Long Pizza Poems
Long Pizza Poems. Below are the most popular long Pizza by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pizza poems by poem length and keyword.
Chubby little dimpled hand’s reach up to stroke my face
Happy cowboy booted boy, with hair all out of place
Broken nose, stepped on shoes, doggies left behind,
These are the things as I grow old, is running through my mind.
It only took a dollar to win a skip bow game
And if you lost the first one, we would play again
The homemade pizza and the pop would add to all the fun.
If you won $2.00 you’d be the lucky one.
How precious do those days now seem with all the children gone
Their children grown and have their own. Where do I now belong?
Tiny children calling grandma, I look around to see,
But they are calling my child, no longer calling me.
Life’s gone so fast, what do I do with the days that’s left ahead?
How many book’s can I read or how long stay in the bed.
The years have taken toll on me, and bones within me ache
Forgetfulness encamps my mind of the pills that I should take.
They call these the golden years, they say they’ll come a time,
When I will say I’ll take my rest and life will be a rhyme,
Of words I put together, to say how I do feel,
Forgotten, Laid aside for now, Hey what is the deal?
I once was young but now I’m old and I can only see,
The path that’s laid before me and I shall walk with thee.
Oh gates now open wide for me, do you see me coming in?
The brightness of your being Lord has made me to live again.
The ones I’ve loved are waiting, their hands stretched out to me.
Mother’s, father’s, cherished ones I see oh now I see.
Rejoicing, laughing, loving ones, oh wait I hear my name
Grandma, Grandma comes the cry,I turn to see the same
Loving girls hand in hand as they rush forth for me
sunlight shining in their hair, death had set them free.
I catch them up close to me and I finally get to say
I am so glad to be with you, you'll brighten up my day.
Let me tell you of your mother's that have missed you very much
Who would have given everything to feel your baby touch
How fast life goes and very soon they will come here too
To share with you the beauty and their joy of loving you.
But now I will remember…dimpled hands upon my face,
Cowboy booted little boy with hair all out of place.
I look back and I can see how lucky I have been
To have those precious moments, that I relive again.
So booted boy and dimpled hand’s, so fair, so fair of face.
I put you back within my heart, till I have run the race.
She said that this man, my grandfather,
held her head under the black pool water,
while up above, a German man leaned
out of his window, against the moss and brick
to scream violently: "Don't hurt that woman!
She is the most beautiful woman in the world!"
The tone of the man's voice, authoritative, cold
broke my grandfather's concentration and he
let her bob up to the surface, coughing, sputtering
in an almost drowned manner, while still maintaining a beauty uncommon to humans, as she stole a quick glance
to the heavens of heavens to acknowledge the saving
power of a stranger.
This is her story today, as she sits on three moth-eaten,
velvet pillows to make her tall enough to reach the kitchen table.
She has shrunk in her old age and is no longer "the most beautiful woman
in the world".
She sips her black coffee out of Russian demitasse cups with diamond emblems
until she reaches the grinds which have slept in warmth on the bottom,
to fool her, she thinks.
She nibbles her white toast with butter and honey and shivers in the air conditioning as royalty should.
When she has filled the remaining ten percent of her stomach (the other ninety percent was removed from the worry
of ulcers when technology was in it's infant stage), she continues her story.
It lasts all afternoon and twists and winds around the basic sub-plot that, somehow, her beauty and dignity was
acknowledged in the worst circumstances, and, with her infinite wisdom, the world was made a better place.
Her voice soaks into the wooden cabinets, and will remind me forever of strong, fresh-brewed coffee, and I think,
right at that moment as I look at my hands (which I know will resemble hers one day), that I miss my grandfather.
The most gentle man in the world, whose thoughts never amounted to more than wanting to garden well, or shape
the perfect pizza in his pizza shop.
This man, who set chairs on tables to clear the floor before he danced in pure Zorba the Greek manner, with a glint in
his innocent eyes.
This man, who looked at this woman, this fabricating, self-absorbed, once beautiful woman, with an adoration never
deserved.
I clean up the dishes, while still listening, and kiss her good bye on her forehead.
Jittery from stories caffeinated and old, I chose to walk the long way home, lightening my mood and shedding her
words along the way.
