Long Mush Poems

Long Mush Poems. Below are the most popular long Mush by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mush poems by poem length and keyword.


Sunday Morning Brunch

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444444 equals 24 trotters
6 heads
4 livers
4 hearts
6 kidneys
2 hams
Various scraps
5 hour boil time
Onions
Carrots
Greenpeppers
Garlic
Thyme
Basil
Bayleaves
2 cups of port
Rubbed sage
Salt
Pepper
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Brunch Day
Sunday morning scrapple/ bacon and mushrooms 
Scrambled eggs and cheese
Toast/butter and honey
Hash browns 
Jam/jelly
Coffee
Beet, carrot,orange/vodka
Strawberry tart
Butternut squash tart/pecans 
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______________________________________
Darling I may never have told you
Ain't nothing right without you
You're the star of the show
My leading lady
Keeping you happy ain't no chore
I love you
I guess  I wanted you to know
Sometimes I get a little busy
we spend so much time apart
here a little something to make you smile
It comes straight from my heart
Said I love you
Ain't got no problems saying it again
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Cured salmon rolled in sliced ham with sour cream eggyolk and dill....
Form: Ballade


Premium Member What They Really Meant To Say --

‘The food’s a little spicy’ ~
   Is there a fire extinguisher in the house?

‘She’s got a figure to die for’ ~
   Somewhere under those layers of flab.

‘He’s aggressive, and that’s what I like in my salesmen.’ ~
   A bull in a china shop looks like a ballet dancer next to him.

‘Grandma plays a mean game of hearts.’ ~
   She leads with the Queen of Spades. 

‘One thing about my sister. She sure is talkative.’ ~
   Her ears have disappeared ever since she grew her hair long.

‘I think the boss has ‘a thing’ for oldies.’ ~
   He blasts Led Zeppelin’s ‘Immigrant Song’ over the intercom all day. 

‘When she sees Scott, her knees turn to mush.’ ~
   That way, her knees match the rest of her body.

'I'd say that rookie is a 'can't-miss prospect.' ~
   If he misses even one practice, he's off the team for good.

‘Your teeth are like stars, Zelda.’ ~
   They come out every night.

Courtney Mae Or Courting May

Come now, Spring! You’re such a fickle young thing!
On the wings of newborn feathers, your wiles
up and downturn winds to sudden cold flings 
tripping warming skins to tremble a while…

Next come your silken color-filled fancies!
Eyes beckoned, step out to be near such charms…
Yens still, as you march as perfumed dandy,
masking musky breath, that breezes sneezed harm…

And when April comes along, your eye gleams!
Enchantment grows, then fades to slushy mush….
Becoming crystals, shatter in your steam
Oh how she weeps, for diamonds rained to slush!

Rivers gush your youth’s enthusiasm ~
Now, may you calm, ere you deepen chasms ~

(2/7/23)
may
Form: Sonnet

Premium Member On Tending the Great Ancestral Fires

ON TENDING THE GREAT ANCESTRAL FIRES

Here lies the residue
Of an old fire
Long gone
Dry—Ashes 
Left to the whelms
Of raindrops to dampen
Into a useless mush—
Or for the wind to blow
Aimlessly to nowhere;
Wet and immobile
Or blowing dry in the wind,
Useless are cold ashes.

Here, scattered among the warm ashes,
Lay hot remnants of a once great fire
Gone untended—abandoned as.
Often, tenders of great fires are released
From their duties by the thirst of death;
Others are just scared away.
Be whichever it may, great fires
Cocoon themselves in charcoal hued embers.
Charcoal hued embers—steamers of raindrops
And lovers of re-birthing winds of ignition.

Come chilled children;
Movements are like unsettled ashes
Of social interchange; revolution,
Like volcanic embers of transformation.
Come cocooned children;
Let us gather and stoke volcanic embers
That we may metamorphose in the presence
Of the Great Fire spirit of our ancestors—
Least we devolve into the staled mush of ashes.

The Thinking Back Buffet

dipping jumbo shrimp in my clam chowder soup
becoming lost in thought when i did not even have a collection of pennies
water fountain hunting was my very difficult means of survival
everything turns yellow in my visual view
spots and polka dots lead to a tunnel so blue black dark 
when i come to, my right hand ends up in a toilet full of soggy, used toilet paper
my hand dripping pungent toilet water on the floor, i stumble to the sink
when i wash my hands, my reflection in the mirror points to my red eyes devoid of adequate rest along with the rest of my body
my words are slurred and my self esteem is a clogged pipe dream
i walk out of the store and back to my car where i collapse while blank-faced
rather than wanting to die, i yearn to get away
however the constipated monkey on my back keeps me here
all my wishes have turns to mush by way of mallet
startled back to reality somehow, i feel the warm, freshly made clam chowder soup dripping down my finger
after gulping it down, i take a big bit of my honey buttered yeast roll
i stifle a cry that i feel coming on
i find motivation staring excitedly at the mexican rice and the bourbon street chicken on the other plate
the lemon cream pie does not look too bad either
now i never forget to count my blessings
growth while getting older is like water refreshingly forming icicles on the ribcage
© Marty King  Create an image from this poem.


