Long Pasta Poems
Long Pasta Poems. Below are the most popular long Pasta by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pasta poems by poem length and keyword.
A weasel wibble wobbling can be said to have ingested copious amounts of indemonstrable indelible ink today as it soared into doorways, hallways, cloakrooms, and buffet tables. Buffet tables are neither buffaloes or bongos. In fact they are a pleasant sight to behold. Many colours. Many tastes. And the sounds of chatting from the sandwich stack is delightful especially when the mayonnaise is chuckling away at the jokes told by the ham and cheese. Little dainty cup cakes are immature so a quality conversation cannot be held. And the large jug is rather unintelligible and uninteresting as it yawns away the hours before the consumption takes place. The operatic oversized plate of soprano pineapples and chords of cheese with onions today but the mighty weight of the plate of rice and pasta salad bangs away and interrupts the acts really so the sauces must line up and push the nuisance plate to the floor and this they did. The dog was very very pleased and lay down after eating it all for a doze. And over half a dozen eggs kept jumping up and down and throwing their mayonnaise hats off. We font want these hats. We want whipped cream they shouted. The despondent tablecloth groaned. Another booming buffering buffet. And then the cutlery began having races between the foods. Zoom zoom zoom. Wow. The might of the jar of gherkins was being prayed to by the punnet of strawberries. And the profiteroles were preforming Pilates to an amused potatoe salad. The salt and pepper were arguing over who got used the most. And the coleslaw was diving on and off the pizza slices which annoyed the pepperoni who shouted go away in a very high pitched voice. Buffet battling bemusingly being buttering breadsticks. And now the time had arrived. The hungry swans and tulip people were here. They saw the mess. Blamed the dog. Then walked out in disgust. Oh dear. The tablecloth picked itself up and all it's contents too then went out of the back door and soared off in the air. It landed on a busy beach where it fed lots of little sea urchins. Who were grateful. They gave the tablecloth an ice cream to say thanks. Then the tablecloth went into the sea and swam to the island of the nine figs. Great isn't it. Ha ha the waves want wands. Hahaha boats bouncing into the sky. Left angled fueled fuel vision of a visionary variant spelling of mid. Xxxxx contemplation z z z z in a kiosk z
Form:
Eating alphabet soup with a straw so you can play Scrabble with the leftovers
Lyrics from an obscure band is music to your ears
Shaving off the November scruff that was plastered on your face
Nightmares are less frequent yet still take their toll
Promises that I will wake up - drink some water - and fall back asleep
The medication makes my mouth arid
spitting out vowels and consonants and shaping them into poems
choking on the nouns and verbs that populate my speech patterns
laughing to oneself and thinking "Maybe I don't have an accent."
Raising one's glass to wish good health to a room full of people whom you cherish
breaking down into tears - but you're in the shower - so it all blends in
trying to remove the dirt from underneath your fingernails that you have anxiously chewed
dancing to a song that has been over for five minutes but the chorus remains in your mind
choosing not to look up the lyrics to the songs on your vinyl album
holding, breathing, remaining pure to the one young woman whose heart you protect
Remembering the words of your late grandfather who told you not to wonder too much - or you'll get lost yet I found the courage
to look into the eyes of Death
and say "Check Mate."
All of my dreams end up with me doing some project and looking down - just to find my exposed body
I even watch what I eat before I go to bed - but the raw and gritty details remain
to tell the truth - that things are terrific - I'll tell my therapist
I was born in the December of '92.
Walked this Earth for seven years.
Decided I know what I am destined to become.
Emerging from a crystalized coocoon.
I spread my wings and learn to write
Poems about loss, love, and human nature
Rearranging the pasta in my bowl to spell out
some SAT word I have only used twice
in conversation
laughing at my grammar, my spelling, and my love of the Oxford Comma.
Captializing Words That Don't Need Capitalization
because Oscar Wilde and Walt Whitman did it first
Taking time to think things through and telling yourself : "You're stronger than you know."
My weakness: "Carbs and late-night with Craig Ferguson."
