Long Nut Poems
Long Nut Poems. Below are the most popular long Nut by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nut poems by poem length and keyword.
Once upon time's center
grows two permaculturing farmers,
multicultural mediators
of Earth's healthy polypathic remainder,
And, surrounding them,
seven elders
and their cheer leading mascot
of disabling foolery
Arriving each spring
in his wheeled chair
to witness
and sometimes loudly prophecy,
to entertain with his win/win intentions,
studying compassionate economics
and empowering politics
and enlightening neurological communion
v dissonance.
These aged and playful snowbirds
form a Wisdom Circle
conjoined by all farmers
Committed to Earth's health care
in humble Vermont neighborhood places
spaces balancing Green Lives Matter races
into organically interdependent co-investments.
This Circle plans cooperative gardens,
MultiCulturally designing
and redesigning shared outdoor climate spaces
in and on now abandoned places
they purchase together
to divest of Green Commons neglect
and invest in a local cooperatively-held enterprise
With land and water and healthy air-based capital
where patient customers
become curious partners
contributing cash
but also labor,
beauty
and nutritional equity,
gracious investment
and/or benignly viral infestment.
This Green Wisdom Circle
plants fruit and nut trees,
vegetables EarthMothers insist they eat
and would like as much as fruit sweet
if they remain of right/left balancing mind.
They plant hemp,
and make baskets
and yoga mats
during dispersed winters
into the retiring diaspora
season for planning futures
of health restoring EarthJustice.
Circles of weavers
and knitters
turn lambs
into shorn sheep
into yarn
into blankets
socks
sweaters
skullcaps
winter masks
with ear **** handles.
Eventually
this Circle will reincarnate Wisdom
into Fire Circles for compline meditations
and story telling
into Singing Circles
of care medication
for young through old,
for those present living now,
and here dead
and yet to arrive
within all sacred regenerating species,
Egos circling within ecosystems,
interweaving networks
of TruthSeeker Circles
sharing win/win BeautyVisions,
Communion Farming Centers
within nonviolent communication systems
for engaging nutritional health,
Sacred ZeroCore recovery Allies,
not Lone Warriors,
within Earth's fully present
compassionate
care giving as receiving
green old as new deal Circles.
Bring the Nzu and
Kola nut
Take it to the
stranger among us,
Let him kiss it and
be bless.
Let him rub the Nzu
on his arms then his
fore head.
It is our tradition
here not to neglect
A humble stranger in
our land.
We kiss suffering on
the lips, it harm us
not.
We measure our joy
with dance and
laughter.
pour the oil in the
calabash
Roast the yam and
break the kolanut,
Let the youngest
among us break and
share it.
Pour the dry gin on
the ground and bless
the gods
Our forefathers must
drink before we
taste ours
Angry will they be
if they taste not
the gin.
It is our tradition
here in Nkporoland.
The maiden must not
touch the raging
masquerade
Keep them afar off
from the here, let
them smell not of
it.
All the young men
must be present at
the Iza Afa festival
and then the young
women must not be
excluded from the
Igboto Nma festival
in the village
square.
When is the
initiation into the
masks spirit taken
place?
Warn all the young
men to partake, it
is our tradition
Never allow the she
goat deliver in
pain,
Go call the elders
to look after its
delivering.
The snake must never
be in group like the
beads
It is an abomination
not among the
tradition.
Gather the cowries
and the white chalk
and assemble the
youth in the shrine
Lets pour the goat
blood for the
sacrifices
The gos will hear us
this time after
We went astray from
it in foolishness.
Call on the widow
among us, i heard
there was one.
Her hair must be
Barbe thoroughly
She must bath and
drink the water used
on
Her deceased husband
bath.
The Umu Ada must be
there
It is the tradition
here.
Let the Umu Ada
check the maidens
Of their virginity
before they dance
Let them deep their
hands into the hole
One after the other
to check the fruits.
It is part of the
traditions.
The king must not
set his eyes on a
rotten
Shining meals which
are set for the
vultures.
Let not a child
whistles in the day
Let not a girl child
come out to the
Agbala naked
Under the initiation
in festival of
virginity.
We all must set the
tradition going
It is our right and
liberty to excel.
