Long Sandwiches Poems

Long Sandwiches Poems. Below are the most popular long Sandwiches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sandwiches poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Encourage a Poet By Being the First To Comment

Ingredients
6 tablespoons salted butter
1 small red bell pepper, sliced 
1 small yellow bell pepper, sliced 
1/2 yellow onion, sliced 
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt 
8 ounces thinly sliced deli roast beef 
Couple dashes of Worcestershire 
2 tablespoons whole-grain mustard 
4 slices thick-sliced bread (Texas toast) 
4 slices provolone cheese 
1/4 cup Homemade Cheese Sauce

Directions
Special equipment: a panini maker, optional

Heat 2 tablespoons of butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the peppers and onion, season with the salt and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft and golden, 8 to 10 minutes.

Throw the roast beef into the same skillet, breaking it up a little as you go. Add a few dashes of Worcestershire and warm for about a minute or so. Remove from the heat.
To build: Heat a panini maker (or set a grill pan or skillet over medium-low heat).

Spread half of the mustard onto a slice of bread and top with 2 slices of provolone. Add half of the beef and veggie mix. Top with half of the Homemade Cheese Sauce and another slice of bread. Spread the top side of the bread with 1 tablespoon of butter. Repeat and build the second sandwich.

Invert the sandwiches butter-side down on the hot panini maker (or grill pan or skillet). Spread another tablespoon of butter on each of the tops.

Close the panini maker and grill until the bread is crusty and golden and the cheese is melted, 4 to 5 minutes. (If using a grill pan or skillet, carefully flip the sandwiches halfway through.) Slice in half and ENJOY.


Storm

Storm 

The waves in the storm raged Pacific Ocean waves became 
deep ravines and tall mountains; in the binoculars, I saw 
an American hangar ship, its massive deck was glistering iron 
swept of all human activities, this was not a day for wars 
The bulk vessel was returning from Japan, where a cargo of
scrap iron had been unloaded, so she was not so heavy in
the water; a good thing when she ploughed deep down 
a watery valley, and the sea high above the ship, came
crashing down, but up she came quivering like a wet dog
As she climbed the tall blue mountain; at the crescent
I saw the horizon before she dived into another ravine.
The captain sat strapped in a high chair, keeping an eye
on the gigantic waves, the ship had to face the cyclone
straight on and not were starboard or portside, it that
happened, it would spell disaster, a broadside wave
would tip her over and there, no one would alive to tell
a story in a bar, I made a thermos of coffee and meat
sandwiches for him
Walking up three flights of stairs was not easy, like falling
and falling down at the time and not having anything 
to focus on, made me nauseous and nervous.
The captain sat in his chair, smoking cigarettes and looking
at the sea; is it not overwhelming, he said. Yes, it was
nature in its fury that made us feel humble.
Walking down backwards, couldn’t risk falling and diving
into a wall.
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.

Coffee Is Latte Now

Coffee is called Latte now.

The café near the train station in Loule
there was a café that sold coffee and tea
cakes and sandwiches too.
It closed for two-month work was done inside 
and I was full of foreboding 
The person who had bought the place had gone to
hotel school and had great ideas.
It was as I thought, all modern style, with baristas selling
latte this and latte that, one coffee with decoration on top
 would have cost me my lunch money.
All I wanted was a cup of coffee with a drop of milk, but
no, it had to be Latte or nothing, pondering this option 
I left with nothing.
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Lads Were In the Cupboards

Lads were in the cupboards
Lads were in the hall.
Lads were in the closet.
Some were playing ball.
Lads were in the kitchen
Eating up our food.
Our pretty cousin brought them home
And some were rather rude

Grandpa came home early and made them all leave
He took back his sandwiches he grabbed back grandma’s weave
Grandpa yelled for Doris and asked her what was this?
She was a cute little thing, so she got by with a kiss.

Lads ran from the cupboards
Lads ran from the hall
Lads ran from the closet
Some of them did fall.
Lads put down our food
And apologized for being rude.
Grandpa saved the day, all full of fortitude.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Dhram Diet Pill Did Not Work

I took a pink diet pill.
The blue ones had stopped working.
And I stopped drinking all that stupid water.
I do not have time to go to the bathroom hourly.

Thought about it and realized I probably needed two diet pills.
Shook out another pink, and downed it happily.
Turned to see crackers and peanut butter.
A little taste would not hurt. Made them into sandwiches.

My husband had brought home my favorite coconut cake.
I stomped out of the kitchen, irritated.
Slunk back five minutes later and cut the cake into sixty-four pieces.
They were so small, I ate thirty-two of them.
Dhram diet pill did not work.


The Rabbit and the Hatter

not being
able to tell
if dusk's veil 
is ascending
or are my 
eyes 

slowly
closing
intending
to take me
beyond 
returning

from dreams
of happy
madness
making me
not able to
retrieve

the sanity
that wasn't
even granted
to me in those
supposed
childhood

blisses of glee
intriguing me
to wonder
what they
were to
be

as my sister
invited me
to the table
with her
dolls and
dishes and

delicious
invisible
tea asking
one lump or
two or perhaps
three or more for

you may have as
much or as little
as you want but
the doctor
decides the
voltage

because no
tongue sandwiches
on the pink plastic plates
will sate the burning nuerons
or snap the synapses that told me
i was at a mad tea party but never invited
Form:

Premium Member Possums On the Run - Part 1

"Possums on the  Run - Part 1"


Well she ran away
danced the F.U.	 
Revolutionary Dance
Jokers are trumps
Euchre, 500, 
Queens Slippers
no Deuce, no Romance

Holey holy 
blue jeans torn and buried
underneath the house 
with uneaten sandwiches
going mouldy in plastic lunch bags, 
old unwanted items, school books
torn pages, hessian bags, burnt pots, 
newspaper wrappings fading 
tales of the city with 
dreams of necromancy.

