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.
15th's Crystal, My Dream Tryst Pal!
Due to our friends Michelle & Yedidia,
Hos V' Shalom, My rough shell didn't get Rid o' Yah!
Braving her high dive, Echoing catastrophe,
Barbara cared! Leaven n' Grit, for me a Pasta Trophy,
Together we dared, I also shook in my boots,
Vets o' domestic strife, yet Emunah in Jewish roots,
Me the sincere Ger, she the Ba'alus Teshuva, fixed,
Anomalies o' Families shared, We like Cholent mixed,
Now in Quarantine Serene o' Corona Virus,
Bananagram companions, Not letting virus Try Us,
Listen! Hear the birds singing? Tweeting n' Agreeing!
Our 15th renewal also each Hearing n' Seeing,
I wonder "Why me?" Ataxia, an ugly swan but Crystal,
That Hashem blessed us together is amazingly Mystical!
First hosting angels with God and son
Then I'd become a glimmer in my father's eye
Met my mother then I arrived
A babe with NO teeth
At age of three I have some bones
Cartilages harden made of marrow
A babe first cut my tooth
On a chicken bone when left alone
As my molars chew the marrow
Ate crackling-bread and while still in bed
Stomach full of Gerber food fed
Shown a smile one small girl child
Two years old baby teeth
I won't bite the hand that feeds me
Now a teenage girl with curly hair
Pony tail and a smile that shines so bright
And ensemble that lights up the night
Teeth gapped not perfect yet still I smile, I talk
Now a full grown woman with this big white smile
Smile on, shine on, smile
Like when I was a child
Now an aged senior woman in my seventies
Set lights out and I'm older aged in bone density
Ravished no more dental for me
I'll drink water and eat pasta spaghetti
Yet I smile for now I have
None left???
Yet I smile for now I have
False teeth
Like a rotten brown fallen leaf
I leave now I have
False teeth
Written by James Edward Lee Sr (c)2014
Written for "University of Nebraska @ Omaha Celebrate: A collection of Writings about Woman. " Celebrate "
December 2 2014
One pot Cajun pasta
We are going to totally enjoy this one hot spicy Cajun pasta
Easy to make for a weekend meal
The sense of smell explores our food before we eat it
Oh, I cannot wait to gorge on this tasty warm meal
Just start throwing all your ingredients in a big pot
Start with a
2 tablespoons of olive oil
Two chicken breast cut in chunks sizzling to a nice brown
mix in
One part cayenne pepper
One part paprika
One part garlic
One part salt
One part pepper
Or just use 1 tablespoon premade Cajun spice seasoning
All the colors just make me anxious to savory the taste
Stir in 8 ounces Andouille sausage
The aroma swirls like a mist through the air tickling my nose with savory spicy aromatic comforting smell before the food reaches the mouth and we can taste it.
Stir
Three cloves garlic
A half slice onion
One sliced red pepper
One sliced green pepper
2 cups sliced mushrooms
And stir sauté
Aroma infiltrates through the whole house, enticing everyone in the house
1 pound pasta
5 cups chicken broth
Stir and let it bring to a boil
Simmer for 10 min. and stir every 2 min.
It spicy Cajun aroma makes me so hungry just smelling it stewing
Add a half cup heavy cream
Stir 1 cup Parmesan cheese
Garnish with chives and grated Parmesan cheese
Whoohoo! Tasty!!!
9/30/2015
Sponsored by: TAMMY REAMS
Contest Name: Didactic Food
The food bank was in an old rundown part of town,
and already there was a long lineup;
the people needed to calm down ...
I was given a paper cup;
with bitter coffee not warm,
the food bank had certain hours;
and I was waiting within a loud bee swarm,
people were restless- for now it was rain showers;
this was a new kind of hungry and a huge need,
a nice lady was giving out numbers;
I saw some had big families to feed,
these numbers had colors;
when the big door opened,
there was a mighty push and rush;
every single person had hope and
I held up my number and stepped into a hush;
was handed a box with four dented cans of beans,
four tomato soup, four mac & cheese;
stale bread, peas, but no greens,
and nothing I had to freeze;
and things like bread stuffing,
pasta and sauce and six instant mashed;
and I left huffing and puffing,
in a panic that from that swarm I would be gashed.
" Food panic for unhealthly food bank handouts,
... is a sad reality !"
_____________________
July 30, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/Food Bank Panic
Copyright Protected, ID 07-1376-517-30
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Panic At The Food Bank
sponsor, Kai Michael Neumann, Judged 08/22/2021
My mother cooked spaghetti
When she made her fish croquettes,
The salmon from a can, a dish
One easily forgets.
Ronzoni was her pasta brand;
The box was blue and bold.
This never varied, even though
Some other brands were sold.
The water boiled inside a pot
And when the time arrived
To drop in the spaghetti,
We were somehow all deprived
Of a meal Italians would condone
Because – you might just laugh –
To make the cooking easier,
She broke the strands in half!
It never felt quite right to me,
Yet when I cook today,
I understand exactly why
She made her dish that way.
You have to force spaghetti down,
Unless your pot is huge,
So breaking it in half is like
A clever subterfuge.
I cook it in the proper way
And haven’t backed down yet,
But I still can’t get my spouse to try
The go-with fish croquette!
I remember as a little girl when John F. Kennedy was assassinated.
Everyone cried, everyone gathered around the TV set waiting for word.
We sang the “Star Spangled Banner,” “God Bless America,” and “Oh Danny Boy,”
(Because, as my Grandfather explained it, the Irish and Americans were united today.)
And my Uncle Ryan and my Grandfather William even wore their uniforms saluting the set.
