Long Potatoes Poems
Long Potatoes Poems. Below are the most popular long Potatoes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Potatoes poems by poem length and keyword.
It’s okay to be ... me.
Exercising the brain. Setting it free.
Always seeking for more.
Never give up, never surrender
To be right all the time is a flaw
Just striving to be the best I can be
Is a smart way to live if you ask me
Perhaps I'm just a mad scientist, I do believe
So, hop on the brain train
That’s forever learning what’s knowable
That clickity clackity of clarity
That comes from knowing what’s right
That burning, yearning feeling
To know something new
Is a breakthrough
Over the next horizon
Onto the tracks
Under the rainbow
Where it’s okay to explore
And be smart.
It’s okay to be ... you.
Exercise the mind. Set it free with poetry.
Always seeking more.
Never give up, never surrender
To be mediocre or less even, a bore
So, hop on the brain train with me
And be blessed, don't be like the rest
Be my intelligent observing passenger at best
Along this lifelong journey, be blessed again
Across the tracks
Over the next horizon
Under the rainbow
Where it’s okay to
Be smart.
It’s okay to be smart.
I peel bananas
Before I eat them
It’s okay to be smart
I wash red potatoes
Before I cook them
It’s okay to be smart
I say my prayers
Before I sleep
It’s okay to be smart
I wash my dishes
After every meal
It’s okay to be smart
I love who I love
Better than no love
It’s okay to be smart
Evil is stupid
Hatred is dumb
It’s okay to be smart
Live for today
For it might be the last
It’s okay to be smart
Then all-of-a-sudden
After the one hundredth read
Peace on Earth was declared!
Everyone’s happy!
Everyone everywhere’s smart
It’s okay to be smart
Be smart
A woman who did not want more schooling
She graduated high school at sixteen and did not look back
Taking a job, so she could be independent and move in to town
Why she would leave the country I will never know
One of seven children, she was surrounded by cousins.
And brothers and sisters, and farm animals.
Her childhood job was the chicken house
She collected eggs until it burned down
No one wanted chickens after that stench
She was a Godly woman, who married a spiritual man.
She knew the value of his soul, even if he was not a Bible believer
They raised us to do the right thing and be kind and compassionate
They both had a strong sense of ethics.
She was the best cook I have encountered in my sixty plus years.
She knitted, crocheted, made beautiful quilts and tatted.
Her beef and noodles over mashed potatoes were legendary.
She had a hilarious sense of humor, but she did not ridicule people.
She was beautiful inside and out, but did not flaunt either.
She was empathetic, loving and giving
But she did not say "I love you" for about fifty years
Because she had not been taught that.
She wanted her children to grow up strong and she got her wish.
She is my hero. She is my mother.
I thought she would live to be one hundred and twelve.
I was devastated when cancer killed her at eighty-eight.
Vincent Van Gogh`s Potato Eaters (1885)
a lamp emits a pale light
in a room of deep shadows
spreads its humble glow
displaying four figures
with faces etched by earth
and the sweat of honest toil
potatoes, modest roots
the earth’s humble gift
lie steaming on the wooden table
a lasting meal for strength
a testament to labour
a prayer of sustenance
their hands, calloused and stained
reach for their forks
their movements slow, deliberate
with each bite marking a conquest
a small victory
against gnawing hunger
the light catches the wrinkles
the tired lines around their eyes
telling stories written in skin
with scratches from thorns
not in a gilded way
but carved with truth
that afflicts pains
one woman’s gaze
a distant longing
lost in the steam
rising from her plate
another one chews
with quiet purpose
a stoic acceptance
of the day’s hard end
the rough spun clothes
the faded hues
of browns and greens
blend with the earth they till
with no artifice here
no pretence
just raw, unvarnished life
the painter glanced at them
from the depth of his soul
the quiet dignity
in their worn forms
the shine of light
even in the dimmest corners
the rough texture of the paint
with each stroke a heartbeat
a desperate plea to be seen
captures the essence
the weight of their existence
the love for simplicity
the humble potato eaters
the painter has made them sacred
a raw, unyielding spirit
a testament to resilience
to the silent songs of those
who till the land
the feeders, the backbone of the world.
I moved into Rochdale in 1964
My Grandparents and I moved in together
We will not be discussing our ages
Just Rochdale and its amazes
History with a continued stride
As a start off, I who can forget the ROCHDALE MOVIE THEATER
On any given Saturday, it would be a sit down and watch movie flicks
James Bond 007 and Ten Little Indians and then there was one
Action and Thrillers
Those two were my highlights
Speaking of aroma and enchanted senses
PETER PAN BAKERY
Fresh breads, Pastries and assorted cakes
Test of the sweet tooth
My ultimate being the STRAWBERRY SHORT CAKE
Also on any Saturday morning, my Grand Mother would have orders delivered of Seltzer and Soda back then
Regarding water, dazzling colorful water fountain close to Niagara Falls that it’s going to get
Beauty and Mist
At every 7:00 pm hour, the entire sky lights up Rochdale at the end of the evening with colorful eventful lights bringing together all neighbors. Hello Neighbor of our community
That is what you call unity back then
My favorite restaurant was from the past was KING KAROL
What can be said was the Big Box of Popcorn
That’s not all, it the Mash Potatoes, Vegetables and Grilled Sirloin Steak
Never left the Ponderosa
Thanks to my Grand Father in the treat
Rochdale Newspaper, yours truly was featured with a photo of me and a white girl riding our bicycles across splashing through a puddle with the caption stating, “THE NEED FOR BIKE PATHS”
Calling Maintenance
Like flash at your door before you can hang up
All prior years in the newness then
At the Big Mall, you had KREUSS and a Men’s Clothing Store
How time flies and what a difference makes
In fact, we had two malls even back when
Participation was my virtue
You would see me at a lot of events in my younger years
For example, HALLOWEEN
This is just a glimpse of my life at ROCHDALE VILLAGE in the beginning to present
There is a lot more, but if I keep going, I would be like the Duracell Rabbit going and going with no end
Those were my happy times in memory
I wish they would return
Thank you for coming along and giving me the opportunity in sharing my journey.