I'm a simple guy,
I like video games, music and succeeding without trying,
So when a man comes up to me and tell me he can save my life,
Who am I to turn down a free book from a generous passerby,
Strange how after hundreds of Reddit articles I find these red words the most astounding,
Each verse saturated with a truth beyond my understanding,
I embraced the scripture in my new-found belief,
Ditching skeptics and scientific contention for a biblical motif,
So with my newfangled faith I embarked on a holy endeavor,
To sift through a lifetime of personal uncertainty to uncover the answer,
I found myself under bottomless pizza boxes,
Buying time stocks from the evolutionary clock,
Discovering purpose through glimmering game discs,
Fashioning polygonal personalities into personable obelisks,
Uncovering the depths of my psyche excavating mountains of dirty laundry,
Rinse on, dry off, purging both physical filth and emotional quandaries,
Sharing walkways with speeding cars enslaved to a monetary duty I can't shirk
A journey of a thousand steps every pilgrimage to work,
My blood a bubbling brew of ambition and potential,
Yet required to surpass insurmountable credentials,
Ignoring the marked symbols in newspapers they seek to brand on my forehead,
Subjective opinions of civility and idealism dropped on me like warheads,
Cryptic predictions of personality and fate,
You think I need a dice roll to determine if I'm straight?
Countless evaluations to rationalize the psyche and soul combined,
What makes their opinion more viable than mine?
I'm taking buoyant steps upon the swamp to reach my destination,
Swapping carnality for divinity to achieve the ultimate self-preservation,
Cremating my mortality I seek to ascend,
Past primitive understanding of a purpose I cannot comprehend,
This road we walk is coated with trip-wire and paved with scorching coals,
Watch out for those flaming hours in your 5-day forecast so find the nearest foxhole,
The burden on our shoulders has already been lifted so there's no reason for us to be aching,
We're on the path to eternal salvation why aren't we skipping?
So why don't you tag along with me on this self-realization odyssey,
I can't promise explosions or tentacle-headed aliens but I know it'll at least be interesting,
Just you, yourself, me and I,
The most dynamic duo to ever breach the sky.
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:
I
Yesterday, I began to share a deep anguish I have as to how some churches use the Holy Spirit as a magician, almost as if they control this THIRD PERSON of the Holy Trinity and Godhead. The verses from Scripture that guides me is Romans 8, John 14-17, and Ephesians, especially chapter 4: 30
II
BIBLE SAYS, New Living Translation:
"The Spirit of God, who raised Jesus from the dead, lives in you. And just as God raised Christ Jesus from the dead, he will give life to your mortal bodies by this same Spirit living within you." Romans 8:11
This MUST mean we have ALL of the Holy Spirits presence and power inside of us, when we accepted Jesus as our Savior and LORD. Spirit of God is a Person, and cannot be chopped in pieces or slices. He is not a pizza or a pie!
III
No man can give you or me THE HOLY SPIRIT. He dwells inside a believer who - at the moment accepts Jesus - does not abandon Jesus as LORD and Savior.
In summary:
1. You as a believer have all God's Spirit and Power. U don't need apostles or pastors to bless you (but ask biblical pastors to intercede for you in prayer)
2. The Holy Spirit can be grieved (Ephesians 4:30) by poor lifestyle choices believers may make; He does not STOP DWELLING in your heart until and unless you abandon faith in Jesus as LORD
3. If you fall when a "man of god" prays or touches you, that so-called CHRISTIAN is using dark power, not Holy Spirit power. Because no one can USE God's Spirit as Aladdin used his magic lamp and genie. The Spirit raised Jesus from the grave; He is not someone's toy or genie. It is a lie. Most emotionally-weak people faint at bad news, or get too excited, or self-delude even by expecting "to be slain in the spirit." We humans will be swayed ...
We need to pray to the THREE PERSONS of the Trinity only, for HELP to honor God and Jesus. The HOLY SPIRIT never wants your worship. He has no need.
4. The Holy Spirit never wants attention or worship: He points us to Jesus. In fact the TRINITY is self-sufficient, and is a mutual admiration society. Jesus, on earth, pointed to the FATHER as SOURCE! Rarely did Jesus seek worship while on earth. That is a lesson. Mere men & fake pastors seek self-glory! Shalom shalom and amen. Be blessed but read the Bible yourself (at least a verse, daily for meditation. It will RENEW your mind, & please God's Spirit)
Suburban Spring
(4.15.10)
Springtime fills the air,
like laughing gas.
(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
Middle-class houses
are starting to dance.
(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
Confused and intrigued,
with a slight urge to pee.
The father cuts grass,
like a sleepwalker.
(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
A six pack later,
he starts washing his car.
(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.
