pace
their intake
of fruit sugars
insufficient for catching
robust diabetes
enfeebling the fiends
abducting limbs, or a pedactyl
soulful eyes stare with jeers
sailing
mimicking
bold breezes
through the trees
as I could never
in the canopy of my Caribbean youth
under mother's God-eye
girls outclimbed me
wearing puffy petticoats
and cumbersome cornrows
to perpetrate petite thefts
of mangoes
the canto of begging
1.
when the morning sets in
with the sun rising in the east
i put on the dress of a beggar
extended up to the horizon
and the canto of my begging starts
i beg
beside the big-bazar
beside the fly-over
beside the college-campus
beside the cow-market
you then put your elbow
on the body of the day
giving a perfect and unbiased pose
to attached to the album of life
people of the working-class
spread hither and thither
to write some more decimal fraction
on the notebook of life
2.
in the dusts and soil of rural-bengal
in the testament written by the grass
i am a son of the immortal
my begging-bowl is the most
favourite go-ahead of a alone man
then speaking around are
the chop singara aluposta
and the love-story of a hyacinth
blooming in the pond
blind by mud
also in the overflowed dustbin of the city
waiting rightly with an erected head
the excitement of your absence
3.
coming to this canto of begging
do you know
i enjoy both
your intensity and your sharpness
your secret current flows me to the pore of the skin
of the body of the puller of a hand-barrow
your cold attracts me
towards the syllabus of waning moonlight
i do realise now that the stale afternoons
saved in my pocket
stitched so many new muscles
with my vocal chord
and i’m howling in joy…
4.
what’s an enjoyment… hahaha…day after day
spending too much chaos
and living to so little extent
tell me is it the least
within the left-over on the leaf-plates
after eating by the baboos
i can discover more and more
love
the mango tree the grass-hopper my begging-bowl
and from the tune of the laxmi-panchali
coming from the middle-class houses
listen, how flourishing is my mother-tongue
To tango with a mango;
now that would be sublime;
much sweeter than the bitterness of lime.
With a sticky passion fruit
I did try to make it merry;
and, once, the innocence of unpicked cherry.
A banana in Havana
I tried, but once beneath the skin
I found it just a little soft, and pale, and thin.
A passion for papaya
gave me all my daily C;
but too much of it did not agree with me.
To moon with a prune
I thought I'd give it a try;
but found that a little wrinkly and dry.
A dapple with an apple?
But taken once a day,
soon become a little tired and gray.
So, I tango with a mango,
I do it all the time;
I tried once with an orange but couldn't make it rhyme.
A Merger With Food Poetry Contest, placed 1st
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
Date wrote: 9th May 2022
Nested in the cat’s cradle
Paraded in a child’s fable
I have no voice, don’t let me die
No longer shall I live a lie
I have no soul nor thoughts to save
Unbeknownst to me is
this life beyond the grave?
A designer dainty as she
silky essence she creeps upon so free
and with sheer elegance
unveils a painted lady in a trance
Wake me before the dream ends
In this a lie I can’t depend
Ochre paint splat on walls
Tinted forewings so not to fall
Hindwings I hold up in pain
Fragile chitin, scales, and veins
Bleeding strokes of mango chutney
Opera gloves cobalt blue, cloak impunity
Wake me up! Before I drop
Still asleep, a standing prop
And when I open my eyes
I’ll have wings like butterflies
The bitter truth sounds insane
Blends of electronic elements
Mesh makes perfect sense distasteful
Nestled neatly prim and graceful
Kept in the dark where it’s unfair
Wake me lest I vanish in thin air
In my dream a translucent permanence
I stand alone and have woken an evanescence
My Yard the fruit bouquet By Weston Gregory
Its gonna be that day again,
when the sunshine reveal the morning
And makes you smile,
To watch a petal opening its fragrant scent
drawing you right in
Atop the dew on a leafy limb, flying fast a humming bird pause;
Then whiz, again passing your eyes glistening and the feelings
Breathtaking
I’m foliage free but my yard isn't like me
From its height a pear,
A heart shape avocado dotting about the sour sop
Could not have its tangy sweetness retract
Its skin like a spiky hat
Bread fruit, mango custard and hanging just a stretch
Planted for a next man to get
The fruit none other than the sweet sop
Barely can you refuse the bumpy look its got
None the nectar that have anything on that
All year round sight and scent of hibiscus, water lily, Cercee
And orchid
All but make our glad bag bust
That though elusive
Such bouquet can be found in our yard its beauty an
Added bonus
Since my childhood, I love summer
It wakes up in me a dreamer.
