Long Plentitude Poems
Long Plentitude Poems. Below are the most popular long Plentitude by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Plentitude poems by poem length and keyword.
I don’t envy anyone, they don’t envy me
I’m faceless somebody, you wouldn’t know my name
I mingle with the crowd, browsing free
Either alone I walk, I’m just the same
Never applied to reach ambitious goals
Lived on the margins, maybe for too long
Couldn’t care less about the social role
Still have no home, to where my soul belong
To all co-owners of their countries I can tell
This might be fun if I would be allowed
My little share of plentitude to sell
So one could buy what I can live without
I would be glad to get a fee for being here
Also a fee that can provide a better place
Where I can go to freely, with no fear
Of being checked on border by my face.
He prepared the pie
With greatest care
Within the pot
My brains and hair
For hers had been
A lofty perch
Just a peg or two
Would never do
Cremated remains
Formed the shell
Into the plate
My crushed bones fell
I could still see
But could not yell
The pie's aroma
A story to tell
My innards baked
Hour by hour
The smell of blood
And blackened flour
Words poured in
Enhanced the flavour
The humble pie
For her to savour
Fork to mouth
My body consumed
From the plate
My heart exhumed
The baker says
She's eating crow
The taste is bitter
She eats the pie slow
The true recipe
He does not show
Humble pies plentiful
Stacked row on row
The victims many
Some you may know
If he invites you
I beg you not to go!
For Sheri's Plentitude of Pie Contest,
I went with a halloween twist.
A flower shoots up through the gravel in the back yard
Enthused by persuasion of spreading seeds for dear life
Red petals applaud a scented splash of dissident colour
Among yellow clover converging in strides of plentitude
The poppy marches on nevertheless
Like a thorn in conformist selection of dominant hues
She settles as a beacon of tolerance and loving exuberance
Unperturbed by fragrance of domination she tells her story
‘You are who you are’ she whispers and sways in the wind
A nettle confers with butterflies and bees
They say that to encourage pollination of liberal thought
Migrants must be welcome to propagate tolerant views
Add kindness and a measures of love to wavering fields
‘Do not steal from the locals but give free tender touches’
Inbreeding calls for a spot of difference
The blackberry hedge doesn’t mind who are her neighbours
As long as dead leaves and blossoms enrich sweet fertile soil
And the poet looks on in awe and appreciation of contrast
Words find place and time for a soul needs medley’s melange
The fountain pen springs shades of shelter
Dandelion pleads for embracing peace for all sentient beings
‘I am not a weed’ she suggest and ‘I like a bit of bright crimson’
‘It enhances my beauty for we stand united in life’s bouquet’
Earthworms of all nations plough shares instead of cold swords
Poppy is grateful for the joy she brings to the party
19th March 2020
This last day of February two thousand nineteen
Southeastern Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
unlikely to be inundated with heavy snowy scene
methinks buds will burst early issuing royal green
carpeting landscape, sans expert architects queen
"Mother Nature" commences to baptize spilling
purity, sans cerulean bajillion year celestial tureen
while refulgent solar beams massage tender shoots
thawing frozen earth, where frigid cold icy sheen
hermetically sealed, asper horizontal frozen wall,
when skaters waltzed stealing lovers kisses unseen
soon melted pools of water all a buzz with feeding
Gabriel trumpeting "NON FAKE" arrival herculean
powers unleashed since time immemorial worship,
and/or sacrifices made to deities of webbed skein
viz, animal and/or plant wide world rejoicing when
harvest yielded cornucopia primitive, yet overkeen
superstitious scattered bands of hominids plentitude
linkedin to sugar daddy's favorite colored jellybean
benediction rituals also included pagan dispensing
prayers believing obeisance necessitated cyclopean
appeasement lest death and destruction would rain
purple pearl drop monsoon, traced to angry spirits
subsequently drowning helpless prehistoric hygiene
cleansed *****sapiens ancestors possessing gene
and chromosomes latent within dormant flora lean
fauna coming alive with the scent of fragrant bouquet
while the hills burst with creativity healthy panacean
liberating tentative "cabin fever" wrought by polar
vortex, the spell of warm weather, a respite sunscreen
applied to ward off deadly ultraviolet solar radiations
something in magnitude bajillion extinctions obscene
spate of lost species as seasons greetings witness hot
untenable global warming affecting every calm serene
nook and cranny incumbent to relish approximately
twelve weeks of cold temperatures sipping my ovaltine
recollected from boyhood, when snowfall covered roofs
tops inconveniencing Rudolph, and his deer friends a teen
nee bit, and school cancellation required state requirement
resulting summer vacation shelving reading Pygmalion
for Shaw!
Plentitude of pies
My birthday and,
Celebrations with pies,
Blueberry and strawberry,
With crispy coats and
Sweet jellies inside,
Added taste to life!
But on the contrary,
An economic pie,
Having been served to,
Jobless and homeless,
Veiled all joys,
Rendered life useless!
Craving for lost love,
Is a pie in the sky,
Eyes that glance
Into constant zero,
Pricking deep into heart,
Is thorn of solicitude!
Sour, sweet or bitter,
It's a world of pies,
Sweet ones to relish,
Sour to let by,
Bitter to avoid as,
What can't be cured,
Has to be endured!