The mother kneels in dirt,
tending the garden.
(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty. (Figuratively, at least.)
A sunset later,
she cooks family dinner.
(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.
The son plays war games,
dying for fun.
(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
A full pitcher later,
tweaking on sugar,
(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.
The daughter makes a picnic,
inviting her toys.
(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
After the tea time,
she's off picking flowers.
(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)
They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."
(And proceed to stuff their face.)
The dog sits by the boy -
Loyal and true.
(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
After dinner,
he offers to help with the dishes.
(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite. The dog is not surprised.
Bedtime comes soon after.
The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
After tucking them in,
the parents watch TV.
(Or maybe they just dream they do,
sleeping in its glow.)
The dog is changing channels,
looking for a better show.
Confused and intrigued,
he pees on the carpet below.
I wanted a quiet evening, away from Proto
To order a pizza with loads of ricotta,
And write a poem, with not one interruption,
Savoring a glass of wine, without disruption.
Sounds perfect to me said a voice, let us begin.
I looked around no one was there except Lynn
My golden Labrador, the voice spoke once more,
It’s so pretty outside, from here comes inspiration,
Poems bring serenity,
But at times written in desperation.
The voice came from my poem I had just started,
I was delighted, felt elated could this be magic.
I believe that you talk, I’m no sceptic
You’re the words creating my poem and I a poet.
I will stay by your side, and together,
We will travel where ever, forever.
With a fame so destined,
Bitcoin will have nothing on us
We will kick up a such a lot of dust,
And create a great fuss.
Now don’t forget this is my poem, I explained, you only
Add if I ask.
Once upon a poem and rhyme,
Lived an old, old man called time,
No, no, no, said the words,
The cat,
Sat on the mat
And ate the rat
That is not poetry I shouted, you arrived in my space
Perhaps you should explain why you’re here,
And state your case!
Then I heard another voice, somewhat shrill
I’m so glad it said, chase the words away
I recognized the second voice straight away,
For I’d heard it every day,
It was my Muse, she sounded sad and was crying
You don’t love me anymore, my heart is dying,
So I assured my muse Patsic
That altogether, we’d create worldwide magic!
Oh good said the words, it was getting too much
And spilt a tear on the poetry page.
Now can you listen, please,
I’m not so young in age,
I can’t get so upset,
Glad we have all met.
Then continued,
The furry cat,
Sat on the Persian mat,
And ate a fat rat.
Still unacceptable, I said to the words,
Let me finish mine.
No, no, exclaimed the words, I want to try again,
The eclipse on the earth, orbiting into the moons shadow,
Glimpses the bright sun, and from a slither so narrow,
Stop, I said, that was good,
Perhaps I’ll let you finish tomorrow.
So you thought it was good, let’s do the dance of joy,
And as we danced, the words on my page
Scattered everywhere.
I looked at my new friend,
It will be an eventful, ecstatic journey for us,
This partnership of three, will I know,
Entertain,
Time and time again!
Whether right or wrong in some ways we fell together
as if waves crash upon the sea,
our lives did meet
He very artsy,
I, just a dreamer
yet I confided
in him like noneother
He had the most radiant smile
that made mine come through
and though a decade younger
we liked the same food,
shows and shared much over the weekends
and dominos pizza endeavors
Time, time, time...
it can be your own prison if you let it
I prefer remembering the good
forgetting the callous words in the end
Medicinal wine for jetlag?
sure.
as the waves carried us away off shore
For we were just watching T.V.
A little imbibed on that six dollar wine
It seemed so natural
he in the reliner,
me with legs bent on the couch
Nothing romantic
as he knew my heart was with another writer,
surely not!
You need not drive,
I would feel bad if something happened to you
or someone else
You can sleep on top the covers,
and I'll sleep under them
"no problem"
Why he did not listen!
and the next thing I knew I was in too deep
His delicate hands so gentle
even in my fourties,
never a man so soft, in touch
He confided so much of his trauma and pain
I helped him some I tend to believe
afterall,
he knew from the start,
my heart belonged to another writer
even if it was just through verse
He knew of my struggles,
he knew of my pain
He knew all the little secrets,
these subtle, girly things
One evening,
long after I chose another path
drinking six dollar bottles of wine
much of the time
and my life was successful, though left in a sea
cast out somewhere in the middle thereof
by life
by love
by God withstanding I would survive this afterall!
(it's an edge man,
it's the writing edge!)
