Long Mangos Poems
Long Mangos Poems. Below are the most popular long Mangos by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mangos poems by poem length and keyword.
Blasphemy
Blatantly ephemeral or plain outright naughty and lustful
Praying for beauty in the eye of beholding passionate Gods
Angles and half dome shaped wishes curve balls and all
~ Those who write by the sword are judged by the Lord ~
Thanatos and Libido a close shave of mounds of Vesuvius
The Vatican going up in one shattering search of its smoke
Church towers like phalli or bayonets decree choice in the matter
~ Trust thy neighbor in her cove’s coveted olives and mangos go forth
Veiled femme fatals embrace their shadows cover the flame
The Muezzin shouts from his minaret calls for service and love
Lingerie adorned by copula’s cusp bosomed for nibbles
~ Wet shirt competition in the heat of the spiritual moment ~
An elegant elephant with trumpeting trunks moaning and groaning
Free flowing love on the banks of the Ganges under cloth of the loin
Where Hindu meets Buddha on sheets and streets of Kolkata
~ Begging for mercy as wars of religions and nations battle in vain ~
Crosses to bear half moons to envisage and Karma to please
One woman’s humid humour is another man’s satirical crime
Whose God is to command me what is right and what thong
~ But once the bloody atheist kneels on the altar faith is restored ~
03rd May
18.
who has lied in the box
made up of the temperature
of god
all on a sudden
there is a hue and cry
in the abdomen of the time
wearing a dirty pajama
actually that has been filtered up
from the voices of rock-songs
the roaming
of a fatigued traveller …
the lies
within their wishes
write my existence
and then run
to buy vegetables
from the station-market
so many lay-offs
come to the body of paper-weight
to listen to all those
is not improper
walking through the traffic-jam
gradually
this home becomes solely my home
one day the golden of
human
then it is i
who is you
and walking through the
monsoon
on either side of the field
it is all autumn
19.
when borrowing the religion of
the night-queen
i fall in love
then is it real
that our mangos and jack-fruits
can make the perfumed-soap
vigorously from the light of the
blood-line
i count the bells of the churches
ringing repeatedly
and piercing the image
of your prominent face
rounding through lots of old
the love becomes exhausted
and the love comes back
in the form of college-classes
there are you myself
and so many notes
of the body
Seven second serendipitous develop
Macro piano keys maestro, Lord
Ceiling laden with citrus psychedelic
Unsatiated homosapiens flawed
Ghost film fire eye-socket negatives
Kaleidoscope rolls in their skulls
Soiree opaque pink sequin sedatives
Scintillate wicked sinful impulse
Protein hungry industry herds herbivores
Apex predator caves to serpent
Coveted control position consumes pure
Curious article of cruel torment
Sacred score smudged in blood punishes
Hell or Heaven editors insidious
Emit charcoal chuckles, lit match judges
Bicker Bible's pixels ambiguous
Dusk draws hills, halcyon skied silhouette
God made man strive in shadow
Modified paradise prints timely pirouette
Gluttony grabs hanging mangos
22nd February
Sold Fables
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
Frankly Speaking
There is a couple on the beach, they have a small room, been on the beach for years, suffered through the worst of it. They have been through every phase. The Hippie, the war protesters -the poet-the artist - the "free love fest"- the heavy duty weed scene, "hell no we won't fn go" from there; To the board room with a haircut and a suit. Back to the beach, to retire; She still wore pigtails and flowered skirts. Oh, my God, we’ve moved slower through time she thought, and those times now seemed so far away. Contrasting times were here with cocaine, ecstasy, and mushrooms.!
S.S. check gone too soon, these days were not like the old days but vegetarians never die- So we dance at night after soaking up the sun; Growing wrinkled and red and filled with vitamin D... He displays his art- we played on our boombox: Bob Marley and Elton John which drew a crowd. We became as one with South Beach, as we practiced our Yoga, or played our musical instruments and chanted “Nam-myoho-renge-kyo”.
My black friend was so beautiful in her bikini and golden headwrap...She roller-skated past and waved. She was a poet like me... She said she'd be back for the session. A lot of her poems were about David the owner of the Franklin Hotel where we lived. I and other poets wrote poems about the system that tried to impose hate upon us free thinking peoples. People would give us money for sharing our poems, and purchase his art work. We’d buy few mangos and veggie burgers for our dinner, next, we’d wait for the sun to go down.
At night, my Black friend. Oladeji would collect the last 5 bucks, for the Gourmet Franks that she sold to the hungry drunks left over on the beach, who had been evacuated from the clubs for maxed out credit cards. Sad looks and broke pockets were not welcomed.
Which made her hot, fat kosher gourmet grilled franks, smothered in her special onion sauce, even more of a redeeming quality; As her poetic sign read… {FRANKLY SPEAKING…Home of the gourmet franks} ... Oladeji, would chant out her newly learned Spanish words nightly, to the dregs of dejected party goers, she’d shout “Pero caliente, saboya salsa” Rico delicioso”! then again in English; Hot-dogs with onion sauce very delicious.
Sitting under a mango tree,
Hot wind whispering through scented leaves,
Dreaming of nectar flowing thru your rosy lips,
Like the sweet juice from the mangos on the tree.