Written October 13th, 2014
For contest 'Plentitude of Pies' by Sheri Fresonke Harper
Awarded HM
how clever a peck on the cheek, a kiss on the head
a hug with a boa constriction for the parents i love.
how cruel this fate of social isolation, to stunt the breath
of this illusion, that i might have them more and more times.
the kiss off of a mother’s day and all things pretty and wrinkled.
a jolly show of faces — did i once think the actors could slink
through a small or large screen. we haggle with time, dressing
up in effects, wrapping backgrounds, like furs, around caricatures
of ourselves — astronauts, cross-dressers, punk. my mom
holds a very dry martini — six olives on a skewer in empty glass.
we kin do amuse one another and the claustrophobic togetherness
where a normal situation would have us wandering, appetizering,
sidewinder-chitchatting, fobbing the keys of a remote control,
checking seconds and minutes for appropriateness of slipping
out the door — that of course, for bored spouses, who love
the in and out of screen time and beg to screen all holidays this way
while a bored housewife wants for the drive that spurs one on
toward childhood — a link between life and death, playful
joy of trinkets and melodious voices soothed by the setting years;
the wrinkle of time sells all anger, judgment, unkindness —
the baggage that weighs down elephants, the infantile crawl
of bondage. Now the rocking of Brumbies, snail’s pace of sunset
grace of a gray nest, cascading shoulders, ears out of tune
but pure-gold’s love — the plinking strings of a plentitude heart.
Mom and Dad cheer with glistening glasses, their merry martinis
marvel at their wealth — one olive, three olivettes grin at them.
5/11/2020
Non-rhyming couplets
A pple pies, that's what I want to bite.
B egging my mom: "Mommy please, please..", as I
C ome closer to her..
D ancing a little to the left and right;
E very move a way to tempt my mom
F or that sweet delicious pie..
G iving her a kiss to her lips. And
H ugs so tight.. Finally,
I ris, my mom, said yes, yes we go and buy
J umping thrice for I am happy and thrilled, I
K not my arm to my mom's.
L ovingly, not wanting any other mom.
M oving fast as we could to buy not one or two but a plentitude of pies.
N oting, how generous is my mom for I was just asking for one.
O ven-fresh, my mouth waters as I smell the apple pies.
P icking one piece,
Q uickly, I took a luscious large bite.
R ich rumble rush of savory pie
S ated my appetite.
T aunting me to take more! more!
U nder my mom's gaze, Again I eat and eat.
V ery delicious, I said to my mom
W idening my grin and giving thumbs up.
X eric is my throat, I drink and drink.
Y ummy! So yummy, that I eat four pies in a row.
Z ipper of my pants, my oh my, I hardly can close!
*** Xeric means dry.
_______________________________________________________
Sponsor Carol Eastman '
Contest Name Your favorite Poem Contest
© O. E. Guillermo
9:36PM
October 10, 2014
An unexpected burst of energy
helped fashion a second poem he
ving up from deep within the key
per of Matthew Scott's ideas - nee
i.e. unexpectedly manifesting que
cull lee coalescing, buta not three
endeavors crafted since quota we
kind to exhaust passion before zee...
land revisited, when
a call for shot eye
guarantees, a dearth of ideas
will no longer fly
with plentitude, whereby
exertion from this guy
will necessitate to type
briskly before hie....
ah...whew...just when
I felt at a loss what to write...
bitta bing bitta bang
(optional chitty at no extra cost),
lo and behold ear splitting,
appalling sounds did in vite
until dusk hands clapped
over each ear tight
to muffle noise pollution spite
fully generated by
rambunctious youths,
who know no right
that gunning engines quite
obnoxious, and that conviction
edited (by me) tubby polite
buffer this chap hunkers
down for the night.
the following constitutes the e-man
soup pay wanton declaration
emphatically, independently,
and obnoxiously
transmitted thru ether
these loathsome roar of dirt bikes
punctuates the formerly quiet air
where local high school
teenage mutant ninja
male turtles blare
(an educated presumption)
at top notch threshold decibel
definitely inducing deafness,
which will soon be clear
to those motorheads
flooring accelerator scaring deer
and other sparse wildlife,
whose engines I hear
miles away, cuz this bard ****
got extreme (ear river rent)
hyper sensitivity to sound
perhaps linkedin
tummy predisposition,
could allow ma
Mystery Pies
Every day the thin old lady comes crying from the bakery
“Hot pies!” ‘Hot fresh pies!”
With a young wide smile on the cobble stone streets
Her wagon filled with savory treats of saffron pumpkin pies
Assorted aromas rise to the horizon as she hobbles down the road
There is always a surprise, a mystery or two
Children throw their pennies and beg for clues
The old woman bakes a different kind of pie each day
To add to her selections on the cart
Today is Sunday so she baked a special prayer like pie
It has a sinful cinnamon chocolate crust with cherries inside
This reminds the town folk to be pure, to think about virginity.
Don’t ask me why
I’m not from this vicinity
Created on 10/08/14 for Plentitude Of Pies – Poetry Contest
My Grammy, smiling so whole
Creates the best pecan pies
A treat I cannot control,
When she plans a big surprise.
Those wrinkled, age-old fingers
Blend honey and nuts on trays
I wonder what secrets lie there,
As add-ons pile a display.
In the oven, goodies heat
Utopia in the making
Even young Sis tries to cheat
Moving the timer," Oh ring!"
On the table, sweet wafts hum
Grammy blinks, " Let's dine";
Buttery flavor; yum yum
Teeth sink portions all divine!
Pasty cheeks lined with syrup
All's finished I can't deny
Wanting more ; Gram hears my burp
"Left some for my Cutie Pie!"
Sheri Fresonke Harper's Plentitude Of Pies
by nette onclaud
10/16/2014