Neglect not the
wisdom of the elders
In his wisdom exist
pure and holy.
Our fore fathers
must be happy and
free
when we all observe
the traditions
Of Nkporoland in its
pure heart.
July 25th, 1996 tied the Gordian knot,...
(I spent noose cents)
begot deux daughters, the major events
both since flew cuckoo's nest,
the eldest angry at papa for offense
sieve behavior fatherly bond
forever sundered permanent rents
unforgiving progeny vents
bile, explosive vitriol whence...
Aye yen for bachelorhood every
now and again doth mildly abate
after saying "I do...,"
when axed by justice of peace
nearly two dozen years wedded
bull hissing, rest assured
I will abbreviate
encapsulate, fulminate, narrate...
and forthrightly admit,
yours truly oft times
yearned to abdicate
spousal unbridled warfare and injustice
reason enough to abnegate
null and void husbandry role
ex post facto finding thyself
questioning pledging troth even
Frosty the snowman would abominate
to say "screw this -
marriage nut for me"
bolt in a huff boot (dang)
ne'er did absquatulate
altercations that adhere
to rule of physics
and tended to accelerate
as muzzled, neigh saying saddled
former groom did
lament and accentuate
his physical needs,
she did not accommodate,
cuz this solitary soul
(with good n plenti horse sense),
never did fully acculturate
with female species,
one whose blunt cold front
seemed to accumulate growing
gripe list bestowed courtesy this mate
tit for tat wrathful pitiless,
(not so cherry) feedback unmatched
within annotated coupled courtship of fools,
this scrivener with steely
iron maiden breastplate,
nonetheless did rack up and accumulate
battle scars hitting bullseye,
since donned with
corrective vision spectacles
hen pecking, needling termagant
untameable shrew did acerate
(worse fate than death -
validated by grim reaper)
avowed covenant thru torturous years
exponentially punishing innocent soul
(slightly biased) did acervate
popping one after
another over the counter acetylsalicylate,
no ampule adequate
to relieve permanent suffering,
thus lifetime electric shock treatment,
nsync quaffing prescription
kool aid battery acidulate
ineffective to activate
palliative, and restore
liberty (yeah) sense and sensibility
subsequently providing freedom
against further wifely scourges
whereby Doctor Phil Ander
refused to adjudicate,
perhaps understandable why I advocate
selfless mercy killing (euthanasia)
for this urbane country bumpkin.
I-Robby
Robby had been married going on eight years,
2hen his Marie demanded a divorce,
whe had been planning, lawyering up,
and instantly dragged it into the court.
Poor Robby had not seen it coming,
he thought things had been going quite well,
he could barely deal with loosing his love,
much less navigating Family Court hell.
Worst still Marie had cleaned out their accounts,
so he had to borrow from his parents,
just to afford a junior lawyer,
in truth, Robby was unable to bear it.
Being separated from his two boys,
being along with no partner if life…
What could he have done to ever have earned
the enmity of his once loving wife?
The proceedings, they just kept dragging on,
and Robby faced insurmountable bills,
then one day Marie claimed that he’d hit her,
that his temper was always set to kill?!
Robby’s family gawked in disbelief,
their boy never even been in a fight,
they all tried to say the Marie had lied,
but she played the judge’s sympathies right.
Men don’t fare well in Family Courts,
in the end Rob lost near sixty percent,
add the that alimony, child support,
and no custody of his two children.
The young men felt his world crashing on down,
but the worst of it was yet to come,
Marie’s claims made their way up to his boss,
and within weeks, Rob’s position was gone.
When he told the judge he was out of work,
and his payments would have to be changed,
she said,”I’ll have to investigate this,
many dead-beats go to lengths to not pay.”
That dragged on for several long months,
and Robby was already long broke,
one morning a cop waited on his front door,
and with a sneer, glared at Robby and spoke:
“We have got a complaint that you have not
paid up on this month’s child support.
A warrant has been issued for your arrest,
I really hate dealing with your sort!”
He tried to explain his words with the judge,
but the officer really didn’t care,
dragged into court, Rob found the same judge,
glowering down at him from her chair.
“Your wife needs those payments to survive,
nut you seem to think this is a joke,
so you’re going to spend a week in jail,
and learn an important lesson, I hope.”