The luring bells of the ice-cream seller,
Made me gaze for him at the street corner
Till noon, across the fields, used to wiggle
Enjoy lunch with granny’s spicy mango pickle
Sidling along the rows of swishing trees
Running after humming dragon- flies
Picking plums tactfully from thorny bushes
Wondering in the widespread lushes
Rolling on the dunes of soft sands
At tranquil brook, collecting shiny shells
Dancing merrily in pre-monsoon rains
Vying with friends for the white balls of hailstones
Sleeping in the midst of the lawn
Enjoying the sweet breezes of Night queen
Listening to the epic stories of mom
Under the canopy of stars that gleam
Eyes running through the maze of stars
Drooping slowly into deep slumbers
The Good Old Days Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Date: 16-01-2021
won: 8th position
Everyone must discover the truth,
Watching a small red cargo ship move away
From the port of Brest, slowly
By unmasking the young man who walks
Without fear of passing people,
Ignoring the baker in love with his wife
Without talent, ignoring his warm bread,
Everyone must discover what is behind
The devastated tropical forest,
Everyone must discover the truth, so difficult
Sitting on a bench facing the Atlantic Ocean,
By drinking without an ideal, wine from the slopes of Provence,
Everyone must discover the truth, by looking at the accident
From a car on the rainy road,
Everyone must discover the truth, so essential,
Opening the wardrobe of his old parents,
Crouching down to eat a mango
In an unhealthy port of Kenya,
Losing a game of poker with friends from childhood,
Everyone must discover the truth, looking at the desert caravans,
You can’t live without hiding your face, you can’t live
Face uncovered.
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité,
En regardant s’éloigner un petit cargo rouge
Du port de Brest, lentement
En démasquant le jeune homme qui marche
Sans rien craindre des passants,
En ignorant le boulanger amoureux de sa femme
Sans talent, de son pain chaud,
Chacun doit découvrir ce qui se cache derrière
La forêt tropicale dévastée,
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité, si difficile
En s’asseyant sur un banc face à l’océan Atlantique,
En buvant sans idéal, le vin venu des coteaux de Provence,
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité, en regardant l’accident
D’une automobile sur la route pluvieuse,
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité, si essentielle,
En ouvrant l’armoire de ses vieux parents disparus,
En s’accroupissant pour manger une mangue
Dans un port insalubre du Kenya,
En perdant une partie de poker avec ses amis
D’enfance,
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité, en regardant les caravanes du désert,
On ne peut vivre sans cacher son visage, on ne peut vivre
À visage découvert.
Everything’s Perfect
by Odin Roark
Rio’s open market day
Bag fillin’
Day old mango and limes
Under tarpaulins-sweating
Tank topped ladies
“Baratas Baratas”
The call for cheap cheap
Bananas on barbed iron
Catching high noon light
Pleading to be eaten
But browning at mach speed
Two teenage girls
Gathered food in bags
Off to sell their own produce
Flesh made servile for men
Men’s every day refusal to pay for love
Lessons learned painfully early
Little goes as they’d like
Unless of course
They aspire to nothing
Back in cardboard city
The mangos prove over ripe
But the limes squirt their juices
Splattering beautiful eyes
Making thankful tears of joy
Another day’s survival
Many believe
Everything’s perfect
Whatever that be