Long Salt Poems
Long Salt Poems. Below are the most popular long Salt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Salt poems by poem length and keyword.
Speak such as mine.
C pers 2.2. Dumpling
26.25
13/12.5
7,5/6.15
3.75/3.025
1.875/1.51425
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3 cups of blackberries
5 cups of white grape juice
1/2 cup of congac
1 3/4 cup of sugar
1/4 t salt
2 cups of water
Simmer til purple sauce forms
Tame sweetness with
2 teaspoons of lemon juice
__________________________________
Dumpling mixture
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4 cups of selfrising flour
1/2 teaspoon of salt
1 cup of sugar
3/4 cups of almonds chopped
1/4 cup of melted butter
1 egg
1 teaspoon of vanilla
1 teaspoon of almond extract
1 t of cinnamon
1 teaspoon nutmeg
2 cups of buttermilk
Mix thoughly adjust moisture
Drop dumplings into simmering berry sauce
Add white grape juice to readjust sauce
Cook dumpling done about 15 minute
Thicken sauce with 2/3 cup of heavy cream
Plus 2 Tablespoons of cornstarch slurry
And 5 tablespoons of butter.
Serve topped with slithered almonds and ice cream.
Gimme your best shot
Why the hell not
And let the both of us
Play an unfriendly game
Of pick up Camel
Straw's and stick's
And the winner
Is or will be decided
By whomever
Break's as many backs
As either you or I
Or at very least
Failing that
Gets the most backs up
And being it's a Camel
It sure as hell
Has to be at very least
More than the very minimum of 2
Otherwise what's the use
We may just as well
Play
Water
V
Sand
And see who eventually makes it
Out of the desert
Full of sand
Onto beach sand
And then we can quibble
And compare
Sand
V
Sand
As we die of thirst
As neither of us
Can drink or survive
On salt water
Proving the point
The only thing 2 stupid people
Will ever agree on
Is when
And after
That are both
Dead
The other may have in fact had
A valid point
But saying and admitting that
Got your nose out of joint
So ouch so
You had to ram home your point
Break these chains that bind
holding in the deep ovens
blazing a fire for love.
Smiling midday moon
dressed in a baby blue sky
with sparsely scattered clouds dot.
White mother of pearl
their silver lining treasure
held soft beautiful warm babe.
In her finger beams
a light touching inside thoughts
sitting posed at three o’clock.
The moon just pops out
in kissing a golden sun
white ivory pearls smiling.
Within daylight thoughts
sweetly I pray in sunlight
shining warm all over you.
Deep ocean salted
with the bluest warmest waves
luster smiles sunshine color.
The magic tear drop
forms the silver lining bright
and cries for ivory pearls.
Alchemic water
wondrous most blue, dark and rare
lies love in Salt of the Earth.
Mermaids caress hope
encouraging happiness
makes all the more magical.
Pearl chain links in place
Neptune commands do it now
with finest gold most smiling.
Bathed best and brightest
white ivory pearls ready
for their concatenation.
Neptune’s grandeur finds
all sea creatures in awe now
abounds pearl dreams of rare love.
Pearl Dreams of Rare Love
14 linked all so precious
from the ocean’s heart and soul.
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (November 16, 2014)
(Terza Rima in Unrhymed Tercet poetic format)
A thorn that needles in a rose
Is while it’s true we cleave as one
We also cleave apart.
No sooner do we struggle to
Share any meaning of our minds,
We say goodnight among the stars.
Our words and hands so purposeless,
Among a travesty of trees.
A thorn that nestles in a rose
Is while it’s true we cleave as one
We also cleave apart.
No sooner do we struggle to
The very knife quick cut of love,
We fall our separate ways.
Our arms and legs so purposeless
Among our sighs and smell of salt.
A thorn that nettles in a rose
Is while it’s true we cleave as one
We also cleave apart.
No sooner do we struggle to
Survive each other by alive,
At different times we die alone.
Our skin and eyes so purposeless
Not even see or to be seen.
Tribute To My Cousin
She is the best, and resides in the Midwest.
