Long Pestle Poems
Long Pestle Poems. Below are the most popular long Pestle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pestle poems by poem length and keyword.
She knocks on my rib cage
seeking access to my heart again
The knock—the pounding pestle—
taunts, its echo won’t stand to be ignored
I hold my knees and cover my ears
as if that’ll keep my walls untampered
I let my flesh wrap me whole—
so tight I might suffocate,
but I cannot breathe outside this
prison, no—this haven
She’s still here at my door,
holding flowers too vibrant in color—
the amber petals too lifeless for summer
Her indifferent smile, gentle and fair,
yet brings chill to my bones exposed in June air
My teeth knock against each other
tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap—
I want to scream for her to leave
but the only voice made out
was the repeating beat of horror
She’ll eventually enter,
one way or another—
Winter takes up a room in my chest
always waiting to host her.
It fell from a dune
Into my path
This day
Near where freshwater bubbles forth
And waves push foam
Fraught with tempest
Of a southern sea
Upon an isolated shore
That would turn fatal for
Two pieces
Perfect
In shape and size
Mother with child
Mortar and pestle
I can only pray
You rest in peace
All
Smooth
So smooth
After generational use
A vision of people past
Grinding, grinding
Grinding away
At a meager and humbled life
Only to be
Buried away
For another day
That nether came
Until this day
It fell from the dune
Into my path
I walk it back
Into the dunes
And bury it away
Again
Out of respect
And remorse
For I know
It was you
Your people
That died
Beyond
That lands head
Just there
10/17/16
Back to the fundamentals
It's been happening worldwide, continental
Wilted leaves and healthy flower petals
Amid Large boulders or tiny pebbles
Among soft to hard metals
The rain at times may be gentle or torrential
Call it quintessential
Way before fishing vessels
Or the use of any mortar and pestle
Since the dawn of time, it's been rather elemental
Regarding anything existential
Some things were on purpose or accidental
On my shoulders an angel and a devil
Is with what I wrestle
Times may get stressful
But If you want to be successful
Focus on what is important, don't be forgetful
Or too fretful
Take some risks and try to reach another level
Buildings and bodies considered temples
Take care of what you love, don't be neglectful
Something special and sentimental
Sat atop a trestle
Eggs and animals with speckles
Humans with moles and freckles
Certain meals cooked with fennel
Or lentils
While using cooking utensils
With or without a stencil
Messages and art done in many ways, some used pencil
Near are far away from where very few or a vast amount of people settled
In some areas are plants like nettles
And many animals currently nestled
When we walk or run by an insect does the ground quake and tremble?
Files stored away classified as "confidential"
Sometimes just one or several
At times events occurred that were coincidental
And rather monumental
Many festivals
Where people revel
During a day so eventful
Materials and so much more being disassembled
For reasons considered scientific and experimental
Continually money being embezzled
In ways that are disrespectful and vengeful
By: Dalton Ogletree
Woman.
I want you with or without
lipstick on the mouth.
With debutante breasts
or middle-aged,
housewife, of
militant...
I want you with your eyes,
of Chinese,
Arab or
almond Brazilian...
With your body
of fruit tree,
your flower hair
so wild....
I want you with your skin
black
white,
yellowish
I want you with your
thin waist,
or pestle, even
rounded...
With your butt
dry or upturned ...
With your countenance
strong but sensible,
or suitable
experienced boss,
or childish manner ...
I want your body
of mountain that I love
climb up, I want you
with fantasy visions
or full of real images.
I love you and I want you.
shining, conquering,
being respected
With a generous smile
on the lips and doing
with elegant fingers a
Victory V ...!
No, you did not break my heart
Breaking would have been good
Breaking I could handle
I could just pick up the pieces
I could try to glue them back together
Or simply live without the missing pieces
No, you did not break my heart
With a broken heart
I could still try to love again
Had it been just a break
With whatever was left
I could survive
And feel
And live
No, you did not break my heart
That would have been kind
In a strange deranged way
A learning lesson
I would have accepted that
After all, I’m not the first
Nor the last
To have a heart broken
No, you did not break my heart
You smashed it
And then
You pulverized it
You kept pounding
And pounding
And pounding
Vehemently
Pounding
Each word…
Harsh
Hateful
Each look…
Disdainful
Demeaning
Each touch…
Unfeeling
Ungiving
Everything you did
Was the blow of a pestle
On my little heart
Which lay in the mortar
Of my body
No, you did not break my heart
You pulverized it
No pieces to retrieve
No way to grieve
No way to feel
No way to love
No way to heal
The wind came
And blew away
The dust of my heart
And I stand here
An empty shell
Heartless…
No, you did NOT break my heart.
I wish you had....
How I wish you had.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Let’s all bring our mortar and pestle
And have a party of great papaya pickle
We call this a famous Thai ‘’som tum”
So delicious! Heavenly awesome!
Let’s first wear our kitchen attire
Dance the Thai music, don’t be shy
Then prepare all the somtum ingredients
For superb taste, a hundred percent.
Main is fresh green papaya, shredded thinly
Raw string beans, chopped evenly
Dried shrimps, fish sauce, limes and lots of chili
Tomatoes, peanuts and crabs smashed heavily.
