Long Nutmeg Poems
Long Nutmeg Poems. Below are the most popular long Nutmeg by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nutmeg poems by poem length and keyword.
Once I purchased a book about
Total Recall
It might be of
Re-cap-i–tulation
Rum-i-nation
Or glorious immigrant stories….
But I failed to reach even
a library spot…
Too high a ladder.
Your ablution will falsify
Your ebb and flood tides
In Between, O Bed-Win!
In MS-DOS!
Hodge Podge!
Just Because!
Reading
is a nutmeg , seals
ap-Pen-Di-x
It sits in Perth-e-Non
For no good reason, hypertension.
And I silenced the speaker
TBD Key note narrator.
To-get-her
In the kingdom of ladies’ purses
Courses, topics and item songs too.
Never found a Trace lagos
Other than the fact that
He, too is a fire-fighter
Who was a gifted
“The God of small things.”
Passed souls. Pious. Tranquil eyes.
O! I adore ex-IT!
Just because
Ed-it-Ed
Is in void.
Voided.
Ban-n-ed
In Banff.
Muslim clerics
Said
Supposedly
C0-ED
As If
Maw
In
Maw-Rita-nia
In Mahmoud Darwish’s life, Jaded.
Glory in Faded, dim-lit stone, enlighten-ed!
Anyone? Someone?
Ahoy mates!
Savior?
Reverie? Ben-Hur?
Is there anyone alive out there?
Can anyone hear me?
Sweetened fragrance flowing by the window
Night jasmine jogging, out of loving heart
Pond making sudden sounds of fish splashing
Nutmeg billing its charming fumes thru winds
Pens silence walking in the poet's lands
Midnight moon blowing rainy jewel clone
Mustard flowers calling the calm dawn sun
Your smiling on that field greeting poems
Flying there very near the cloudy breeze
Gold bangles rhyming with the buzzing bees
Dreamless heaven where the lutestring singing
For the earthly fairy coming down words
To recite life and death have enough penned
But nothing is enough till hugging love
26.06.2020 Chattogram
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Outside the Pinecone Coffee Bar,
dappled sunlight sifts through
oak branches like powdered cinnamon.
Beneath bark-striped awnings,
two squirrels sit debating
virtues of hazelnut cream~
claws tapping porcelain.
One stirs her espresso
with a twig so precise,
the other debates nutmeg~
twice or just thrice?
One sips with pinky raised,
with dainty, pawful grace;
the other gulps hers,
prefers dark acorn roast.
They chitter-chatter
and lean towards one another,
tails twitching over stolen scones,
plotting the morning’s next heist:
a sugar packet,
and in which oak to nap in
when the caffeine fades.
3 Tablespoons of crown royal
1/2 t of nutmeg
5 Tablespoons of parmesan (grated)
2 Tablespoon of Tarragon
2 T of chive
1 teaspoon of cayenne
salt to taste ( about 1 teaspoon)
1 teaspoon of lemon juice
2 T of parsley
4 Tablespoons of chopped bacon cooked
2 T of ground cooked chicken livers
2 Tablespoons of crushed garlic
2 T of troffel oil
Heavy Cream
3 egg whites
4 Pounds of ground chicken
puree chicken to smooth paste
add cream until smooth
add cheese,garlic,chives,parsley,
and tarragon and bacon
add oil and wine
mix smooth with and add egg whites
mix until pale and smooth
using a whisk fluff up 4 egg whites
into peaks.
incorporate egg whites into chicken mixture and set aside
in a greased muffin pan line each port with puff pastry
add caramelized onions
caramelized mushrooms
and grated parmesan cheese
and prosciutto
top with chicken mixture
bake for 30 minutes or until done
serve with a hollandaise and garnish.
Serve with roasted garlic aparsgus.
I'm in line at a store, and I'm bored,
Typing on my phone, restless and alone.
I’ve got light-blue nails, like the sky or your eyes.
I like them, it’s my favorite color - I don’t know why.
I’m buying flavors for my coffee, nutmeg and pumpkin spice.
I like having coffee in the morning, when it’s cold, they’ll taste nice.
There’s a really old lady at the check-out, she’s moving very slowly.
She’s paying with cash and coin, from a pouch, counting carefully, holey-moley.
She’s frail and reminds me of my Grandmère, with her white hair,
her sturdy shoes, I want to pick her up and hug her - but laissez-faire.
When my turn came, I waved my Apple watch over the pay terminal - it’s fast and contactless - like the whole world. Does anyone hug old ladies anymore?
I believe in friends, and forgiveness by way of overkill
so I ran swiftly over, carrying my Minnie Mouse skateboard still.
You could have ridden it, she said, coming to the door.
as I slid in brownies, cookies, pumpkin pie, and other goodies galore.
I am an dunderhead, an idiot, the worst friend of all, I began to beg.
She did not hear me while taking the lid off my homemade nutmeg
which I make from my own spices out in the back forty.
So you forgot, she guessed, laughing, as we began the annual sort-y.
which ones are mine? she said, looking at all the junk I had brought.
I had strawberries, and lemons, blouses, and a red and blue cot.
The one I wanted! She yelped with a delighted scream,
knocking me into the pumpkin pie I had brought with whipped cream.
I always forget, so I can run over and do this.It is our annual thing.
She loves it, and laughs, and it feels so absolutely right.
