Long Medium Poems
Long Medium Poems. Below are the most popular long Medium by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Medium poems by poem length and keyword.
The Phat Ladies of Malta or The Fat Ladies of Malta
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8 chicken thighs de-boned and flatened
16 slices of ham
16 slices of swiss cheese
roll ham and cheese in the chicken
to create a cigar shape
use tooth picks or skewers to secure in place
flour with seasoned flour
egg wash and breadcrumb mixture
sautee golden brown ( almost done)
remove from the pan set aside.
in a pan sautee 1 cup of onion
1/4 cup of red bell pepper
5 T of chopped celery
4 tablespoons of garlic in olive oil
carmilize. add 4 tablespoons of tomato puree
1 teaspoon of anchvie paste.
2 cups of marsala
squeeze one leom
1/4 of parlsey
1 teaspoon of sweet basil
1 cup of chicken stock
1 14 oz. can of artichoke hearts
1 teaspoon of cayeene pepper
1/2 cup of black olives
1/2 cup of sunflower
salt to taste or taste and salt. if to salty water it down.
simmer on lowish medium for 20 to 30 minutes.
serve with a salad and some garlic bread enjoy!
The majestic position of the lion
Indelible link to a bygone event,
one clutches with foolproof recall,
of cerulean cloud-ridden sky,
on that pivotal day I penned my first opus,
I strolled at a leisurely pace,
down this charming but tangled green lane,
that would later perturb the gist of my tract,
uncanny those sun-streak formations,
sinuous transient rich-coloured sequence,
each passing cloud had this mammoth offshoot,
kaleidoscope medium hue snatch,
wild spur to psychic pictorial harvest,
downward plod seemed so apt as a title,
perky whisper from cotton wool sweep,
had its dawn in thin veil mists,
I zestfully scribbled each thought,
without stick, hum and haw, tribulation,
prickly hedge, blue fly drone, rambling briar,
found their unforeseen Orphic voodoo,
fervent stanza and spiral quicksand,
spooky banshee air wail raucous thriller,
to spore shedding fern, somber ripple or dash,
tangy vapour guide rails afterglow,
drop by drop float on satin rim fleece,
and so my first plot was conceived,
at the whim of a noonday cloud
Christmas is around the corner
Santa, the spirit of Christmas, on my head, does hover
Santa, if I tell you with a lot of honesty
That I have shown myself good and worthy
Will you give me back my heart?
Yes, my heart, lost and roaming
Aimless, in an unknown medium, meant not to blossom
My heart, who once used to be beating
My heart, now looks at me as if I were, for her, an anonym
Pray, my heart, my beating heart, my frail and fragile heart!
Why, I lost it once when the storm soared
Once, when I saw life as going merely deathward
Once, when I swallowed my gulp
And closed in on myself, instead of seeking help
Why, now healed, I seek to do justice to my heart!
Pray, daughter of the Earth, you did not lose your heart
Why, it is true that the skies fell on you, mad and adamant
Adamant yes, adamant about giving you protection
Adamant about giving you a glimpse of the bliss of liberation
Adamant about showing you that this worldly plane here is mere abstraction
But know that your heart is kept safe
It is in the very lap of the one who bestows humanity with faith
Faith about the world becoming a better place
Faith about finding hope and solace
Faith about life being but a travel, that it is not a final destination!
So pray, wipe off that yearning look from your eyes
After all, you do keep searching for the Truth behind the silence of the skies
Why, mind not the misery of the Earth
It shall also bloom, wilt and meet with its death
Yes, seek not your lost heart, rather, water it with drops of mystical love!
So that you may be made of more philanthropic humanity
So that you may be, to this world, more than a mere memory
Pray, the trodden Earth needs more than a helping hand
The trodden Earth needs a support to be able to stand
Yes, fill it, your well kept heart, with those drops of mystical love!