She’s upstairs deliberating
sitting at the kitchen table
writing her stories
Over with doing the dishes
done with Rainbow Princesses,
homework squats and 
buried small town garbage runs 
over strawberry jam and creamed up
Sunday Cream Buns.

A good day out
some holiday
collecting cut grass 
she stands watching
red skinned motor mower man
barking orders 
while the other daughters
stand en garde cross-armed
no hat, sun burnt, 
barefeet, blistering in the
boiling Sun.

En Garde, patiently waiting 
watching Frilly Lizard Black Boy 
Kangaroo Paw Hibiscus 
“There’s a tortoise under the 
outside dunny!”
there’s a flaming tortoise
on the run 
slow mode
totally bizarre, 
wonders where
it came from…she thinks,
“run tortoise run”.

She knows better, she’s 17,
she’s the Dancing Queen,
she’s Top Gun.

(Lovejoy-Burton/Jan 2018)


1. .... x
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ZUX3j6WLiQ

Premium Member Diner Pour Deaux Moi Et Toi

Diner Pour Deaux     Moi et Toi    
  (Dinner For Two       Me and You)

   
I've laid a quilt on this stretch of beach,
the place where our romance had its start.
Where one night, I took your offered hand
The night I gave you my hand and heart.

Soft light from candles in lanterns on the ground.
Two glasses for the aperitif I'm about to pour.
We sip and gaze into each other's hungry eyes.
As rhythmic sounds of waves crash on the shore.

I've set the stage with the intent of seduction.
Let's start our late night feast with finger food.
Grapes I've peeled, and brie, our appe(teasers).
Sparkling white wine should add to the mood.

We'll share a cold crisp cucumber salad
With a light dressing made with mint.
I've kept it chilled just the way you like
In the hope you're getting the hint.

I've delicious little roast beef sandwiches
To place upon your tongue with my fingers
There's no need to hurry, my darling.
Love and dinner will be sweeter if we linger.

Is there room for my French apple pie,
topped with globs of cold whipped cream?
From the look I see in your green eyes,
You've caught on to my romantic scheme.

Let's take a walk behind the moonlit dunes
I've the notion we're ready for a little flirt
We won't be taking home the leftovers.
We'll have each other as tonight's dessert.

             November 2, 2015
© Lin Lane  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

For Nicanor Parra : Chilean Physicist-Poet : 1914-2018

~  IN THE STYLE OF NICANOR PARRA ~
                  

         I write as my heart dances or cries
whatever I like whenever I want
          ______as crinkled leaves fall from trees
undressing twigs for winter’s battering

      only to dress up again in pink 
                                                    blossom 
sap lubricating lips 

I write anything 
             I want to breathe again
  words shower from clouds
    form as homes when I’m cold and hungry
unsheath when window panes 
             suit me not ….to fly forever and away 

it is only that my veins need to run clear
            and joints not creak when oil is sparse

may my poems strip all pretence
                all contest…all division
poetry and physics 
                              embracing where existentialism floats above our heads
         so we may root flesh in ground
                and  a l l  eat bread fresh

So let my verses trigger or 
            soothe as cream we sometimes lick

soles still touch loose sand grains 
         wrinkled skin blemished by dark of turmoil
                 or knots or waiting _______

run on lines with ancestral winks through seas
          docks, spaces, ages, blotches, steps
— —+++             to jam sandwiches
   I seek no pomposity or accolades 
                             let them fly on raven’s gloss

I greet you always    in the name of the unelite the       unpoetic who trample sidewalks
 barefoot poets
    splotches in air….. sun damaged

with alphabets singing far or near
       let each poem hasten unpretense 

         hail margins of cities, farmyards
              where aged and hungry hold back the waters of tomorrow 
       sucking seconds of time in threadbare  

                                                  trousers 
    
 take it or leave it …

so may all despair swallow this poem 

                               my care sleeps now

Yeah It's Like You Know

3 cups of shredded beef
2 cups of chopped onions
3 tablespoons of minced garlic
1 tablespoon of cayenne pepper
1 cup of green peppers
1/4 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped carrots
1 cup of brussel sprouts chopped fine
2 cups of diced potatoes cooked
2 cups of sour cream
3 1/2 quarts of beef stock/ broth
1 cup of olive oil
1 cup of flour

in a large skillet, add oil,  onions, celery, green peppers,
garlic,  when veggies have softened or become translucent
add flour, stir and make a brown roux, add brussel sprouts and allow the mixture to slightly cool, by removing from the stove
cover allow to stand for about 5 minutes.
bring stock to a boil, and stir in the roux mixture combine
by stirring about three to four minutes,allow to thicken, add potatoes and sour cream and beef. we want the soup to cool and then be warmed over to find it's consistency at room temperature. serve with rice.

************if you don't have shredded beef, use 4 pounds of deli beef cut into strip's.*****************************************************

1 cup of softened butter
1/4 cup of dehydrated onion
dried basil
2 tablespoon of garlic powder
stir together and spread on one side of 14 slices of bread
28 slices of swiss cheese
14 slices of cheddar
make sandwiches and grill until golden brown on both sides
serve with rice and beef soup !
Form: Ballad

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