As to the judge’s biased nature,
Robby no longer had any doubts,
and none there knew that when he went away,
never more would he ever come out…
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Do not be self-conscious or anything, but I have got my big ,rotatorof an eye on you.
I know your mama and yourdad, and I’m willing to let them know if you are not being true.
I cannot tell you that it is never odd or even, but I can tell you that it’s midway, and blue.
Eve, Bob, Otto and Anna are ready to jump right in that kayak and stack cats if they have to.
Don’t pop your eyes at me, young lady. I do not care if we are at the civic center; I feel free
To do whatever I have to, to keep Evil Olive in check, and you also, my little bumble bee.
Who is looking for a nut for a jar of tuna? There is no lemon, no melon, and it’s 9:03.
The radar gun is in the van with Hannah, anyway it was at noon, so I thought that it still might be.
Someone is outside the civic center is yelling, “No garden, one dragon!” What does that mean anyway?
I brought this 6th grade level field trip with me to have an interesting, fun-filled, learning challenged day.
I don’t need some nut-bucket ruining it for me, on every level, this is totally wrong, and I don’t play!
The mirror rimis brushing against the tailgate of the bus we brought, but that is for the driver to say.
Now where in the Sam hill crazy town, is that blue nylon solokayak that was attached to the top of our bus?
I thought we could have one blasted solo-inspired field trip to the civic center without a bunch of fuss.
I realize it is noon, and people are hungry and crabby, and the blue kayak is a big fat muss.
But you have to realize that Eve, Bob, Otto, and Anna were the ones assigned to straighten this big tuss.
I always get the blame when things go wrong, as everyone blames the poor old mama.
The dad is just as much to blame, but there he goes, taking off on a fat llama.
I’m ready to pop my cork, and pitch a fit that would shock the Dad, so much.
Aha! Here he is, back to chow down his fabulous, hand-stacked pepperoni lunch.
(Part One) The first few hours.
I was just a ordinary man
caught up in the unruly throng,
The mob jeering and ranting
insults on the road along,
I pushed and shoved my way
through all the furore
to see what all the fuss and melee
was all about at the fore.
My heart shrunk as I eyed
in total dismay that ghastly sight,
From what befell my eyes, that Friday morn
befouling that dawning day with blight,
Was a Man sparsely clad, and bloodied soiled,
And about fifteen and a half hands tall,
His nut brown shoulder length hair
now caked and matted in disarray.
The way His hair and beard
was parted in the middle down
i knew that Man then
was belonging to the Nazarene Sect,
And brutally entwined upon His head
was a brambled thorny crown,
What more torturous and bestial
torment can a naked body be subject,
His body oozed and dripped sweat
all mixed with blood and grime,
And even more the gruesome
was the criss-cross lashes mark,
So visible, as He staggered along
on that arduous path that morning time,
Dragging a fifteen cubit long sycamore
torture-stake on His shoulder, bared stark.
His back bent and racked in obvious pain
bearing that one and a half hand in diameter log,
Then when, He stumbled in His stride
and before the Roman Centurion Him wanted to flog,
For that Man's wretched agony
and pain, I no longer could bear to stand,
Then in haste that Man to help
I shed my outer garments and tossed it to another man,
I stayed the Centurion's hand
and hoisted that stake upon my own broad back,
For I was Simon an Grecian man from Cyrene
and favoured arduous labourous toil,
When that frail worn-out Man turned
with blue-grey eyes and looked at me,
I saw in that look, relief and gratitude
then I knew, I did just right,
He sadly smiled as He said these words to me,
"Do you too now drink from this bitter cup?",
And added, "You shall indeed sip
its rim with Me to the end of time",
I knew Him then no ordinary, man could be
His voice so gentle and mild,
And I truly then wandered who this Man could be?
to suffer so cruelly, in the hands of man,
When He lightly placed His hand
upon my shoulder, I felt the load lightened,
as if I walked with a feather
on my back, and not His gruesome burden no more,
As we together trudged, on that path
that road, to Calvaria, that place of death,
I then knew that Man at my side
Was a Holy-man by His touch alone.