My strengths: "I am a writer and a Poet I shall remain."
Do we have any more alphabet soup?
The day my life went ape ‘chit’ in no more than three-hundred words
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch counts
And pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis works wonders
When I am asked to write a poem that is either precise or reductionist
Thus I report from my personal lock down epicentre of home isolation
With free advice to conquer the gremlins of free speech and contagion
Firstly pretend you are German because one compound nouns fills a page
Then rediscover hyphenation and have a match with auto-correct settings
Or pick up the challenge and find those scrabble pieces under the couch
Next to valuable coins a few toe-nails or belly-ring to gather your thoughts
Pasta shapes with letters and letterpress cookies are essential food items
You will find them on shelves in shops where the loo roll had previously been
On that delicate matter it might be worthwhile to consider what colloquy
You can fit on a single ply sheet used sparingly on both sides in dire need
Word counts are useful to pass the twenty seconds it takes to wash hands
But remember to spell hyphenation-control-centre with a dash of content
Consider that a pencil is sharp on one end if you poke fun on the toilet
My wife still bears a charcoal tattoo from when a soft roll in satin sheets
Gifted an indelible reminder that pleasure and pain work hand in hand
A carefully calligraphed dot to dot surely trumps auto-generated novels
Unwrap fortune cookies and proof read for the true meaning of spells
Whatever tickles your fanny until cohabitational glow fades in the face
Of adversity calling for regaining control over figures of speechlessness
Blank page …?
One last piece of counsel and guidance for a true minimalist poet or scribe
‘I love you’ works well all you have to do is repeat one-hundred times
28th March 2020
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogochis the name of a
small town in the North of Wales
pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis lurks in the shadow of corona
Poem written for Caren Krutsinger's contest 'The day my life went whacko'
Word count exactly three hundred words
"Christmas Spirit"
(Christmas Day in Italian Culture)
as a snowy blanket of white caresses in Winter's glow
and frosty icicles kiss windowpanes in glazy show
a silent atmosphere embraces a starlit sight
while magnificent choir of Angels sing Hosanna O! Holy Night.
Church bells chime in twilight mist to welcome Christmas day
wishing holiday greetings while children glide on sleigh
glorious festive mood captivates inspired light
as heavenly Angelic voices praise Hosanna O! Holy Night.
decorations adorn to honor the precious Infant King
candlelight illuminates the Manger Scene as carolers sweetly sing
the scent of fragrant pine cones creates an aura to ignite
hymns of worship as heralding Angels proclaim Hosanna O! Holy Night.
soon family gathers to partake of traditional Christmas meal
"Feast of the Seven Fishes"prelude to tree trimming feel
the fireplace mantle glows where stockings smile so bright
and hark the herald Angel hosts greet Hosanna O! Holy Night.
Joseph is the patriarch who shelters newborn babe
a gift of God from Heaven sent to Earth to save
a glorious time for celebration in precious moment of delight
majestic music from Angels chanting Hosanna O! Holy Night.
sheer warmth of having a personal relationship with the Lord
a unique experience enlightening as He is adored
sharing love with everyone, the human spirit takes flight
melting their voices with holy Angels singing Hosanna O! Holy Night.
*For Cyndi's Season of Lights, Delights & Enlightenment Contest.
*Nov. 14, 2012.
in the Italian culture we begin our Christmas celebration ...
Christmas Eve - Feast of Seven Fishes Dinner for good health & prosperity
Tree trimming ceremony with music and singing toasting wine
Midnight Mass at Basilica in Rome or at Church in N.J.
Dessert Party after Mass with eggnog
Christmas Day exchanging gifts and visiting children and seniors at hospitals
Pasta dinner with salads and baked stuff shells with meatballs
Desserts of creme puffs laced with rum, cannolis pastry filled with chocolate
Wine tasting from orchards of Italy imported with olive tray
Candlelight ceremony where all hold a lit candle making a wish for a
Happy New Year.