A top, American, she.
Loves her country, her God and her shining, perfect family.
Married now for 50 years plus.
Grandsons is Arizona Little League
And a blond cherub grandaughter, too.
Who helps her grow zucchini and cucumber..
In her ever growing, garden school.
Of cool mnd and love for so many,
We are the last of a large family.
Then I have so brilliant, Maggie, and loving Cousin Denny.
We all share the DNA of our grandfather,
His creativity at the Basilica of Notre Dame.
Those lamps of his shine with God's name.
I was my Cousin's babysitter and an angel was she.
We played many games under Midwest summertime trees.
Later...
Remembering the sands of the Boardwalk between our toes.
Our very first tastes of salt water taffy!
And the Ocean of the Atlantc, up our nose..
It was so odd, we laughed and got daffy.
Each Christmas, you send a special gift.
A holy bread, on Christmas Eve, we do partake.
We do this in memory of Christ's birth
We have done this for decades, for traditions' sake.
I have not seen my cousins for many years.
But we keep in touch, wishing each other warmth
and cheers.
We may not see each other even on holidays.
But never feel lost, we are still grownkids at play.
Now to my special cousin, facing a health crisis.
Please know I am praying for you, today for that is
where my heart is.
You have read and respondedto all my Poetry.
Maybe that is why, your Dad saw your sweetness,
And gave you hat nickname, Peachy!
God hold you in His arms!
You are indeed, one of His cherished charms.
Love from~
Cousin PanagiotaI
10/24/2020
Poem 1
Early morning in half light
setting out to bake some bread
getting out the tools all need
shining steel and burning heat
6 quart mixer of heavy weight
shining bowls of stainless steel
spinning hooks of the enamel white
heavy motor of ozone stink
hardened glass and red thermometers
measuring cups of precision use
machine ground wheat of brown and white
salt of sea and golden butter
glasses of water heated just right
packets of yeast poured with in
golden honey from wild flowers
mix together and set to bubble
steel cups filled with white flour
even smooth with knife for butter
poured into the spinning hook
spinning in an orbital pattern
adding both salt and butter
spinning till as smooth as satin
adding then the brown wheat flour
turning till it ascend like a ladder
pouring out on floured counter
kneading with fingers lightly floured
shaped to fit the loaf tins waiting
there to rise with yeast breathing
oven heated to medium hot
filled with steam for the crust
baked until a golden brown
with the kitchen aroma filling
new fresh bread hot from oven
set aside to finish breathing
then to slice for the eating
covered with butter and golden honey
This is a government office
Here everything goes by norms.
When you join as an officer
Or as a peon – a file is opened,
Yes, a file is opened.
You do not open a file,
It is opened for you in your name
And a number is given to the file i.e. to you
Now onward
All is in passive voice,
Then on wards, whatever follows
Is ‘as per norms’, Regulation, Rule
Set by some Macauly, the colonizer
Little over 2 centuries ago
You apply leave,
Whether causal or earned leave
Apply ‘as per norms’
Go on a tour -
Whether official or personal
Process through proper channel
And it is approved
As per norms
Norms should be followed,
Should never be violated
Inform when you marry
You may exceed the societal norm
when you woo some one
but inform beforehand your marriage
‘as per norm' when you get married
First thing you do when you come to know
You are conceived or father a child
intimate the office
as per norms
so that you get
The leave entitled to see your new one’s arrival
This is as per norms
or else your child will not get the benefits
as per norms.
Your pay is fixed
You are promoted
Even bypassing someone else
As per the norms.
Some one is dead
Or killed in an accident
Inform for action
As per norms
Anything – a sanction for a thousand to billion
As per the norms and
Approval of competent authority is issued
You are transferred - on public interest
Or your own request or insult on punishment
Everything as per norms
When you superannuate
You are relieved from services
As per the norms
So, your 30-40 years have all through been
As per norms
After 40 years of existence in a government office
Had made you a has been
And those invaluable years would not tell you
Or those who served with you
Were you useful, were you benefited?
Or happy, sad.
As per norms that couldn’t be found.