I was traveling on a road
A road with no diverging
A road expected to be smooth
A road texture of which can be trusted
I encountered many jerks
The ride was becoming unpleasant
I still continued
In hope of leaving the jerks
I encountered potholes now
The ride was now impossible
Yet I had some fraction of hope inside
I kept on travelling
I kept in mind
If potholes return
I will change my medium
Or will change the road
We travel on roads to get a smooth ride
Jerks can be tolerated
Even sometimes only
Potholes are impossible
If one continues their ride
Even on potholes
They either hope for a smooth path
Or are stubborn fools to drive
See the small children having tremendous fun
Now there’s a blanket of white in the winter sun
Overnight pretty snowflakes fell crisp and deep
Whilst all the little children were fast asleep
Arms and legs are now outstretched in the snow
Not making their movements too fast or slow
Glistening snow angels are so carefully made
Eventually the snow will melt; the ‘angels’ will fade
Lots of precious memories made on this wintery day
Snow is a wonderful medium where children can play
Winter related acrostic poem contest
Sponsored by Janice Canerdy
12~26~16
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:
The cabin was stood there, its door was ajar
The owners were out but they couldn’t be far
She was so thirsty she needed a drink
Did she wait outside... well what do you think
She pushed on the door, ‘Is there anyone there’
I’m just a wee girl who has long golden hair
She thought to herself there is nobody here
But there on the table three glasses of beer
She stood there a while her hands on her hips
That beer looked refreshing and she licked her lips
One glass was small, it was gone in two sips
Another so big it had double hand grips
She couldn’t resist it she drank that as well
Then eyeballed the middle one, oh, what the hell
A medium glass which was just as well
For she felt her bladder was starting to swell
She went to the loo she was now feeling rough
She heard a door creak and a voice that was gruff
She knew what came next, it was more than a hunch
She knew there was no such thing as a free lunch
And so pretty soon she was pinned to the floor
And paid for the drinks, perhaps a few more
But ‘loving’ for beer? She wished she was dead
And then the big glass fell right on his head
He let out a groan and was totally zonked
A lump on his head from where he’d been bonked
She needed some help, there was no-one about
But Goldilocks belched... and then she passed out
The front door swung open and three bears stood there
What the heck’s going on asked a shocked Mummy bear
Daddy bear grumbled, both confused and mad
And Baby bear said... Who’s under grandad
She says her love language is food well now you're talking baby
We can go anywhere what shall it be
Texas, Mexico, France, Italy, China, Germany, or maybe some old-fashioned southern hospitality
I know your mind has a hard time deciding, so take your time
What should we eat is a question that should be treated as a delicacy
Our taste buds deserve a vacation because your stomach has a vacancy
The way the hunger is talking to me in Spanish
Slow down so I can understand
I know the frustration is mounting
She says ok I think I've narrowed it down to three
A burger, tacos, or maybe some sushi please
I respond: Mooyahs, Velvet, Tortilleria, or Mr. Chopsticks
I know her usual at each, as well as the second and third options if one is unavailable
I'm still emotionally available for you, right now that looks like food
She responds I want something quick and easy
Mooyahs it is
There's something so inviting about a good burger that makes you do a happy dance while you're sitting still
Medium Rare with everything except onions for her, I like mine all the way dressed
She will get a small fry and then steal some from my large after I told her she should get a medium
It’s ok because what’s yours is mine, and mines is yours
The face you make when you’re hangry I adore
But nothing means more than being full of our love
Soul food tastes like an r & b song, but today it tastes like this burger
p.s. I love our last-minute emergency food dates…
*The following is a mosaic poem—a unique form of poetry that combines fragments from various sources, such as words, phrases, or lines, to create a new and cohesive piece. This technique mirrors the way a mosaic artwork is constructed, where different pieces come together to form a complete image. (Source: medium.com)
I. Lexicon of First Light
In the stillness before morning names itself,
your shadow leans toward mine~
a soft grammar of nearness,
a syntax of skin and sky.
Somewhere between breath and belonging,
I memorized your demons,
not to hold them~
but to know the shape of what you survived.
II. Marginalia of the Heart
Love writes sideways,
in the margins,
in the places daylight forgets.
Your laughter leaves bright smudges on the air~
a graffiti of butterflies,
fluttering in the alleyways of my ribs,
tagging every quiet corner
with color I didn’t know I needed.
III. Conjugations of Want
You tilt your head,
and the world tilts with you.
Even your shadows flirt with the light.
You whisper,
“Come closer~
flirt with my demons
the way moonlight flirts with water.”
And I do,
because love is brave enough
to touch what trembles.
IV. The Forever Tense
We stand in the doorway of a day not yet written,
your hand in mine~
a soft vow,
a quiet grammar of trust.
In the language only we speak,
you offer a promise of foreverness,
and I answer
by staying.
It was certainly dreary and very dusty for there was no floor
The sides were all rusty and with that there wasn't much more
One tin hut after another as far as the human eye could see
The dust would almost smoother but from it you could never flee
And all the children around everywhere the eye would turn
A situation so profound such pain is even hard to discern
Here there is no dinner bell at least one that I would rarely hear
One look into their eye would tell making everything perfectly clear
But in the distant countryside there came a low rumbling roar
As the whole refuge camp eyed I've never seen so many so poor
And then over the mountain top the roar getting louder and louder
I took a moment to just to stop as I've never been any prouder
Majestically hovering above everybody running just below
As out came packages of love that made a whole village glow
Each taking a bag or a sack and hurriedly went on their way
As now no one would have to lack as they would all get to eat today
And in that little hut over a tiny fire sat one medium pot of rice
Oh how I must admire how to this family everything seemed so nice
A smile on every single face and the laughter that filled that tiny little place
And thus in stating my case it is your charity that is God's Grace