Don’t worry about being thinner
Get yourself off down the pub
Then go home to a good British dinner,
Of British traditional grub
Delicious roast beef of old England
Served up with a thick Yorkshire pud
With roast spuds and cabbage and carrots
Plus gravy in which the spoon stood
What’s wrong with a good stew and dumplings?
Made with some prime neck of lamb
Or a thick slice of home boiled bacon
Instead of that wafer thin ham
Fried eggs and bacon for breakfast
A steak that’s surrounded with chips
Some mushrooms and beans or tomatoes
Can I hear you smacking your lips?
Give me pork chops with a kidney
A helping of wild rabbit pie
With carrots and peas and thick pastry
For which old Auntie Bessie would die
Kippers, smoked haddock or winkles
Mussels or soft herring roe
Jellied eels, tripe or pigs liver
I think I might give it a go
A thick slice of cheddar is pleasant
Coated with pickle of course
Or maybe a plump well hung Pheasant
Plastered with cranberry sauce
Blackberry and apple crumble
A dollop of cream on the plate
This is making my tummy rumble
Give me some quick I can't wait
A big lump of home made bread pudding
Or maybe a nice spotted dick
Served up with syrup or custard
Providing the custard is thick
A stuffed Sheep’s heart makes a good dinner
Or a nice deep-fried black pudding ring
On a slice of fried bread, did you hear what I said?
This is food that is fit for a king
When you’ve feasted on cabbage or brussels
Don’t ever consider you’ve sinned
Just be certain your close friends and family
Are seated some distance up wind
A plateful of boiled new potatoes
Dashed with salt taste exceedingly nice
If you give them a try will you no longer buy
Bean shoots or Chinese fried rice
Avoid all these kebabs and curries
They look like they’ve been eaten before
You’ll be finding them most Sunday mornings
On the pavement outside your front door
Don’t listen to these dieticians
Between themselves they can’t agree
Nobody mentioned cholesterol
Until nineteen seventy three
Make sure all your dinners are British
Now you know the foods that I mean
We never defeated old Hitler
Eating Pasta or Nuevo Cuisine
Form:
Now Buxton is the place to stay when hiking in “the Dales”,
But your schedule’s shot to pieces if you’re troubled by strong gales,
On a campsite in the Pennines the wind was blowing bitterly
I confided to the warden’s wife, “Next year I’m off to Italy”.
So I asked my boss for overtime and accrued a tidy sum,
My girlfriend don’t like pasta so she didn’t want to come,
I planned to see some galleries and architectural sights,
I borrowed several brochures and I booked some budget flights.
I met a waiter in a restaurant on a vibrant street in Pisa,
He’d offer me a holiday if I were not a geezer.
Could I shake off the tradition or am I wedded to my gender?
It’s a fashionable mission. Should I let him call me Brenda?
I like the foods of Italy, they’ve tonnes of tasty meals
But would I ever feel relaxed in a necklace and high heels?
Oh I’d return from Tuscany with fond romantic tales
Of operatic ecstasy and tall Italian males.
People shed their inhibitions, often break their wedding vows,
Would he buy me splendid dinners if I wore a skirt and blouse?
Could I elongate my lashes and step out in jewels and finery?
Is it time to leave this closet and declare myself non-binary?
Should I use the ladies’ restroom or still hang-out in the gents’,
Simply tell the folks around me that I’m sitting on the fence?
If I walked into the barber’s shouting "Rid me of this beard!"
Would he relish my exuberance, or think me rather weird?
I’d talk no more of football teams or the merits of real ales,
I’d think about nutritious food and the colour of my nails.
I would give up wearing neckties and my slacks would be less dismal,
I might sit at a reception desk, though the pay would be abysmal!
I might alienate mates if I keep changing genders,
Should I book into a clinic? - no the prospect sounds horrendous!
I still prefer to lead when I’m dancing down at gigs
And I’ll be auctioning my wardrobe full of brassieres and wigs.
My local mosque has two approaches, men and women are divided,
They’ll soon need an extra doorway, for committed undecided.
Subdivided laundrettes are another implication,
I think I’ll ’phone that waiter and decline his invitation.