However, one thing was found
That too very firmly
You have acquired heavy salt and pressure in the blood
And you are very sweet with high blood sugar.
This is not as per norms of your age.
—Thorn & Balm—
Thou art the thorn that threads my quivering vein,
Darkness bellows in thunder, thunder bleeds to sable;
Each pulse a prism where my torment meets my gain,
Collides in sinews taut, each nerve unstable.
Thou art the fire that flickers through my marrow,
The frost that forks along each argented line;
A taste of ash, a brine, a bitter-sweet harrow,
All sound conspires, all shadowed senses intertwine.
I see thee in the scintillant bend of light,
Where rain refracts and ripples stone to stone;
Thy voice, a torrent rending fissured night,
Currents shaping every sorrow of my own.
Each glance, a cunning ambuscade of breath,
The iron chill, the whispering hinge, the glow;
Soft flame entwined with salt and scent of death,
Yet in thy orbit every wound I come to know.
The lattice of the wind intones thy law,
Its leaves, a lexicon of lightning, sharp and keen;
Water crackles, shakes, submits to thy awe,
And I, encased in all, am forged between.
Thou art the fracture, and thou art the seam,
The pulse, the prism, the balm, the bleeding dream;
Every sense converges: scent and taste and gleam,
Sight, touch, and sound entwined in perfect theme.
I cannot flee, nor unentwine my fate,
Yet in thy orbit chaos calibrates;
Thou art the fault, the measure, the weight,
The very pulse that sculpts my fragile psalms innate.
At apex, all the elements converge and chime:
The thorned flame, the frost, the brine, the lightning hymn;
Darkness bellows, water crackles, scents and tastes entwine,
Problem and solution fused, in senses wrought to limb.
In the polished circumference of refinement
my wild longings dissolve like salt in warm rain.
Everything untamed--
the tremor beneath my ribs when your voice grazes the air,
the way my pulse forgets its manners at the scent of your skin--
quietly erased,
as if refinement were a gentle, merciless hand
wiping fog from a mirror until only the acceptable face remains.
Yet without these invisible walls,
how would desire survive its own blaze?
How would love keep from burning the rooms
we are allowed to share?
I stand three measured steps away,
laughing at the correct jokes,
while my blood writes your name in secret fire across my throat.
The emerald at my nostril catches light and lies--
a small green star pretending composure
while inside me a monsoon waits,
thundering against the cage of decorum.
At night the boundaries soften.
I trace the curve of your absence on cool sheets,
mouth shaping syllables too dangerous for daylight
If only once the circle would fracture--
let the raw, wet ache spill over,
flood the marble floors of restraint--
then perhaps my heart could speak your name aloud
without apology,
without vanishing into the elegant silence
that keeps us both alive
and slowly, exquisitely,
kill us.
I sometimes hear people complain
of all the things we eat,
getting really hung up about
the consumption of meat,
Most are caught up in their feelings,
thus not worth talking too,
a few will try to reason out
some kind of point-of-view.
They’ll say they don’t want to be part
of bringing death or pain,
as if they will get virtue points
for choosing to abstain,
but when I think more about it
the whole things falls apart,
when it comes to how we survive
I don’t know where to start,
perhaps with a quite simple claim
to which the truth attests:
That every single man alive
was born to live off death.
Is not a farmer a killer
of every crop he plants?
You pull a carrot from the ground,
the carrot plant is damned.
Every time you cut down that wheat
you risk killing the grass,
and each potato you dig up
bring death to the plant fast.
And every piece of fruit you pluck
is a tree abortion,
you want to eat without killing?
I say it can’t be done.
Plowing a field will slaughter all
the mice, and moles, and bugs,
also chews up their earthly homes,
all the lairs they’ve dug.
Even clearing a field itself
brings death on a grand scale,
the trees and critters now displaced,
most could not even wail;
All replaced for a single plant,
it’s corn supremacy!
Which cannot live without man’s help,
unlike the now-dead tree.
Unless you’re eating salt alone
I’d say it’s a fair bet,
that just like every man that eats,
you’re living off of death...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.