My Grandfather Luigi said that that was the beauty of this country, a melting pot.
When I looked confused, he explained we were like Grandma Sophia’s Spaghetti dinner:
The sauce was our soldiers, fighting and spilling blood for our freedom,
The pasta were the families at home, providing a framework for the sauce.
The spices were the people of many countries who seek freedom here,
And my grandmother represented the wisdom of our forefathers in combining it all to make something good become great!
To this day I can’t see the flag without shedding a small tear for family I’ve lost, like those old soldiers saluting the TV;
And traditions we’ve lost, like singing patriotic songs together;
But most of all I can’t help but crave my grandma’s melting pot spaghetti!
Across by the window, reading her magazine
There she sat.
Eating her breakfast in the works canteen,
Drinking latte
Coffee, eating toast and marmalade, her mind
Deep in thought
So it seemed to me. Yes, you would often find
Her there if sought.
Her hair fair and long, her lips rouge and pert,
Wearing a short skirt
And so many men teased by her smile, hurt
By this sensual flirt,
Because such beauty was rare, not often seen
In the works canteen.
And with every other lass she stole the scene
This irresistible colleen.
Then he entered and her eyes lit as she sipped
Her latte coffee
And gently fondled her cup topped with whipped
Cream as he
Sat down opposite her and smiled. Her emerald
Eyes and seductive pose
Enticed him so, for he had heard tales of old told
Of this lipstick rose.
But like most men in the canteen he couldn't resist
This young colleen
So he too surrendered to her beauty and this tryst
In the works canteen.
And across by the window, reading her magazine
There she sat,
Eating lunch in the works canteen.
Drinking latte
Coffee, eating pasta and rice, her mind
Deep in thought
So it seemed to me. Yes, you would often find
Her there if sought.
A is for Avocado, the creamy, green nutritious fat.
B is for Berries, the fruit that keeps your tummy flat.
C is for Chia, most nutrient-dense of all the seeds.
D is for Dandelion - it's more than just a pesky weed!
E is for Eggs, the perfect snack to keep you lean.
F is for Flax - to sprinkle lightly on your greens.
G is for Ginger, the spice that fights off germs and soothes.
H is for Honey, nature's cure for the sweetest tooth.
I is for Iodine - from salt, it keeps your thyroid sound.
J is for Jalapeno, the red-hot kick to melt those pounds.
K is for Kale - to be lightly steamed without the stem.
L is for Lettuce, its popular and crunchy friend.
M is for Milk, for sparkling teeth and sturdy bones.
N is for Nuts - a handful and your tum won't groan.
O is for Oats, fiber-filled and gluten-free.
P is for Pistachios, sly cholesterol's enemy.
Q is for Quinoa, the complete protein that fills you up.
R is for Raisins - a ton of iron in a quarter cup.
S is for Salmon, the oily fish with omega-3.
T is for Tomatoes, nature's very own sunscreen!
U is for Udon, the pasta you can eat guilt-free
V is for Vinegar - it makes dressings low in calories.
W is for Water, which hydrates to de-bloat your gut.
X is for Xylocarp, a fancy term for coconut.
Y is for Yogurt, the probiotic masterpiece.
Z is for Zucchini, which lowers risk of heart disease.
Your body is a temple, I'm sure you've all been told,
So fill it up with healthy foods, and you'll grow young - not old!
(P.S. In case anyone doesn't know, "Quinoa" is pronounced "keen-wah")
For Cyndi's "Z is for Zaria" contest
I spread layers of laughter in a long baking pan,
with a rhythm that twists the smoky scent I can scan.
Five lines per slice, I assemble carefully quick,
make this dish pulsate and glint like a limerick.
First sheet, a town and a person, famed or unfamed,
second, an odd trait that need not be tamed.
The rhyme goes A-A, then loosens its tight grip,
repeats at the last layer with a tag line flip.
Short lines on top, longer anapest pasta below,
the meter stumbles slightly, then steals the show.
B-B ricotta and spinach creep in the middle on the sly
with simmering mozzarella that doesn’t overflow dry.
I season the dish with nonsense spice, lively and loud,
a crispy curl at the base makes the last layer proud.
With light ragu sauce I garnish the humorous trait,
just with the perfect comical timing I bake it great.
The final ingredient is hilarity with melodramatic bend,
with a twist at the end to be served with fun to a friend.
Topped off with a punch line parmesan. that is hot,
I cook the best meal, limerick lasagna, in poetry pot.
Thinking back, I remember the days when mom and pop would take me and my siblings to my grandma's house. Oh, how I used to love going there every Sunday. She lived in the upstairs of a two-family cobblestone home, in fact, that was where my parents were raised. Dad lived upstairs and mom lived downstairs. Little did they know they would eventually marry and raise seven little rascals, five boys and two girls. We would all cram into the station wagon every Sunday to visit and dine with grammy. Grandma passed away nearly forty years ago, but I have to tell you that I can still smell that delicious sauce cooking for the pasta, ravioli or my favorite- lasagna. When you walked into grandma's kitchen you immediately knew what was on the menu. Grandma's sauce recipe has been handed down to my mother who just about perfected the taste. Years later, mom became the grandmother and mom's kitchen became grandma's kitchen. Mom, may she rest in peace, sadly she has been gone thirty years now. Although grandma and mom have passed away and are no longer with us, grandma's sauce recipe still lives on. Every one of us, all seven, all to this day make grammy's sauce. The only difference for me is that now when my grandchildren come over to visit, they say- "I love the smell of Grandpa's kitchen" Yummy!
the scent of the sauce
grandma and grandpa's kitchens
passed down over years