Our long time catered chef...
prepared a meal fit for (psst... me) a king
Actually professional cook
(trained since infancy)
long a staple of our family
since... oh way before
my bubba's zayda's time
naturally became (according
to rules of primogeniture)
the feudal rule by
which whole real estate
of intestate passed
to eldest son, i.e. yours truly
automatically included:
aide de camp, chambermaid,
essential frisson gourmet hotelier,
lion tamer, jack of all trades.
Thus surprise meal of
mid/late afternoon May 17th, 2080
constituted: gluten free pasta
(celiac raged rampant
one generation to the next),
vegan cheese, V8 juice,
diced onions and garlic,
and steeped with special
ingredient – namely tlc,
not available anywhere
but, just enough
tender loving care to buzzfeed
the whole mishpacha,
which gathered from far and wide
every Sunday afternoon
since Moses parted the Red Sea.
How glorious to feast upon:
delicious smelling than tasting,
humongous apportioned
splendiferous concoction
conglomeration ofttimes referred
to as popslop,
which general household name
lacks culinary delicacy,
and honorary specificity.
The meal made manifold more appreciative
after a hard day's night sleeping
within an ornate bedchamber
comprising our lofty abode
upon groggily awakening each morning,
I betook sweeping view
out uppermost bay window
pleasant view of Schwenksville proper,
(which I accomplished
with flying colors
eight days a week)
experiencing vibrant dreams constituting
living social the life of Riley.
After adequately supping on repast
which if any leftovers got repurposed
for next sumptuous meal,
either one prepared later that same day,
or come the morrow promised taste buds
to experience out of this (Martian) world
another savory experience fit for none other
than king of schnorrers!
Contrary to popular belief
hen pecking mother goose,
nor her ilk of coterie of four
and twenty blackbirds
purportedly baked in a pie
completely groundless supposition
crust a stale rumor
circulating courtesy deluxe
twenty first century technological
and ecological (of course)
invidious rumor mill.
Soooooo.... this is just a random song I made up, inspired by a wacky dream I had...which was inspired by the Undertale game. I've been obsessed with one of the characters who really likes....you guessed it.... Spaghetti!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A one, a two, A ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!-
Mettah couple creepers today,
A scary flower and a silly ghostay,
But all was bettah when I stopped at a table,
I couldn’t ree-sist, I wasn’t able
Cause there it was,
Right in the way~
A platter of the best spag heh heh taaaaaaaaaaayyyyy
Spaghetti! Spaghetti!
Frozen and ready!
Someone's made it just for mee heeeeeeeee
Spaghetti! Spaghetti!
I loveah good spaghetti!
Especially with a lottsah meeee-heaaat
Met a couple skellies today,
They told me that my voice was kinda prettay
I didn’t believe um but they seemed so sincere
I think that they had one too many ah beer!
Must go well with this pasta delish!
I might takah lick right off the dish! (really....? :/)
Spaghetti! Spaghetti!
Luke-warm and ready!
Someone's made it just for meee heeeeeeee (PARMESAN CHEESE!)
Spaghetti! Spaghetti!
I love a good spaghetti!
Especially with a lottsah meeee heaaat
TOMATO SAUCE--!!!!
--NOODLES!!!!!
MUSHROOMS--!!!!
GARLIC!!!!!!!
YUM!!!!!
GARLIC BREAD!!!!!!!
Turn up the music,
Strike up the band!!!!
Hell, these monsters got the beat of the land!
Make way for THE chef!
The Great Papyrus, high def!
Clear the floors,
Open the doors!!!
Cause there's always always always ROOM FOR MORE
Room for MOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRREEEEE.... .
(Key change!!!!)
Spaghetti! Spaghetti!
Frozen and ready!
Someone's made it just for mee heeeeeeeee(random gospel lady: HALLELUJAAAAAH!)
Spaghetti! Spaghetti!
I loveah good spaghetti!
Especially with a lottsah meeee-heaaat
(One more time now!)
Spaghetti! Spaghetti!
Lukewarm and ready!