(and what a bunch of bolgna)
yet today I dream of subtle things
the cleanliness of true love,
and it's something I am yet to experience among things
What would it be like,
I, just a dreamer
to rest comfortably beside a moral man as he?
I would never raise my voice or be indifferent,
I would never disrespect him or anyone ever
If I could just rest my head
on a pillow so close
to the heart of another writer
love- it can be a prison if you let it
I, just a dreamer
I give up those silly dreams
and hug my pillow
and peacefully drift off to sleep
All aboard the Fantasy M/S of Carnival
for half a week’s vacation time of fun and falderal.
Hear greetings from your captain, his director and the crew.
Ready, set, get going. The Bahamas wait for you.
Bon Voyage! There’s Reggae music playing on the Lido.
Dinner is at 6 or 8. Hold off on that tuxedo!
You could eat a pizza by the Windows On the Sea
or go beneath to dine on shrimp and meet the maitre d’.
Gamble or see comedy; reflect upon the ocean.
Late to bed; relax your head; sense the soothing motion.
Rise and shine in Freeport where the ship will dock all day.
You can disembark to take a tour, or you can stay.
On board the ship, take a dip; lounge or dance Calypso.
Get yourself massaged; work out, shop or play some bingo.
All day long, you can find folks doing funny things
like contests for the men with hairy chests or knobby knees.
Day two when you waken, you will be in Nassau.
There’s stuff for everyone, from your kiddies to your grandma!
Little ones may stay behind. Folks will entertain them,
or the kids can tag along with the adults. No problem!
If you like adventure, visit lovely Blue Lagoon.
For snorkeling with sting rays, the boat leaves right at noon.
You can pet some dolphins, but extra you should pay
if you want to swim with them. That’s one special day.
In town you might be nabbed by a plaza beautician.
Getting braids is all the rage, so people get their hair done.
Get back to the gangway before the ship sets sail.
If you‘re still not having fun, you must be a door nail!
“Day at Sea” arrives as your trip is winding down,
And the biggest night is coming; women wear a gown!
That final evening dining perhaps with a new friend,
you’ll wish instead of ending, it were starting all again.
Gals and guys with braided scalps; everyone looks nice.
Ah, that midnight feast with pretty sculptures carved in ice.
The ultimate for leisure if you’re after more than snoozing’.
In the laid-back natives lingo: “Mon, you best be cruising!”
NOTE: (this describes a vacation I took about 12 years ago, my first
and probably last cruise ever, unless I come into money. haha.
I'd seen Europe in my youth but as vacations go,this truly was
the best one.)
For Carol Brown's Contest: "It's Time for a Vacation"
I am a child of the universe
The one to have begot, on this earth, her rightful place
I am a being made of flesh and blood
A being with a soul, with sensitivity as her ruling word
I show to the world a side of me that does not really be me
I show to the world, a woman, being yet a girl, one so bold
Fearless yet frail at the same, strong, detached
One dedicated to her duty, one who does yearn to be accepted
I show to the world, a girl bent on creativity
One who does find her peace only in works, being so literary
One who does enjoy only her own company
One who does be a loner, as well as a boring entity
But then, the one I do really be
Does be made of magic and mystery
Why, I do believe my real abode does be the skies
They do be from where I fell and to where I shall rise
I do really be overly sensitive
So much that I do show not that I do grieve
I hesitate even to forgive
Out of fear of being once more, rebuked
I do really be made of an open heart
Yes, the whole of humankind does be my sweetheart
But then, showing my empathy does be useless
See, the world itself does have an aim, so senseless
I do be still a child inside
Yes, in being pampered do I pride
For the child in me does yearn still for my carer
The one who does be my mother or yet still, my grandmother
I do be a complexity for the rest of humanity
See, I do live my life fully while claiming to be in love with spirituality
Why, of holy verses I know naught
But then, for their revival shall I fight
I do be a girl who does be high on morals
Indeed, I do live as a prudish one
Allergic to that which does be immoral
Allergic and of course, to evil, never being prone
I do be a girl yearning to be appreciated
So far, my writings have been to me, my hymns so well accorded
Pray, wish I for such to be so still
Yes, for only in such do I get a sort of artistic thrill!
I do be a girl relishing some good food
Why, of the looks of a nice pizza and a glass of wine, have I always admired
So much that for me, such does be prized
But again, a little dieting would be much needed
Pray, the side I show to the world does be only a part of what I do be
Should you want to know me
Then, you should read all of my poetry
Indeed, only in those rhymes do I bare my soul!