Drugging You With Love---- a Love War

Your love is to catastrophic
Kisses are so supersonic
My heart exploding like a bomb
When I see your boyish charm
Arms so tight I'm getting crushed
From the power of your touch
Eyes so powerful they can melt
The feelings that I've always felt
Into a hot pile of mush
From one of your sexy looks
A warm embrace lights me on fire
The hotness is just getting higher
Burning me from head to toe
With the steamy love you show
This relationships going to be
The sexiest death of me
As the weaker I become
I can hear a loving hum
From two gorgeous lips that say
You will wobble more each day
As my arsenal gets stronger
Every day it will get longer
For you to turn and retreat
From my war of loving heat
That will never die or flicker
You will just keep getting sicker
From love injections I'll provide
Everyday you are alive
Breathing in my dedication
Drugging you with my emotion
Form: Rhyme

Social Security Electronic Deposit

Social Security Electronic Deposit ruff lee = A Dog Send!

Node out if Trump
     pad hiz way...
this scrivener would
     batten down in skidrow
with the missus,
    the latter who would veto
such misery, none
     the less, she would

     most likely experience
a sense of helplessness too,
which poetic title just came
     to mum mind, cuz panic
     stricken thoughts rue
asper what if that figurative
     wellspring of government
     small largesse

     (electronically deposited
     beginning of each month)
dried up sue
sink lee forcing me out
     onto the brutally cold
     bleak domain queue
wing up to the next
     available steaming manhole

     sink or mebbe best firm
     me tug hoe to Peru
walking all the
     way there (devoid
     of money, would disallow
     choice to drive or access
public transit), ooh
such hardship would

     constitute an offal
     spell, which more
     likely, would find me
dead aah with new
more hardship,
     (yea of corpse
this chap joking,
     but gallows hue

     more about cease
     sing to exists),
     but forced at the
mercy of teenage mew
ninja turtles, or
     worse...stuck in rat
     infested hole in wall
     smelling like a loo

hmm...juiced perhaps
     rapping on the door
     of a Synagogue, could allow
     admittance for this
     enthusiastic, basic atheistic
Unitarian, though of Jew
whoosh heritage,
     though aye knew

nary a whit aboot Semitic culture,
     I maze well high tail north
     in search for cold
     storage in an igloo
calling out across the
     miles of frozen tundra
"YOU HOO...LUCY?...DESI?...
...ANY BODY HOME?" when

     of course irritable bowel
     syndrome kicks in putting
     cramp on me glue
tee us maximus. finding
yours truly to ejaculate a stronger
     expletive than "FOO,"
which utterance does absolutely
     nothing to remedy, thus...

     imagine this poet stranded in
     the middle of nowhere
with mush aboot doo doo
on my mind, and/or
     same in his pants!

Premium Member Fries And Burgers

Feeling kinda cruddy, yup, that's the word
Too many fries, too many burgs

When will I learn I can't handle that stuff
Stomach rebels, starts causing a fuss

Once could eat nails and all kinds of gunk
Now I eat mush and ground junk

My teeth are all gone, can't chew anymore
Things go down whole, my tummy gets sore

So such is the life of this senior type dude
Head for the washroom, each time I eat food

Food disappears like famous greased lightning
Or I sit there for hours, really quite frightening

Irregularity's my name, I'm “IRREG” for short
Hope an operation, I don't have to resort

An artificial esophagus transplanted in me
So I can go regular like it once used to be

Oh for the days when I could eat all that junk
Those days are gone, who woulda thunk

That one day I'd be eating my morning cereal
Laced with Metamucil or some such material!

Premium Member Alias Santa Claus

Been mistaken for Santa Claus
More than one time over the years
Could be my big fat rolly belly
Or my beard from ear to ear

It's kind of cool when a little kiddie
Comes up to me and tells me this
"Once I saw you last Christmas Day
And you gave my mommie a kiss!"

Kids always say such funny things
Some of them can make you blush
A little guy told me I was really fat
Must eat a big bunch of mush

Wouldn't think of shaving my beard
Or losing a big bunch of pounds
Cause then I'd miss these little  kiddies
And their amazing ability to astound

Before I end this long dissertation
There's one thing I really must extol
Don't ever lose the tiny person
That's living within your soul

©Jack Ellison 2012
Form: Quatrain

Premium Member EMBERS AND SNOWFLAKES

No snow can ever fall without your memory
punishing and pushing me into a dark reverie.
Watching snow fall, I see your face, feel your touch
and fade into a tangled web of sensory rush
until I am bleak like snow when turned to mush.
Snow of bright, gleaming thick layers 
reminds me of me when still truth spared.

Then, when snow browns with man’s grime,
I feel my heart bruises sharply combine.
Making love in a remote cabin should not 
have happened, only the fire was not a lie.
Your deceiving words of love’s design
were words I believed as I gave my all to you.
By fire, I submitted, pliant and fully subdued.

As we lay entwined in love’s aftermath
you stabbed me with words that attacked.
As the fire cracked, my heart burned black.
You spoke of your wife, your still married life,
and confessed lying to get me in the sack.
Smugly, you shared a hope I was okay with that.
I could not speak, I felt only emotional smacks.

Fire was the only sound when you fell asleep
and a rage grew in me much to raw to keep.
How strange to watch myself from outside myself,
to see myself rendered into anger tremors 
as I rolled you into the fire’s splendor.
I heard your screams muffled in fire’s temper
until you were reduced to ash and embers.
Form: Rhyme

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