Someone's made it just for mee heeeeeeeee (HEARTBURN!---HURRAY!!!)
Spaghetti! Spaghetti!
I loveah good spaghetti!
Especially with a lottsah meeee-heaaat
Especially with lottsaaahhhh……MEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAT
Balls!
: D
Written: March 28, 2024 For Constance La France Contest
Quote: (The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.) Marcel Proust
__________________________________
Slumber unwinds within crinkled cellophane,
Enigmatic visions come to life and sustain.
Geometrical shapes skin to pyramids, expand,
Cruising fairies sing through shimmering sand.
Hey, Captain! Ferry sails across any hurdle,
A searing streak splits the sky as a starved squirrel.
A prize is won, dock shuts, and crowds cheer,
At night, memories of you come back so near.
Delicate spiderwebs hang as stars in the sky,
Mozart hands waltz ivory piano keys sigh.
Galaxy emits a lambent, milky-white light,
Tapestry Highways sails by my a quilted sight.
A cosmic queen embarks on a cynosure journey,
Slicing over a glistening ocean during night mercy.
Colorful pathways in the sky are formed by sea swirls,
Mermaids glide fluffy waves of glistening pearls.
Behold a sturdy sail, a tough and bold ship, oh heart!
As bleak as the gnomes at dawn, it's time to depart!
On deck, the skipper is fierce and red-dripping,
Meanwhile, my soul lingers in frigid buds snipping.
Captain! Rise and hear chimes; to you, a flag raised,
You gained fights and flights, and doves amazed.
The ship has sailed safely and fulfilled its voyage,
He gulped distance, sea, time, and buoyage.
It was a time of jubilation and feelings of love,
During spell hour, they shone brightly from above.
Dived in the chaotic bliss of love, this waned,
In a misty past, the spirit soared and stained.
Rivers rush down slopes, and peaks loom tall,
Rafters ride via waterfalls as bridges never fall.
Deer graze in fields, and craftsmen, work away,
Sweets and meals sizzle on burner, made to stay.
Chili, pasta, beans, and maize are all we need,
The Alpine guy eats grits, Angus, and meat, indeed.
Riders hold on tight with flying manes and fish dives,
West Virginia alpine star twinkles and jives.
terrible two
is a ninja turtle
she spins her
little play broom
like a fighting stick
and charges
grandpa shark
faints and dodges
she reels back
gives him a whack
and he cries like a villain
terrible two
triumphantly giggles
terrible two
won't eat anything
he makes
she demands
yummy bunny pasta
for breakfast
to his surprise
grandpa shark actually
finds them quite tasty
grandpa shark
sits in a lawn chair
under a swing set and pushes
buzz light year's girlfriend
for an hour
higher
terrible two orders
higher she screams
to infinity and beyond
terrible two
still in her ninja pajamas
must get dressed
to go to the park
no
not your green velvet
Christmas dress
grandpa shark
sells her on
pink Minnie Mouse T
and blue denim shorts
(sometimes he wins)
snack packs
two bottles of water
and a fresh pull up
(just in case)
in her chariot
she climbs
and they're off for
a long stroll
through suburbia
saying hi to every dog
it's walker
every bird
and every jogger
until she jumps out
and runs for the swings
(not more swings)
then the jungle gym ganglia
of climby things
all leading to
the gigantic tube slide
where he catches her
until she's tired
she chugs a water bottle
dry
and polishes off
her stuffed pretzels
on the softest grass
under the cool shade
of the biggest tree
they lie
her soft rosy cheek
pressed on his chest
I love you Grandpa
I love YOU
no, I love YOU
she points her
tiny finger
in his face
tickles and giggles
under that big old tree
grandpa shark
reflects in the dark
their time in the park
and feels lucky
to have his terrible two
and sad as the
man in the moon
to leave her
as the road passes
beneath him
he remembers another
terrible two clutching
his fingers from
her car seat behind him
as they drove through
the silent night
he smiles fondly at the
big lunar light
leading him home
that let's him know
wherever he goes
his terrible twos
will always
be with him