Long Pans Poems
Long Pans Poems. Below are the most popular long Pans by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pans poems by poem length and keyword.
I.
desert stillness shrouds
their adversary lairs
twilight's muted thunder
betrays the nearby
stealthy moon
II.
the chalky moon
creases midnight clouds
blue shades of lovers
walk a powdery sky
chortle at the other's close proximity
III.
pale gold ribbons
fiery soft skies
sea haze streaks
a thin mountain path
as day begins
IV.
kitchen pans, pity, pungent cheese
and garden lace -- the matriarch
dripping decay with
her mild gentility
V.
winter snow, ice
slow spring melt
rain-drowned torrent
ocean bound flow
placid river drift
debris of desire
VI.
drifting memories of lakes
water lapping against land
heartbeats floating on the breeze
the water reflects your face
look away
One flag one country
in the beginning there was hope it was agreed upon
That a turkey was a big chicken and it wouldn’t offend anyone
as the two fowls had no say and didn’t they had a name.
A round the conference table there was a spontaneous applause
So little had gone right for them the chairman suggested
In the spur of the moment to find a common name for
Palestinians and Jews referring to the group Lapwejs, there
Was a long silence, but the idea was sound only the name
Lapwejs didn’t have a melodious tone; a comity was formed to
Study the idea if they succeed the people of that part
Of the world would end discrimination s everyone was equal
Of course they had to come up with a new flag on that
Look like Greek copy, but had several warm friendly colors.
No one would be call anti-Lapwejs or something similar.
The hero
What taste best goat or sheep meat
A furious argument broke out between the cook
And his galley boy this was when the ship was in a storm
And Captain Carlson was on the bridge trying to save
The ship (remember 1950) the ship sank but Carlson
refused to leave the ship until everyone was safe.
The cook refused to let go of his pots and pans and
Was thrown into the sea screaming goat meat is best.
Captain Carlson was a hero, ticket tape parade.
The cook bought land in Patagonia farming goats.
The violinist
The cook on the ship (Liberty type) had broken
In half and the cook felt so neglected he bought
Land and farmed goats, he was doing well and
needed a man to look after his flock.
A Nordic person came looking for a job he
Wanted to get away from the civilized world
Since the Antarctica is too cold he came here.
A funny thing with new it can travel fast and
Move slowly but it always gets around.
It appeared the hired hand had been a violinist
Of the highest caliber, but at a concert when
Stretching to get to the highest note he lost his
Trousers and reviled to the world he wore
Ladies under garment, the audience erupted
in laughter. End of concert.
The cook now a goat farmer got the news in
The nearest town he never told the musician
When his ship sank he had not been a hero
And knew he could not go to New York again
Walk slowly with me until we reach the other end of the sea, pick up a bucket of sand and throw it all over the land; dig a hole in the earth and plant a tree for the universe; it will tell you what to do so that your dream can come through.
Daylight burst through the ceiling with a coffee mug, pudding pans, hammer, chain saw, pickup truck and two dozen handy men with a vision wrapped up in heaven.
Take them with you to the sea and circle around the coast and recharge the engine in the boat, turn the compass to the north then pivot to the south, go slightly towards the east then maneuver to the west and there you will find your Sunday best; the sun is baking in the East and message is wrapped up in the belly of the beast.
Time has no time to spare so organize your team before you get there, the tectonic plates are shifting; the mountain is lifting and the wave is sweeping the mountain away, you have got to set up a thousand flood lights so that you can workday and night and move the mountain from the sea and build a mansion for you and me.
You have got to hire ten thousand strong men to work on shift to complete the lion’s den, they must work, day and night with no pause between except for when they change the shift.
Twenty thousand men completed the Taj Mahal, twenty thousand men laying concrete that parachute to the heavens; twenty thousand men work together with one mission to build the world most renown structure; twenty thousand men lift the stone from top of the hill to build the Taj Mahal and the pyramid of Ginza.
Look for the fragments in the sand and make it drain for one day before the activities begin. Create a solid base with concrete and well cured steel, thread it around three times and seal the pockets with sturdy iron and look for the fragments in the sand and get rid of them before you land.
The Catering life
It is sunny and warm on the terrace.
I sit with my face facing the sun. It is supposed to be healthy
vitamin D, and so on.
I`m not so sure, I have had skin cancer twice.
Once, I was a chef at a restaurant, and it was in the days when food was a simple affair,
a set menu and so on.
The restaurant on the first floor of the building (Pandemic closed)
they sell solid Portuguese food, not expensive, and suitable for the Fado
I like this place as it has big tables.
We don’t make food anymore. We ring and get it delivered
from a small café run by a Palestine couple, they also serve vegetarian food.
I tried it once but preferred meat with vegetables.
I sit indoors and think that all cooks are ghostly pale because
they are indoors and slave over steaming pots and pans.
I ended my career as a cook. It was boring and hot and badly paid.
So many irksome dilemmas in life can be cured by simple solutions.
All are not necessarily fixed by the latest technological revolutions.
To remedy the many vicissitudes that rain down upon myself,
I grab that handy box of lowly baking soda reposing upon the shelf!
This simple, innocent looking stuff is good for many uses,
Including easing the pain of little kneesies that easily bruises.
