Long Mixing Poems
Long Mixing Poems. Below are the most popular long Mixing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mixing poems by poem length and keyword.
One bag of gingersnaps
1 cups of butter
1/4 of ground pecans
Mix and cover bottom of
square casserole pan
One can of corn kernals (drained)
2 cups of cream cheese
2 tablespoons of coconut rum
1/4 cup of coconut milk
1 tablespoon of. vanilla extract
1/2 cup of sugar
2 teaspoons of molasses
5 eggs
1/4 cup of cornstarch
5 tablespoons of melted butter
Mix sugar, molasass, rum milk ,and butterin a bowl
In a mixer soften cream cheese, and addeggs and cornstarch mixing until smooth, combine with butter mixture. Add corn mix smooth
And top the gingersnap crust. Bake for 35 minutes
Or until filling is firm and top is browned.
In
Along this foggy daybreak stroll,
I tread along the intersection
between Mabini Street and EDSA boulevard,
crossing number 25 Ortigas Road.
I breathe in the same grain
of Manila pollen and dust itching
my throat ; an acrid mound of city garbage
gathered by rain’s aftermath,
as if to beckon another tropical deluge;
and the loud chatter of headlines
from the newspaper stand pierces
the lobes with a burning jolt… a bundle
of political scoops and trade rumors
grating an otherwise neutral hour.
Few distances away, a flea market stand
vibrates with energy; pedestrians milling
around to check buko pies, plum bits,
and homemade guava jams… the exotic aromas
mixing with smoky flavor of dried bamboo leaves
on top of abaca wares; all these catering
to small pleasures of the low-middle working class.
Curving through Francis Square, a deluge
of movement initiates the 7 30 am rush…
buses, cars, and taxi- stands unload
a giant hive of wayfarers coming from
different points of the map; dragging
their skeletal frames like ticks of a clock.
Amidst a Friday hub, I stop to glance at the
towering statue of Mother Mary as a
cart-pusher slowly wanders by; his warm
smile bearing a contrast in a region
where the rat race of man is typical.
Surrounded by a collage of fragrant
eucalypti and mango trees, I breath in
a sense of delight likened to my
yard’s garden, this time, with heady scent.
The plump oaks at the front lobby
of Pharmo Industries are shedding
foliage, while a painted splash
of native robins cruises from laced twigs,
far beyond the clutter of newspaper stands,
market place, and taxi-stands.
My gaze casts inward to balance my thoughts,
as I begin my protracted stay at work.
Stand Contest of Debbie Guzzi
and Nathan's One of Your Best
by nette onclaud
POTD 23rd June 2019
Maria Williams
Presents
Dance to Love
A tribute to my Dad, the late - Wilfred Forbes
She danced with wild abandon
she danced without a care
With sun kissed skin, her arms flung wide
Wild flowers everywhere
I chanced upon this secret glade
while walking early morn
A sacred aura surrounded it
a jewel in the dawn
A type of place where angels dwell
A place of Hopes and Dreams
A magic place of lush green plants
And sparkling bubbling streams
I drew back lest she saw me,
I dared not break the spell
Wild petals swirled around her
and to the ground they fell
Like homage to a Goddess
that she must surely be
For Gods to but gaze on
not mortals such as me
She twirled around so fast
I could barely see her feet
And even though I stood afar
I knew she gave off heat
When her tempo slowed right down
the air became quite chill
The Elements were but her slaves
she ordered them at will
I could have watched forever
so mesmerized was I
What would I give to dance with you?
I murmured with a sigh
To dance with wild abandon
with this Angel from above
A hundred birds would sing out loud
to watch us Dance To Love
by Maria Williams
This tribute is an enactment of a vision as told to us by our late Dad, which he maintained he witnessed as a young man.
He was an extraordinary orchestral musician and teacher to
some world greats.
He was accomplished in no less than 18 instruments, his favorites being the lead violin and xylophone (played with 8 hammers).
Thank you for listening and watching this video.
Copyright © June 2019 Maria Williams
Video arrangement, production, direction
and compilation:
Ron Williams
Video editing, sound mixing, graphics:
Jayne Hartanto
If you like my video please share
and subscribe on You Tube
POTD 23rd June 2019
I love the creativity of the sun…she has an artist’s eye…each day she paints a new masterpiece as she floats across the sky.
She begins painting the moment she rises…she paints all through the day and on into the evening…until she sets…and puts her paints away.
She paints in a multitude of colors…bold and beautiful…filled with light…then gladly hands her canvas off to the moon…the artist of the night.
The moon has only two colors…different shades of dark and light…but this does not confine her creativity…as she, too, paints a masterpiece each night.
Her shades are more muted…more subtle…unlike how the sun’s are loud…mixing her shades of dark throughout the sky and her lights throughout the clouds.
She begins painting the moment the sun sets…she paints all through the night…then gladly hands the canvas back to the sun at her first light.
