Long Queasiness Poems
Long Queasiness Poems. Below are the most popular long Queasiness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Queasiness poems by poem length and keyword.
The Quintessential Catering Company serves only quality foods beginning with a Q
To some this seems quirky and to others quite quaint
Q foods quickly quell hunger and queasiness
Quick oats and quinoa with quick bread and quince jam are a favorite breakfast pick
Quark and Queijo quiche qualify as a quality lunch offering
Quaglia marinated in Quebec beef spice is a popular dinner choice
Quimbombo and pit roasted Quamash sides accompany this course
Queen of Puddings and some Quesitos are offered for dessert
Forget the queue quickly query Quintessential for your next Q food event
Definition of some Q food listed in poem
Quark-German farm cheese
Queijo- Portuguese cheese
Quaglia- Italian quail,
Quebec Beef Spice-a meat seasoning
Quimbombo-Spanish okra stew
Quamash- bulb of Camas lily with a taste similar to a sweet potato, but sweeter
Quesitos- Cream cheese turnovers
Queen of Puddings- a traditional British dessert, consisting of a baked, breadcrumb-thickened mixture, spread with jam and topped with meringue.
The invitations were sent to alumni far and near,
To gather for the school reunion later in the year.
The ultimate occasion to turn on all the old charm,
And fondly remember those who have bought the farm!
Ladies wear tight-fitting girdles to shrink the pounds.
Guys try crash diets to reduce flabbiness that abounds.
It's been over half a century since our graduation day.
It'll be intriguing to see how others fared along the way!
Old pals circulate boasting and bending my weary ear,
Regaling with boring trivia that I really don't want to hear.
I tell others how great they look, looking them straight in the eye,
As I cross my fingers behind my back for telling such a lie!
It appears that the campus queen totes a bit of additional weight.
That once haughty snob now tips the scales nigh one ninety-eight!
There's the big man on campus, voted the most apt to score success,
Guzzling booze as is his bent, displaying a bit of queasiness!
The years have elapsed, rolling on at a frightful pace,
But as long as docs keep us patched up we'll stay in the race!
To perhaps convene once again down life's treacherous road.
If not here, than a rousing reunion in that heavenly abode!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Peel back countless layers of moth-ridden curtains.
Feel an accelerating cold breeze brush against goose-pimpled skin,
exiting into the intoxicating unknown.
You walk through a sinner’s overwhelming rain
whilst the darkness washes over.
The scent of copper and iron fills an emptiness
occupying you on this unforgiving path.
The taste of death settles into the cracks of your tongue,
while wisps of moonlight peer through viscous clouds.
Decaying thistles graze against timid ankles,
startling you; a quiet heartbeat increases.
Picking up the pace, surrealistic silence looms.
Abruptly, thunder cracks, shattering through teeth and bone.
Flashes of lightning reveal tombstones tangled in belladonna in the distance.
Damp moss enrobes panicking feet.
Running faster, the scenery turns more sinister.
Trees sway and growl with the storm.
Murders of crows gather.
Dank, murky water blocks the way forward.
With no choice, you must wade through the sludge
as leeches try to suck the life out of your fleeting existence.
The resounding repetition of an uneasy queasiness hits
until you rip your way from the waters.
The graveyard is within sight.
Tearing the nightshade from the granite, it says:
“You should have never stepped into my mind,
for I’m nothing more than a dangerous dream,
swallowing everything I love into this hellscape.”
Petrified and slowly slipping, you reach for the other gravestone:
“Welcome to your new home,
locked perpetually in this comatose state,
mechanically alive, yet lost forevermore—
rotting inside a forgotten shell.”
Amazingly, your eyes gleam freshness from heaven.
Before you were seen, you were resting in God's heart.
Clinging to mine, it cannot cease to overflow.
Drawing meaning into life's every crevice,
Each given breath you take awakens mine.
From the moment I first felt your ripples inside me,
God gave me a wink of a new beginning.
Hope filled blue painted ceilings and little drawers.
In a father's mind, his name would carry on.
Joy so grand became our parents' inheritance.
Kicks affirmed your livelihood nightly.
Laughs and tears were shared in placental connection.
Monitors suggested your precious health was well.
Nestled in my womb was the safest place for you.
Oranges and burger flavors reached new taste buds.
Prayerfully, we rested in the unknown outcome.
Queasiness came as contractions strengthened.
Rushes of adrenaline kept my birthing body vigorous.
Surrealism saturated our minds, studying each feature.
Thankfulness touched us like your new skin's warmth.
Unable to conceive of this mystery, opaque joy flowed.
Vast gifts were given, but that of you keeps on giving.
Wonders await each new stage we'll embrace.
Xerox copies of significance collect in your photo box.
Yesterdays accumulate practiced artistic expression.
Zealous praises stretch to heaven, for we are blessed.
2/15/2020
The mind is a play place of unique and distinct thought.
This brings me to thinking of things in my mind I brought.
I could create an image of all the things in the world in my mind.
The meaning of this is some times not so kind.
The recklessness of such choices could make me go insane.
The mind its self is complicated and it's own bane.
When things are so confusing and you see more things than one.
You may as well pack your bags because you are all done.
Minds do check out with creativity as its jail.
One could say it one way that we have a choice to bail.
On the journey of the thoughts of queasiness.
The mind thinks its like a business.