'Tis useful for sweetening reeking walking shoes and garbage cans,
For shining silver and rejuvenating blackened pots and pans!
Even my inscrutable cat begins to purr a mile "purr" minute,
When I freshen his litter box by sprinkling baking soda in it.
If my auto picks up that scourge of the road, the dreaded tar,
Baking soda is just the thing for tidying up the car!
Why should I pay a plumber to unplug the clogged-up drain,
When a dollop of baking soda will the same results obtain?
It can be used as a toothpaste for making choppers look smarter,
Whitening them and controlling that nefarious tartar!
I've found that after my all too frequent sprees of gluttony,
That only a dose of baking soda relieves my gastric agony.
Its use for indigestion docs would discourage or even squelch.
Fiddle Faddle! I find instant relief in one humongous belch!
Written: August 23, 2023
Soup Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
______________________________________________________________
In the heart of the kitchen's lively domain,
Where pots and pans dance, a culinary chain
A simmering pot of soup takes center stage.
A recipe of flavors—an enticing page
With a flick of a wrist, the chef's hands command,
Creating a masterpiece, a dish that expands,
In the heart of the kitchen's lively domain,
Where creativity and passion—intertwine.
The shrimp is delicately placed in the pot.
As the chef's touch brings out the flavors sought,
A sprinkle of salt—a dash of spice,
Enhancing the soup—making it nice.
The aroma fills the air—a tantalizing scent,
Drawing in diners, their appetites bent.
Strong and briny, the flavors meld.
Creating a symphony, a story to be held.
But in this magic kitchen—a twist is at play.
For vegans and ketos, there's a feast on display.
Carnivores and herbivores unite with delight.
As the chef's expertise creates a dish that's just right.
No longer divided—by dietary choice,
In the heart of the kitchen, all can rejoice.
The vegan soup, a blend of vegetables and spices,
A burst of freshness—a taste that entices.
The keto option is filled with rich fats and protein.
A low-carb delight—a culinary dream
The carnivores indulge in a meaty delight.
Savoring every bite, their taste buds ignite.
In the heart of the kitchen—harmony reigns.
Where dietary boundaries—no longer constrain,
For the magic of flavors, the chef has found
A way to satisfy all, with culinary wonders abound.
So come, gather 'round, and taste the delight.
In the heart of the kitchen, where dreams bear flight
With soup as the centerpiece, a dish so divine,
In this culinary haven, there's something for every kind.
When winter comes it brings a special charm
With holidays and decorated trees
With guests and firesides to keep us warm
Despite the icy chill of winter's freeze
That torments us with plummeting degrees
And snow to depths that's well above our knees
But silver frosting’s on the window pane
The sentimental smells of cider’s spice
With laughter and the joy are shared again
And all the world’s a cheerful paradise
(With gifts beneath the tree just to entice
The children to be mannerly and nice)
Then turkey’s gone, the cakes and pies devoured
This day is done, the children all worn out
The pots and pans and dishes all are scoured
The guests must go though no one’s gone without
And from the drive a last farewell they’ll shout
Then soon to bed they’ll all retire, no doubt
And while we both agree it’s been worthwhile
We’ve nothing left to share … except a smile
December 3, 2018 Winter Wonderland Poetry Contest "Urban Sonnet" Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
The Language of Home
Trying to memorize
the language of home,
I have become
a little blurred,
a little brown.
Loving home,
loving it too much,
I have become
a little impure,
a little torn.
I crawl,
indifferent,
trying to swallow
my own breath,
having learned
to ask for permission
even to breathe.
I now call
the Supreme Soul
Coca-Cola.
At the touch
of Coca-Cola's branch,
the sun-scorched crow
has flown away,
towards
the land of the displaced.
Shoe-polish,
Shree-polish,
heart-polish,
all smeared together,
I have chosen
not to become
the youngest,
the devoted,
or the devout,
but instead,
from the earthen pots and pans
of the Rig Veda and the sick-leaves,
from the intimacy
of the examination hall,
I have chosen
to uproot
myself.
When the old man was a sailor
When food was served, before cleaning pots and pans
the old man when young, went out on deck to see the sunset.
A dreamy that is if a tempest wasn`t blowing,
gale in the mighty Pacific reduced the bravest to shivering gnat.
The old man was a cook not the loftiest type of work, whoever
wrote a book titled:” The adventure of a ship`s cook.”
The old man, when he was young, got up early to see the sunrise
before frying eggs and bacon, not forget baking bread; and receive
the insults by frustrated, womenless seamen.
But he was there in all the oceans, their tranquilities and fury,
what was left was serene evenings alone in his cabin read great
novels about audacious voyagers.
It came to me
upon reflection
Life is one
great big collection
Starting with a
teddy bear
and ending with
a gasp of air
The time between
those points is rough
accumulating
all this stuff
Books and knick knacks
line the shelves
and in it all
we lose ourselves
Hand-me-downs
and souvenirs
hoarded all
throughout the years
Cups and saucers,
pots and pans,
electric heaters,
ceiling fans
Pictures, music,
magazines
amounting to
a hill of beans
Clothes and cars,
boats and planes,
nervous breakdowns,
aches and pains
Husbands, wives,
foes and friends
This great collection
never ends
And once our time
on earth goes by,
the years wind down
and then we die
We never seemed
to have enough,
and someone else
gets all our stuff