We were (Leong, Peter, Anna and I) eating at a popular Italian eatery (outdoors) and the check arrived - I swooped across the table and grabbed the check from the waiter. Peter whispers, “You can’t pay for everything the entire weekend.” “Why not?” I say, “It makes me happy.” “There’s no reason to,” he says. “I need a REASON??” I snort, which always makes Leong laugh. “Have you MET me?” I say, shaking my head dubiously. “I’ve met you,” he pronounces, “and you’re a NUT. Thank you,” he says, indicating the check exasperatedly.
Peter’s transfinancial: a rich man trapped in a poor man’s body. He has taste but he exists on a grant and a meager stipend. We’re just friends but I’m holding a bag and he’s not. Besides, he needs a new laptop - badly - and shouldn’t be squandering his grips on me.
Greek-life is on the rise. Maybe it's because those groups offer planned social events or because, with COVID winding down (covid smovid) there’s more going on. There’s a pressure here - to be your most authentic self - to be top academically, socially - to have your calendar filled out. There’s a frantic nature to it. I’m being lowkey rushed for a fraternity (for next year) but I love my roommate situation and I think I’d druther stick with this set I love.
Which begs the question about social time. Should it be methodical, relentless, super planned out? Super planned interactions can seem transactional and not easy going and natural. College social life is so different from high school. College life is so much more charged in every way. The range of people you meet, the broader perspectives, the available options for activities.
I find myself in a search for balance. Private time vs social time. Before covid, you’d go to school and then you’d come home to your room, where you could just hang out. It was a self-care place.
At university, a dorm room is less of a “home” where you can be alone and spend that healing time. You never know who's going to be in your living room and what they’re up to. I get claustrophobic when my door is closed so I rely a lot on noise-canceling technology.
A dorm room can seem like those covid lockdown days - there’s little or no separation between academic and private space. I’m just unpacking some thoughts. *shrug*
Slang:
set = click/group
grips: duckets/money
holding a bag = flush/monied
Gush Potatoes
2 cups of sour cream
5 Tablespoons horseradish
1?2 cup of white cheddar
1 Cup of grated parmesan heavy cream
3 tablespoons of lemon juice
1 tablespoon of lemon zest
1 Tablespoon of red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon of of fish stock
4 cloves of minced garlic
4 green onions
1/2 cup of minced herbs
( thyme, rosemary,, parsley, dill,oregeno and tarragon)
2 grated hard boiled egg yolks
--------------------------------------------
mix smooth set aside
in a casserole dish add 10 cups of cooked white potatoes
cover with sace mix evenly
bake 350 degrees for 35 to 45 minutes
)---------GREENS ALLEGRO--------(
4 cups of drained cooked mustard greens
(recommended( GLORY)
2 cup of steamed bell pepper
red and yellow
2 cups of caramelized onions
3 tablespoons of minced garlic
1/2 cup of pumpkin seeds
1 cup of chopped smoked turkey meat mixed with
about 1/4 cup of cooked bacon
1/2 cup of crushed sundried tomatoes
in a wok add olive oil and sesame seed oil mix
add garlic and peppers and onions
stri fry and add pork
1 cup of chopped ham and cooked bacon and turkey meat
add mustard greens
stir fry
add tomatoes
and top with pumpkin seeds
serve with tart pickled onions
)-----------> Honey, rum, Brown sugar Carrots<--------------(
ATONAL
Steam 15 cleaned carrots until tender
in a casserole dish
add the carrots
1 cup of crumbled feta
3 Tablespoons of rum
5 Tablespoons of mango juice
3 Tablespoons of Pineapple juice
1 cup of golden raisins
1/4 cup of honey
2/3 cup of brown sugar
1/4 cup of lemon juice
1 teaspoon of cumin
1 teaspoon of cayenne
1 tablespoon of dried cilantro
1/2 cup of cooked ground lamb
1 cup of pistachios
add carrots
in a bowl
add spices and brown sugar
mix honey rum and friut juices in a sauce pan
bring to a simmer allow the alcohol
to boil away add lamb
pour over carrots
crumble feta
attop carrots
sprinkle nuts a-top
cover with foil and bake
at 350 for 25 to 30 minutes
Adagio Meat corner
slow cooked beef
------------------------------
serve with roast lamb , roast pork, roasted beef, grilled shrimp and fish
Strawberries, kiwi, and with a vanilla bean cream pastry on a almond nut cookie tart for dessert
Paired with a Moscat de Asti
...He flipped through the paper he’d bee given,
And saw the name ‘Ms. Karen Mallory,’
his mind reeled again, incredulous,
that was the girl he had saved by the sea!