The idea of one image can set a chain of no relief.
That is why we lose our self with disbelief.
Lacking understanding of what we see.
Just means that our mine did not adapt to be.
The lines that our eyes show our brain does not go so well.
It is like a cracked ringing bell.
This is what we have acquired in our recent thought of knowledge.
In our mind we can stand outside without foul-edge.
Selene was smoldering, the shadows shrouding Her face.
Alone. I crept through limp leaves and decaying debris.
I felt grim fingers grasping, gripping, slowing my pace.
Faint flickers filtered through gnarled trees like fine filigree.
I wondered why I am here; I wondered where is here?
I stumbled over shallow mounds, smelling the stained soil.
Alone. A putrid presence charged me with fetid fear.
My queasiness convulsed in a turbid, rancid roil.
Murky dampness clambered over clammy, flaccid flesh.
If this were dream, I prayed to end my nightmarish plight!
A chilling calm came over me and I feared afresh.
Alone. Selene hid Her visage and sheen from my sight.
Alone. The noxious night darkened, enveloping me.
Notes:
1. Selene, Greek goddess of the moon
2. 13, symbolic of rebellion and lawlessness in the Bible
3. 13 syllables in each line
4. 13 lines in the poem
5. today’s date, 13 October
A day without Cheese is not a day worth living in
Despite my high cholesterol, I will pop another statin in
The texture, the flavour, the smell, the pure cheesiness
but to overindulge could lead you into queasiness
My perfect day, I’d have to say, if perfection I was seeking
A fluffy Cheesy omelette, would stop my bones from creaking
For lunch a nice Cheese salad, something healthier for me
Then an afternoon tea; for I'm English you see
Cheesy scones and sandwiches with cranberry and Brie
But my ultimate feast of the day would be
a soup made of Stilton and broccoli
With luxurious Truffle and Mac and Cheese
Such amalgamated flavours often bring me to my knees
Then finally my special treat, always instigates the swoons
A cheese packed Cheese Board just for me awaits to be consumed
Then off to bed, but in my head, I hear the words my Grandma said
Too much cheese brings nightmares on, so never eat cheese before bed
Now loud and clear, as if still here, my Grandma’s words inside my head
I stay awake, watch cheesy films, whilst scoffing cheesy snacks instead
Written 11th November 2018
Competition - Cheese
Sponsor: Barry Stebbings
6th placement
.
Contest Strand Choice W
Sponsor Brian Strand
HONORABLE MENTION
In the absence of complication,
trials and tribulations become distant memories.
Above sapphire skies delight sanguine eyes -
inspiring forthcoming musings of the mind.
In a drowsy hypnagogic state, I see thee far away,
A dazzling, delightful, divine ethereal spirit
Drifting in the vastness of amaranthine space
Beckoning toward patches of divergent hues.
I discover sublime elation at the scene,
Impossible to restrain and slowly I open my manuscript
Write all that I can see, visions impossible to discern.
Why could I never capture the aesthetic beauty before me?
My yearning overtakes my aspirations to capture
The quintessence of such elusive diaphanous beauty
Till I wake, look around, feel sweat of ephemeral queasiness,
Read my endeavours in a language I could not discern.
Skirts
With comforts,
Hollandia Yoghurt flirts...
Before each tongue diverts,
From the usual that alerts,
The change to an impromptu concerts,
In different stages of many a song asserts
Except for the atmospheric dive,
Our faces depict the shared skirts
Without sweet scents, breaths hive
Swaying gallant statues in style alerts
High concentrated inebriant consumed
Took our legs lightly easy leaning back
Subjected to change of hits well costumed
Our voices disown its pitches to its crack
Introduce us to the people we know not
And we mingle like been known for ages
It wasn't true but lively moment grown hot
Speaking truthful lies unlike most sages
Happiness
Staged liveliness
Interrupt able orderliness
And introduce apt funniness
In order to promote calmness
Actively seeking to warm night dizziness
Through the beauty of tease staggering fitness
Of our hearts pouring out raw felicity's queasiness
We met over oysters and scallops in the French Quarter
of a mismatched ether.
She sent pictures - her in a mirror, beside a mirror,
partly hidden by a mirror, naked under glass
(I still have that one).
She liked to reflect and be reflected.
I admired her self-regard, her low-minded succulence,
Her high-handed high-heeled slipperiness.
Raw fresh oysters and Dom Perignon for breakfast and lunch.
Scallops seared in butter on a crostini and a
Sauvignon Blanc for supper.
This minimalist diet kept her svelte, prim, and of course
most improper. I thought of her as a swim without a swimmer,
splashes of her revealing her lovely lips, and they were indeed
lovely,
red but not scarlet more a sea anemone rouge
as it fades to a pink laced coral.
The camera may garnish but it cannot hide
that kind of salty lusciousness
caught fresh every morning.
I likened her to a glistening slickness to be sipped or guzzled
Her words slipped through you like Gaelic eels.
Her neck undulated as a dolphins caress
as she swallowed her catch and zoomed.
I confess to an occasional shame-faced queasiness;
and then oyster and scallops are best consumed
over the internet where too much of them
cannot sour the stomach or tease you softly
with a squirmy aftertaste.
Yet I still imagine her in a mirror again
her teeth as pearly as pearls, yet snip-snip sharp
and as pointy as stiletto’s rent through a fished-up
filet of heart.