She counts on it each and every year, and we have a birthday sing.
The best accident, once upon a time, now we do it with all of our might!
----paranoid, pornographic, psychotic, pontific, politically aware, rapping, rhyming, right here, right now in River city, rock and roll up the Yazoo, sad, sadistic, sarcastic, sassy, satanic, schizoid, shitting, silly, sexy, smarmy, smelly, smooth, snarky, snarling, stupid, stinking, sweet as honey, sweat inducing, symphonic, Trump can’t handle this coffee, vengeful, Wagnerian, wicked, with nutmeg and cinnamon swirls, with a hint of stevia, with a hint of vanilla, with a hint of rum, with a hint of whisky, with a hint of cherry, with a hint of fruit overtones, with a hint of drugs spicing up the coffee, spendific, speeding, splendid, superior accept no substitutes, survived the Vietnam war, the Iraq war, the Afghan war, the first and Second Korean war, World War 11, the war on poverty, the war on drugs, the war on black people, the sexual revolution, Soulful as a summer’s night in MOTOWN- James Brown approved, TOP approved, Berkeley approved, the coffee that Jimmy Hendrix drank before he died, the coffee that Elvis drank on his last breakfast, the coffee that Barry White crooned as he drank his cup of coffee – and the coffee that made the white boy play stand up and play that funky music, the coffee that made Jonny B Goode play his guitar, and made Jonny bet the devil his soul after he drank his morning cup of righteous coffee and the coffee that make the Rolling Stones Rock and Roll, the coffee your mother warned you against drinking, the coffee that Napoleon drank when he became the Emperor of all Europe, the Coffee that Beethoven drank when he wrote the Ninth symphony, the coffee that Mozart drank as he wrote his last symphony, the coffee that Lincoln drank before he was killed, the Hemingway drank before he killed himself, the coffee that started the 60’s, and ended the 20th century, the coffee that Lenin drank as he plotted revolution, the coffee that Hitler and Stalin drank with FDR as they divided up the world after World War 11,
I yearn for shades of Autumn and all that it could bring
the chromis strews of redding bricks the chilly burrr
Blushing apples high as kites tied to apron strings
and acorns full of french berets and nutmeg tinted plur
falling down like parachutes with no inter ;
I do foretell the signs of summer's end and so salute
the fury tilts of sapling greens in soakly forest wood;
Those elongated serenades of change with no refute
who can question them beneath God's plentish hood
except his "FIVE" bounteous leaves of cherry wood;
Swiveling down here and there aiming far with dip
the rusky calls of brownie birds as they lose their fur
The cheep- cheep- cheep of a baby's nest, a quip
that zings across the equinox of fall and oft conjures
the memory of an Autumn's tale and sweet procure ;
I yearn for gatherings of pumpkin pies and feast
the shaky janks of corn roast romps
the evening hearth that says "you're truly blessed"
Yes I love the Autumn's bold audacious stomp,
that sells to me its beauty and its comp...
August 24, 2018
From the book " The Tarte Ballist"
by Rhapsodes" The Muckraker"
weight heavy balloons
And hurdy-Gurdy
varnished and shellac coated wheel
that rubs against strings.
"The Medieval Bow of Sorts"
he rose before the crowd to sing
the ballist anchored him
might he fly away.
-----------------------
Ode to Mint
---------------------
of spring the onion
Garlic you are to
me as the onion
a shallot ; or scallions
a leek or a chive
the sprouts of spring
the green onion and the
the perals or Cipollini
onion oh onion
might the mints of the garden
refresh me
as you speak with
a pungent voice.
----------------------------------------
Ode to Coconut
----------------------------------------
he caramelize sugar and and
broke the pieces into bit sized pieces
maybe two cups or more
he peeled lime zest
orange zest
and lemon zest
with nutmeg and cinnamon
he added coriander
and soaked in a nearly
simmering pot with water and corn syrup.
strained the liquid brown and beautiful
he added carbonated water and rum
I then took the same and added
coconut shredded and simmered
to see if the effect would
be more pleasing to my tongue
and was amazed!
and offered it to us.
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Told The Other Guy The Same Thing
-----------------------------------------
(Keep It Simple, Stupid), "Make it BIG," "Get in, get the laugh, get out," "Relax and let it happen," and "Laugh at yourself".
Santa’s elves do love a Christmas sing-a-long,
you can bet Santa’s will never go wrong.
There’s cookies, cakes, pies, punch and hot cocoa
with cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger spice, you know.
When playing the organ Mrs. Claus is a whizz;
really, she should be in show biz.
Billy Bob passes out the music sheets,
while Mitzy and Millie bring out the eats.
Lil’Jim sits propped on his old oak cane,
the poor fella has some sciatic pain.
He shares his music book with Jake and Phil,
though young Jake’s voice is a tad bit shrill.
Skippy-Sam is a great baritone,
Grampy Gabbs needs to wear earphones.
The tinier elves sing in funny voices,
everyone laughs and rejoices.
Tiger Tooney the cat’s voice is a bit flat;
probably because he’s half bobcat.
As usual McNafferty wields his hand-carved baton,
for he truly loves directing a sing-a-long.
Now this can go on for hours and hours,
days or nights, that’s Santa’s power.
Through the winter should you hear faint singing,
it’s the Claus’s and their elves voices ringing.