Long Scone Poems
Long Scone Poems. Below are the most popular long Scone by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scone poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh wow. Oh great. Look over there. Quickly now. Come on. It is the mitigating migrating mammoth mansions. Brick by brick and bone by bone. In a line. Travelling. Traversing the plains, fields and mountains but not on roads for roads are neither natural nor normal so always wear a tea cosy hat when pouring tea at a tea party. It is to show not to shine that has the sun in a pondering and philosophical mood. The auric rays are neither a moon sitting in a tree nor are they a kayaking planetary alignment. High seas then create high teas. Whirling in circling dresses of spotted green. But never in a greenhouse does one find a tomato in a tantrum. For tomatoes are very very mild mannered especially when given a drink. And this is good for compost can be crafty and doesn't like moods. A wafer thin biscuit is a flat chested mermaid moving around at the dusk. By the marina. Catching a glimmer is easy for the eyes of the octopus in an office with high rimmed glasses. Circle then dash. Tick tick tick. Form done. Signed. Signatures separate stagnant stale stupors. And the fat wading brat bird yawns on a front bench in a large ornately decorated room. How common. And yet rather uncommon is the master of the seaweed sermon whose speakers are never wise upon answering questions and questions are rarely answered so why play noughts and crosses with a jute duty bug? Inheritance is not to be placed in a kissing box for boxes are to be reserved for tiny biscuits who march around chaotically chairing and chanting at quite important times. Thus causing a lot of little flowers to sigh and droop their heads in an apathetical style. In a scrapbook posy position. The layout is not the layer and the label is a laugh. Numeration of a numerator is a numerical nautical nonchalant nerd. And the beast of the best bank is not to be trusted with a styrofoam cup. No never gi e it that cup. Always give it a baby bottle. For it is ignorant and infantile. Beware of the two foot clam in that drawer then when you are putting socks away. Hahaha a mist is coming to play cards and monopoly with a tree top, a hill, a perfume factory, and a zoo. Hahaha dolphin and duet with a dancing seahorse at a grand opera. Xxxxx desensitization Z now eat a nice scone and sing la la la to a doorframe. Z peacocks.
Form:
He was out of Woodie Wonder by the stallion Sunset Hue,
A freak thought breeding purists, who would surely end up glue.
For greys were so unfashionable he'd never get a start,
But this colt was a fighter with a truly valiant heart.
His origins were New South Wales, but sold up Queensland way,
'Twas Pippos, Coorey, Bishop and McMicking bought the grey.
A Goondiwindi syndicate, who gave the colt his name;
Gunsynd ... the punter's darling ... who raced his way to fame.
He'd never be a Peter Pan, a Carbine or Phar Lap,
No Tullock or a Galilee, but still a gallant chap.
Bill Whelow was his trainer and John Edmonds rode The Grey,
Till finally at Eagle Farm this colt was on his way.
It was the Hopeful Stakes that day in nineteen sixty-nine,
Young Gunsynd flashed from thirteenth place to cross the winner's line.
His trademark was his courage, his will to want to win
And how he made the crowds all stand to cheer the grey horse in.
They loved The Grey's performances; a showman through and through
And though he never always won they saw him as true blue.
Before and after races, he would play the press and crowd
By standing to attention while they clapped and cheered aloud.
With twelve wins to his credit Tommy Smith was now the chap,
Who trained Gunsynd while Langby won the Epsom Handicap.
He was the punter's darling, for he never squibbed a race,
That's why the folk all loved him, for he never did lose face.
The white and purple colours were well known at ev'ry track,
Australia's best known jockeys sat astride old Gunsynd's back.
The likes of Olsen, Higgins and young Langby rode The Grey
And flashed to blist'ring finishes, he raced no other way.
In over fifty starts Gunsynd had twenty-nine great wins;
Some eight point five times second placed, but took it on the chin.
Six thirds and unplaced in ten starts throughout those grand five years,
His name was up there with the best who'd raced to great careers.
Though sold to stud in New South Wales, Kia Ora down near Scone,
Queenslanders all adopted him and saw him as their own.
He'd put old Gundy on the map and right down to this day
Gunsynd is still remembered as The Goondiwindi Grey.
AN INDEPENDENT SCOTLAND? (Or, Beware The English)
by Damian on June 15, 2014. © Damian Cranney, All rights reserved
An independent Scotland,
That will do just fine,
We no longer have to listen
To the Scots familiar line.
Whatever woe that Land has had,
Is laid at Englands Door,
But if you analyse the truth,
We’re being blamed, what for?
More Scotsmen have been killed by Scots,
That’s no lie,
William Wallace, his history,
Perverted by Gibson, did die.