Yummy somtum is always served with sticky rice
Paired with fried chicken—get more, twice, thrice…
A long table party, others can sit on a mat
While enjoying somtum scrumptiously hot!
Aug. 28, 2022 10.20pm
Note *hot =means very spicy (but yummy)
Please watch the video on YT on how to make super delicious Thai Somtum
It's A Pickle Party
Contest Judged: 9/10/2022 2:36:00 PM
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Place 5 (up to 9 single w)
Répéter Depuis le Début
The Pink Studio, by Henri Matisse, 1911.
Perception fuses like melted rose quartz,
fuses on the lens of Matisse’s puzzled eyes
like the naiveté of childhood returned to age.
Melted images rose in two dimensions,
rose in repetition, mothering the pieces.
Quartz, genteel rosé, shown in transcendence,
fuses on the lens of Matisse’s puzzled eyes
on naysayers & followers, his morphosis reigns.
The stimulus silent, light’s effect returned, burned
lens now open to the madness of pattern, pieces
of left brain obliterated; right reinforced; art,
Matisse’s obsession oozed from his pores
puzzled synapses explored and explored,
eyes dry as a bone, from sleepless nights, sigh.
Like the naiveté of childhood returned to age,
the Madonna appears, or the muse Aphrodite reborn,
naiveté sexless tasted clean, pure, purged in white.
Of the patterns outside, he’d reproduce those within
childhood wide-eyed he approached & there he
returned again & again paying homage to the core,
to reiterate images in pieces of two dimensions
age left the left brain obliterated – reinforced the right.
Melted images rose in two dimensions.
Images, giving meaning to negative space,
rose ground beneath the pestle of repetition
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys
two halves male-female, left-right, up-down
dimensions all an idiocracy depicted his fright,
rose in repetition, mothering pieces,
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys
repetition reiterated, quartz ground beneath the pestle
mothering the pieces of two dimensions,
pieces of puzzles conjoining parts triangularly staged.
Quartz, genteel rosé, shown in transcendence.
Genteel, childlike, Matisse adored illumination, art
rose with repetition, a mothering of the pieces,
shown in the dance, in stance, in transfigured delight,
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys,
transcendence an illusion, of optics, of light.
First Published in Ekphrastic: writing and art on art and writing 2016
these glass vessels that you see,
no longer appertain to me,
no longer feigning to make part
what was the mainstay of my art,
my skills no more appreciated,
as if I were some rusticated
old fool, living like a recluse,
who’s mind has become “ loose “.
people do not comprehend
the powers which I can bend,
conferred to Man by nature,
developed patiently through nurture.
earth, fire, wind and water,
are the elements where I wander,
they’re the mirror of the soul,
through which Man is made whole;
mortar, pestle, alembics my tools,
books of ancient wisdom my rules,
herbs, spices, base and precious metals,
potions, magic formulas and crystals;
not mere science with which I deal,
but the science of Man; one must feel!
now alas, this is not fashionable,
everything has to be “ rational “.
yes, M.Lavoisier your visit is auspicious,
take what you will, alembics, tools,
glass, books, formulas, take the lot,
for what happens now, I care not a jot.
Unrealities and realities
grind together in mortar’s mouth,
spilling, pulverizing, volatile perfumes—
succumbing scents of citrus, crushed copper,
musks of bruised lightning,
threshing thunderous throbs.
Instability incarnate sings her reveling wails,
fragrances of something
Beyond Name.
I guide existences into black curve,
severing them against sharp, obsidian walls,
letting them rupture—letting them bleed
—syrups and statics—
messy marrows of forgotten equations.
Their shapelessness mutable,
pliant pages to pulp in the plunge
of the merciless pestle.
How many combinations will one
blend and crucify—
to crush, to coax, into coherence?
Rasps of bone bend against sanguine salts,
sheens of opulent oil merge with ember embryo—
iron filings licked into life by tempests reigned.
Anything of matter becomes
moisture—mass—mold—
hunger pooling at my basin’s heart,
seething for impending strike,
for sudden and unforgiving
birth.
Wrapped ...
In dark wonder
Lost to the moon
In mists of madness
We ...
Are conflagration
You burn my blood
The fiery chaos, coursing
Molten forms in synchronicity
A libidinous engine, erotique
Revving inside you ...
I, the sudoric hand to your glove
Crimson nails rake my chest
You grind me, pestle-on-mortar
Eyes above me rolling back in carnal bliss
I stop, and wait ... teasing
Your gaze returns the moon's delirium
Seeing my vexing grin ...
You squeeze my cheeks like a naughty child
Trembling ... anticipating
Eyes pleading ...
I wait ... building tension ... need
Milking your desire and intensity
And when the want in your eyes is unbearable
I relent, and push you slowly up
Arching with renewed passion and depth
Your hair and soft places lilt
Hypnotizing me ...
Coy, sexy smile ...
Letting me think I'm in control
When we both know
Otherwise ...
Wrapped ...
In dark wonder
Lost to the moon
In mists of ...
US.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Picture Prompt" Poetry Contest, Brenda Chiri, Judge & Sponsor.