Two completely different artist..painting with different colors…different eyes…
completing totally different masterpieces on the same canvas…
the same sky.
Two completely different artists painting while dancing two beautiful ballets….
One bringing beauty to the night…
the other…beauty to the day.
Stepping out into the collective,
My soul choosing the directive,
I selectively choose my way.
Letting my imagination play,
Straying thoughts catch my attention,
As more enter my dimension.
I see a reflection of ascension,
My body is feeling the tension,
Your intention my only impression.
As I dive into another lesson,
An energy expression session,
Consciousness intersections,
Set up for interventions.
As we venture into the unknown,
Growing together in time,
Our interaction climbs,
Intertwines,
A new twist to the vine.
Exchanging with the Divine,
Your energy is mixing with mine,
As I begin to find new emotions,
Different thoughts within my mind.
Standing behind my truth,
I let them all through,
Transmuting them too.
Giving you a better view,
Something you can hold on too,
To direct the stew of emotions,
Pouring from this ocean of energy,
The collective gets from me.
A blender
Can be used for mixing or crushing
Of many things
Including the visible and the invisible
Happiness can survive alone
But happiness sometimes does blend
With sadness
While you're touring you see
Startling poverty
While you're enjoying food
With a lot of people yearning for it
At this moment
Feelings in your heart
Seem to be mixed by a blender
Sadness always hurts deeply
Like being crushed by the blender
Unless sadness is blended
With hope
Welfare will give the needy hope
A prayer too
An encouragement too
Some confidence too
Some efforts too
And one's own determination
To live to struggle and to try too
There is no pace anymore; time is picking up speed.
One day a mustard seed-the next a sky tree.
Nest generations offering songs to the breeze.
Space /time is bending around a rib of infinity.
A cluster of red heifers is being prepared.
Elements for the third temple are mixing.
The loom of life is weaving the second coming.
Something sublime and biblical seems to be happening
Most of it probably won't be very pretty.
Speed is the offspring of time and space.
The veil is being pulled away from great mysteries.
It wouldn't hurt to say a prayer-just in case
Even though we only half believe.
God is an all-in deity.
For certain, time is picking up speed.
Alignment of ancient prophecies.
The matrix is thinning.
Frighteningly beautiful things unveiling.
Bleaching the grime from the cracks in the soul.
Are you ready?
Compensation is given only as much
as the market price decides;
even if a lifetime has passed,
mixing blood and sweat into the soil
to build a home or a field—
the value of blood, the value of sweat
is not determined,
there is no price for them in the market.
Compensation is not given even for the nests
hanging on the trees, for the broken
eggs, for the dying newborn birds
either; the lush green grass
that is life for some creatures,
some shelters that lie
beneath the clusters of trees—
but compensation
for them too is not given.
The winds too receive no compensation;
wind, water, and life have no rights—
these are for the sake of the country,
whose true meaning the capitalists understand.
They have the right
to buy all shelters
for just one rupee.
Compensation will be borne by the country;
the country has no right
to take the full price.
Whatever was given to whomever,
even that much is fixed for them;
the rest is their right—
those whose names it is not my right to take.
Some say that we humans,
have a mission here on earth.
Somebody should teach that
to the ears of idiots.
Few discover their mission,
they rationalize
that being a scientist or a poet
must be their mission.
Few understand,
that loving your horse or dog,
is both holy and ordained.
It's expected.
Saying sorry, ten times a day is our mission.
Knowing that nothing matters,
but caring anyway -
that is a mission,
We were not sent here,
to do great things,
great accomplishments are easy.
Making an excellent cup of tea,
mixing a perfect margarita,
hugging a sulky wife.
These are great missions - do them well.
Snapping beans, the summer pastime
Filling Mason jars
With cornfield or half runners
Filling a crock with layers
Of beans and corn, canning salt
For pickled beans and corn
That would make my mouth water
Peeling ripe red tomatoes
That I called maters
Cutting them in wedges
Placing them in Mason jars
Adding a touch of salt
Sealing the lids and cooking
In a liquid water bath
For enough time to be sure
Those maters were preserved
For the winter weather
Chili, soup or spaghetti
Dicing cucumbers
Mixing them with vinegar
And all the spices, garlic
Everything that makes the best
Pickles ever tasted
They seem such a blessing
When the snowflakes hover
Near the windows, dusting
The entire mountain
With reflections of the season
As the harvest hands over its treasures
Beans, corn, maters and so much more
The wise worker from the fields
Leaves the front porch each day
With scrapes of bean strings, peelings
And excess husks so the pigs
Will be as blessed as the rest of us
Granny showed me how to can
She gave me her instructions
With a hug and a grin
Hoping to remind me to always
Blend a bit of love
Into everything I preserved
From garden to porch
From porch to jar
From jar to dish
Where the love is mixed in
So that everyone who samples
A dish from my kitchen
Knows that I have given
My very best intentions!