Betrayed by the Bruce,
Who took the crown at Scone,
After killing, John Comyn,
Who had the right, to the throne.
What about, the bonnie brave lads,
Abandoned at Culloden,
With empty bellies, and broken hearts,
Their prince they saw depart.
A third of those they faced were Scots,
Some Irish and some German,
Cumberland, commanded,
Officers were usually called , Campbell or Urquart.
Clan rivalry has a lot to answer,
Especially at Glencoe,
The Campbells and Macdonalds
Considered each a foe.
But Macdonald was polite to guests.
Who’d disturbed him from his bed,
With instructions to arrest him,
The Campbells killed them all instead
The clearances took place,
Run by, local Scottish factors,
Employed by landlords who were Scots,
Not English detractors.
The worst one of all
Was a lawyer born in Moray,
Patrick Sellar, was his name,
And it’s Scotland he put to shame.
Scotland was a barren place,
For crofters of that, stoic race,
That is why they fled the land,
And yes it was a big disgrace.
But if the bleak and wild terrain
Proved hard their families to maintain,
Why is an Englishman to blame,
When foreign soil can’t, life, sustain.
Before we joined together,
In unhappy unity,
Our security was always threatened,
By our old north enemy.
Whoever hated England,
Found a friend and ally there,
The answer was the union,
In which we both can share.
Make no mistake security
Was why we joined together,
If Scotland is a foreign state,
It could be viewed as an open gate.
The natural progression will be,
Border controls for you and me,
On a personal note I’ll stop the scotch,
My favour will be, for Irish whiskey
Juniper blended with the richness of Mohagany
as the well soaped Maidens accompliced
in the impness of Dawn.
A strong coffee poulticed a hint of Cinnamon,
and Clove prepared expectations.
The morning fog was lifting her skirt
in a slow tease, as both veil and curtain.
A suspenseful reveal that caromed
with the steam of my cup.
A main event about to be undressed,
and redressed with the Maidens.
I johned in, in that usual unpure-,pure- folly.
Knew it was welcomed guest,
practically an extorter, to creep in at any hour,
in to steal a gloat in unwarded cameo.
This inadvertently but unthwarted- headtable-
"honored guest", that shared more and more
in my ritual of daydreams, that intertwined
also into some of my more run of the milled needs.
Melding more and more,
as a dysfunctional elixir of happenstance,
and of either need or greed.
I found them also, the "Barista Girls",
like a gaggle of something curious- in cackle,-
buying entrance with teased looks mocking,-
my inflammation of inflection,-
with their vixened vexation,
-but also in snare; flared to wonder their wander
into mine stare.
One of a thawing malaise,- of curiousity shops
and shared spaces.
Places:
Coffee bean aroma and aproned bread
trinkets- become a "suitable"
showcase.
I realized its humorous "colorance"
in poetic knowledge's abionce.
"Man shall not live by bread alone."
But the scone was a genius match.
Something to chew on.
A fitting poetry, (binding really)
by the Master Story Setter- that forbode,-
the Protaganist himself and also let me know
that, 'he is aware of my dirty thoughts.':
To prop my stage and to reflect as a mirror does.
To hold in check the soul.
How the pillows fluffed.
My thoughts blanketed me,
"tucked me to the chin" with their silkys
and fuzzy warmths.
Feathers that cascade in a rockabye lull-fashion.
My system of down.
Downy.
Snuggle.
Oh women will be my downfall.
Vipers that push their venom.
"I think God created coffee and tea
with Poet in mind."
I rebuked my thoughtful sins to Him
and left a healthy tip for them.
Swapping and siphoning off layers upon layers of antique sprays is very very basic. Antelopes occasionally make brick a brack piles to occupy even the most dormant of cloths. Opiniated eagle ducks soar above many canals in worldwide signature. When an oath is contained in a loaf and wide cavities fall from eating a mild curry. So it may be an ear in a shrouded shape, an eye peeled in a glass and a pretty decor in a basement. It is the wishes of many a tadpole to climb the many pillars thus releasing a once captive orb. Injecting ones mind. Mingling of souls aboard a half ship of time. Official offices can be used to see if a large portion of lemon can have a dance in a cup. Whilst in a cupboard sits a curtain pole whose ideology is to view hems. Ink not a large protruding boil. And jest not on matters regarding the blackberry for they are strong and can jiggle their wares even on energetic jellies. So hail! Arriving is king jellyfish. To the ocean spray party. Particular his tastes. So to prepare well the prawns place ten kilos of wine,cider and whisky in undercurrents. This gives the right impression to royal arcs. Beating a moth ball out of a shirt. To attend is the fortune of the elite clans. Ignorance is not pleasant. And fame is neither a frog nor a fish finger sandwich. So peel a scone, consume 80 figs then give great thanks to the sphere. Apheresis models are modes of adjustments and figures in temples are giant folk of whose wisdom remains in clay. Clotting clogging clucking coop cooperation cleaning clans clandestine cinemas cantering catering categories. Club of clap. Trade deals. Travelling. Multi dimensional space and time. Bi-locating birds. Bullseye bullets. Businesses. And a tailored tapered tease tastes tantric tongues. Talismanic glows from a shrewd heifer. Heifetz. Head. Headlining headlights hybrid hunters. Hickory hic hocks. Visitant vacation. Vigour. Place a pea in a dual diameter of seven feet. Festivals feeling fragrant. Exonerated economic exploitation eases erotically exact energy. And now I will balance a pickled egg on my snout. Divination. Xx
Form:
Calling Captain Hindsight, where the heck are you?