An early rise before the sunrise, brief
prayer relief to fill a slow cooker with corn beef,
carrots, potatoes and cabbage.
Proud of myself I didn't damage
the homemade yeast rolls. I took one last shameless flirt
at the chocolate mousse for dessert.
Relieved my grandson and granddaughter
right in the middle picked up their grandfather
from the hospital. Afterwards, no refrain
for a hunt of confetti filled Easter eggs after a fresh rain.
No need to explain
grandson drove back to college
to glean more knowledge.
4/9/2018
An Easter tradition filling dyed egg shells with confetti, candy and money..
"recently scenes of early life have stolen into my mind, like breezes blown ..."
- Quote by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (from his writings)
When I was young and innocent,
I enjoyed life just as a child,
Had fun with friends magnificent!
Playing games out there in the wild,
Running around free, playing catch,
Chasing dragonflies, how we smiled!
Sharing jokes, we were quite a batch,
Climbing trees to pluck and eat fruits,
Not bothered about scrapes or scratch!
We had our own share of disputes,
Got o'er them just as children can,
Followed grand whimsical pursuits!
Sometimes we walked, sometimes we ran,
We thought our childhood life was cool,
Cycling around, we hatched such plans!
We gorged on 'chaat'* outside our school,
When I was young and innocent,
Trusted each other as a rule,
Had fun with friends magnificent!
*'chaat' is a sweet and sour, tangy Indian snack made up of raw vegetables, puffed rice, boiled chickpea, boiled potatoes, tamarind chutney, spices, etc.
10th October, 2022
For Constance La France's "Writing Challenge - Past Memories - "T" Forms" contest
2 cups of pureed roasted sweet potatoes
2 cups of sliced mushrooms ( sauteed in olive oil)
6 cups of pork stock. OR
3 1/2 cups each of pork and veggie stock
5 tablespoons of crown royal
1 cup of sauteed onion
1/4 of sauteed crushed garlic
3/4 of sun dried bell pepper
2/3 cup of chopped spinach
1 cup of heavy cream
2 cups of shredded roasted pork
2 cups of diced boiled potatoes
2 tablespoons of cayenne
1 teaspoon each of thyme ,rosemary, fennel seeds
2 crushed tumeric
5 tablespoons of orange juice
7-8 poached eggs
Poach eggs set aside
Bring stock, sweet potatoes, and heavy cream to a boil
allow to thicken.Add orange juice crown royal.add all but the eggs. Taste and season. Add eggs top top of soup in serving bowl.
I was eleven years old
When I watched, from the shag carpeted floor,
Roots – the series proclaiming
Injustice beyond my comprehension
Prejudice that would prevent me
From ever blurting that horrible word
Despite all of my sins
The darkness that drowned out my hopes
Somedays making me feel like I deserved
The worst there is, the cell…
Where prisoners slept – the cross…
Where Jesus met death,
I didn’t say that word, the one starting with “n”
There was one girl in my class that year
She was black and she was my friend
I felt the need to share my heart with her
As we stood in a lunch line,
Waiting for the scoops of mashed potatoes and dumplings
The carton of milk that accompanied them
“I watched Roots…” I hesitated,
Watching her dark eyes fade gray
Before I could tell her that I felt ashamed
Of the whites who had been my ancestors
My forefathers, my relatives…
She turned away and didn’t look back
I never had the opportunity to say anything else
About Roots or my shame or the fact that
I wanted her to know I didn’t claim to understand
How she felt.. No, I wasn’t black
But I knew she was good and kind and I loved her
And, I absolutely wouldn’t ever say that word
The one that started with “n”, the one that taught me
That the darkness inside those called Master
Was a bigger darkness than the black skin of the slave
I took my last fall ride
Down the road
Where we could see egg yolks beaten with milk
Splattered upon the sweet gum, silver birch and hickory
Fall's angular sunlight at just the right time of day
Bringing to life those divine colors
Almost hurting my eyes with the brilliance
And the awesome illumination sent from God
The hills came alive with color
Rust, yellow, gold, orange, pine green mixed with amber, and brown
Like spring's potatoes' skins which fall swiftly
Into the waste pail so we can have mashed for lunch
Looking upward a vision of longing for design
The V of geese flying south
If we were to stop, turn off the engine
We could hear the honks of them longing for home
We could also see
Those geese break through a
Panting bulldog cloud then disappear
Above fall's glorious color as we pass it by
A short trip where we stop only once to purchase
Apples, apple cider
Then aroma surrounds us tempting our tastebuds
At home, warm caramel and fresh apples for dessert
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Contest: Fall Flavors
Date Written: 9/12/2022
Theme: Taking A Fall Drive
He was my henchman, my minion, my stooge, and we both liked it that way.
But then he moved away with a new girlfriend, and became her henchman,
Leaving me to fend for myself.
And after all I had taught him.
He was perfect, just the way he was.
Getting my coffee exactly right,
Five creams, two sweeteners and
A dollop of cocoa
Yes, he was perfect just the way he was
How could I get him back?
What could I do?
How could I trick him back?
What could I say?
“You are perfect just the way you are,” I told him on the phone. “And I miss you so much.”
My coffee has never tasted better.
My rugs have never been vacuumed so well.
My meat and potatoes are cooked to perfection.
My henchman, my minion, my stooge, is back.
Life is grand!