“The silent song of the sighing breeze’,
Conveys the loneliness of my heart for you,
When you hear the song, don’t cry,
Whisper your kiss back to me with the wind breeze.
In the morning, when Koel sings kuhu-kuhu from the boughs,
Think of my sweet love, he serenades before you wake up,
When you pick up a mango for dessert,
Think of the sweet love shared from my soul.
In the night, when Bulbul sings from the boughs,
Don’t be lonely, feel the depth of her sweet call from your heart,
The cool night wind breeze will lighten the separation pangs,
From “the silent song of the sighing breeze”.
1
I left out riding my bike down
first street over looking the
wildly calm river artist's lined
bicentennial entrance way where
Thomas Edison Rockefeller
and Ford feasted on clams
my mind wandered about
the timing of the dem lights to
brighten the garden lofts above
the streets soft jazz from
Billie holiday rang out down
old Hendry street my heart strings
mingled with the Sunday drivers
passing by after mass fondly
trying to pick me up leaving
the shops it was noon it was
damp the sun peeked in behind
the gulf today a few children
skipped by carrying balloons
while the fishermen tossed nets
near the shore sand collected
beneath my toes as two boats
docked this was home my life
an yet the Caribbean whispered
to me waves slammed against
the stone walls I felt a few sprinkles
I quickly dashed into the book store
on the corner while the aroma of fresh
French bread gather all of my senses
luring me to a sit down with brunch
tiny raisin bagels diced mangos
inside a vintage wine glass
one thousand sparrows flew
backwards within the breeze
as I rest on the steps of St Francis
Cape Comorin (Kanyakumari) of Tamil Nadu,
Might be copious of the core concept called Xanadu;
Indian Ocean, Bay of Bengal, Arabian Sea,
Amalgamate and mingle here, like mermaids, full of glee...!
Treasures of silver, gold, and gemstones within oceans lay,
Sea gods and goddesses; ghosts and angels; live here, they say;
The sun, like a pendulum pushed from the sea, rises up,
Descends and disappears, like a kicked ball, before we sup...!
The southernmost part of the Indian nation is this,
Men and women of many religions live here in bliss;
Temples, mosques, churches, gurudwaras, and palaces antique,
Exhibit their inter-religiosity, unique...!
We don't have the Angel Fall, but a few falls we have here,
Young and old, at leisure times, play within them full of cheer;
Nature has made her paintings, lo, with green woods and forests,
Lullabies of little birds and beasts, never find a rest...!
Coconuts, Arrack nuts, spices, and tapiocas grow,
Bananas of varieties put up their fresh fruit show;
Goods trading we do; fish in terms of fresh tapioca,
We share, our simple love, in cups of coffee or cocoa...!
Jewelry, stone carvings, cane work, lace work, metal casting,
Needlework, sculptures, and sea shell crafts go everlasting;
Coral grass mats, palm leaf designs, cane, and bamboo caudex,
Jute-based handicrafts and we have so fine fiber products...!
A dialect of Tamil-mix Malayalam we chant,
Though our mother tongue is classical Tamil known so grand;
Kalial, Bow Song, Karagam Dance, and Kathakali,
We carry on our cultural heritage zealously...!
Rice, tapioca, coconut, seafood, legumes, lentils,
Mangos, bananas, and jacks are our food fundamentals;
Fishing flourishes; and farming into the inner land,
Toddy-tapping and rubber rearing too go hand in hand...!
Though our innate quality is love mixed with purity,
Modernity, no doubt, has brought in insecurity...!
Trust in the divine and love for nature, yet, make us grow,
Inspiring us beyond the oceans, and the skies to go...!!!
22 May 2023
If Your Birthplace-country was a poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Papa sat there, quiet,
Reading his books
Never raised his voice
Or give you nasty looks
He just read his books
On metaphysics and inner self
Books I have not seen
On any library shelf
One day my friend and I decided
To steal mangos from the neighbour’s tree
When papa found out he sat me down
And had a quiet word with me
I felt torn up inside
Remorse for what I did
I used to curse myself
And say what have you done Sid?
Now Mamma she’s ummmm
A different kettle of fish
When she heard what I did
It was like signing a death wish
She had a way with words
Colourful they were
And when she moved
Ninja style a blur
I managed to run away
And climb up an avocado tree
She was lunatic and rabid
The gardener was sent up to get me
I should have run away
She came down on me like a monsoon
My behind was like a plum tomato
I looked like an alpha male baboon
Don’t get me wrong
The love was there
But do something significantly wrong
Look out, beware
Ask my imaginary friend Glen
This is not a trick
He too felt
The end of her stick
She’d dwelt within a palace, and outside
it, geese and brilliant peacocks used to strut
inside a fragrant garden. As a bride,
she’d said her vows beside the roses, but
today no scent of blooms perfumes the air.
The terrace sculptures, rubble now, are strewn
across the floor. She gazes eastward where
the mangos’ branches danced beneath the moon
when zephyrs softly blew. Like poison, now
a vapor comes, beginning to enwreathe
her husband’s realm. There is a smell so foul
her heart wells up with dread; she cannot breathe.
As ashes drift around, she hangs her head
with certainty her one beloved is dead.
Written by Andrea Dietrich Oct. 11, 2014
for the Top Gun Poetry - Structured forms - Iambic verse III of Giorgio A. V.
Form: Iambic Pentameter in an English Sonnet