Soon enough he was dragged into a court
and Ms. Mallory did loudly attest
that without consent he had kissed her,
and pawed like a pervert at her breasts!
His lawyer counter,”Consent can’t be given
when a person is hurt and unconscious,”
that nothing he did be called sexual,
and that a good soul could do nothing less.
Mallory’s activist lawyer shot back,
“Maybe she would have preferred a death
to knowing that she was violated,
forced to breath in a molestor’s breath.”
She prattled about body sanctity,
how even frantic times did no excuse men
from shamelessly groping defenseless girls
who were not able to give their consent.
Dylan rolled his eyes so many times
that he though they’d fall out of his head,
he’d known Feminazis could be extreme
but this pair was functionally brain-dead!
He expected most folks would see the truth
and recognize that he’d done a good deed,
nut one day a friend sent him a link
and told Dylan it was something to read.
He gaped as he read a professor’s rant,
filled with reasoning utterly absurd,
claiming that death did not justify ‘groping,’
never had he seen such nonsense words.
Then the many ‘minds’ on the internet
all chimed in with their digital voice,
half said that he was a would-be rapist
that unconscious girls could not avoid!
Then the media latched onto it,
made it their outrage-scandal of the week,
with people declaring ‘unconscious consent’
as a dark too of ‘The Patriarchy.’
And of course his boss feared the attention
so Dylan was quickly drummed out of his job,
for trying to step up and do the right thing
of a living he’d wrongly been robbed.
Inside the court they pointed to wild nights
to try to smear him with misogyny
regardless of the fact that his night life
had nothing to do with events on the beach!
In the end, at least, the jury chose right
and saw his actions for just what they were,
still the media called it travesty,
an ‘act of oppression’ against her.
As he walked out a reporter pressed close,
said,”Can you tell me what you learned inside?”
“Yes, next time you see a feminazi drown,
you’d be better off just letting her die.”
Dear Sprouting Rhymers,
To me, modern poetry could be most simply put as “everything”,
everything that you see, experience or feel put into words.
Everything written to evoke thought and feeling in others can be poetry.
A most basic example could be a tear, one lonely teardrop.
What is the journey of a tear, what feelings caused it to emerge?
What meaning does it convey? What does it say to you
and what do you want others to see or feel?
The possibilities are endless.
Should I be able to share anything of value to others would be
very gratifying from my humbled perspective, so I will
offer the following.
The best poems stem from truth, your truth.
When you are in the mood to write, do not hesitate. Times
will come when you wish you were inspired.
Ideas come at the oddest times, at concerts, at dinners,
at the grocery store, in dreams. Record them.
Write about what you see.
Let your passion guide you.
Don’t be afraid to take chances. Risks are worth it even
If you fail. Growth is sometimes painful.
Respect rules and learn from those you admire.
Study and attempt all forms of poetry. There is so much
more to poetry than rhyming
Do not be afraid to ask for help.
Have fun!
Having started writing later in life, I can only say that I wish I
had done so much earlier. I have enjoyed enormous satisfaction
in discovering that I could contribute something of beauty to the world.
I love to write about romance and summer and sunsets
and things that are silly.
Favorite reference sources are Poetrysoup and Wordhippo,
My favorites of the poems that I have written are:
My Blue Valentine
One can speak of Sunset
The Writes of Romance
If You Weren’t Such a Nut Meg
Confessions of a Renoir
Needles in the Snow
The Forgotten One
A Concrete Heart
Hot Summer Ecstasy
Golden Torture Looms
My literary background is purely that of an amateur. From
as far back as I can remember, I always liked to write and tell
stories. It wasn’t until I experienced a personal tragedy, a few years
ago, that I felt the need to put my feelings into writing as a way
of healing. Since then, I have not stopped and I write nearly every day.
A suggestion for title: There’s a Poet in Everyone
(A Guide for Beginners)
Good Luck!