The table booked for one-fifteen and now it’s ten-past-two,
The waiting staff are anxious, they want me to move on,
Their patience was exhausted as I sat buttering a scone.
I dawdled on arrival though the menu is quite clear,
I fiddled with my glasses whenever waitresses came near,
I nibbled on some poppadoms and slowly sipped my soup
But they’re keen to move this table now, to accommodate a group.
So come in Captain Hindsight, I need you on the line,
Just Tweet a cute emoji if you’re still a friend of mine,
You must be getting hungry, clear your diary, find some foods,
The hosts of countless phone-ins are simply spouting platitudes.
Is it really sensible to let our steelworks close,
Should Boohoo use slave labour to stitch our discount clothes?
Was breaking-up the railways a really mad idea?
Dare we book a holiday for May or June next year?
Reveal yourself on Tik-Tok or maybe Instagram,
This is no time to reject toys or throw them from your pram.
Laying-low is not required they need you on the news
There are many here among us who would gladly steal your shoes.
Just who imagined gantries over motorways were sane
When stranded vehicles occasionally block the left-hand lane?
Should crops be decimated by barbarians hare-coursing
As some tally-up donations from the firms they like endorsing?
The nurses and the warehousemen all need your sound advice
Without this there’s an endless risk they’ll run around like mice.
Public trust in newspapers will ebb away and lapse,
With schisms on the increase we need you to say “Perhaps.”
So please stay in our consciousness - like Robin Hood or Santa
Without your wise opinions, LBC* will lose its banter.
When the bar stools are in use again we shan’t know what to say,
So come back Captain Hindsight, please don’t go away!
* LBC is an English language radio station highly reliant upon telephone calls from its listeners. This poem was first published by Poets Unite Worldwide on 25th September 2021.
You said - Have just put two on here. I have a backlog. Will be back on here later. Hope you are ok. X Any language including alien and northwestern star?
2
ginger mustard and spices
A mild aromatic genetic fruit scone was passing through the timed abysses pausing carefully at many tunnels and admiring the many printed displays shown through shoe strings then illuminated on the caverns scapes. It is never pay day that makes a petal happy. Thorny twisting takers trapping taunting tears tenaciously. And the ten foot viper wears a crown then wanders off into the forest with a very big staff, a silver lined cloak and a gem of minds. When alighted a fragmented train do mind the gaps for gaps are giraffes and giraffes are neither gaffs nor girths. Fragmented mind in a twist and shout at a disco van never really reach a ball rotating many lights. But a light containing the orbicular essence of a cyber shield can be a complete new person each day. Many a hill equal many a ray. But no tray. No ashtray either. Slam damm dunk. In an oversized trunk causing chaos at a highway. Whereupon a large pruning Pythagorean pyramid dances from the sky shouting "hello" but no one answered because they were very busy dashing off to sit in front of an organised box of nonsense serving dishes to their imagination thus rendering subconscious a reduced field. A sought after path is one that travels and traverses a high sky at noon or a dusk bowl at the sunset pinnacle. And just to add that a single sequin can actually jump across a gap measuring three hundred and fifty three thousand nautical miles. And so the dish cloth laughed reading his book. Bored of not cleaning. Hahaha the palomino is coming to town with the legs of a tyrannosaurus rex. Hahaha a beetle wobbles onto a jellybean and spins. Is that sponsored? Hahaha an ornate garlic sauce moving in a dress. A tissue paper working in a field. Xxxxx carbohydrate clapping xxxxx scientologists zzzzz. At 10000% of a sudden supernatural supermarket sway. X
Form:
Jam roly poly, treacle sponge
And sticky toffee pudding head the top of my list
But apple pie, rhubarb crumble
Or a decent cheesecake are hard to resist
Banana splits, eclairs or brownies
Dumplings, nougat, cheese board or mousse
Crème brûlée. Fruit cocktail. Yoghurt
Serve it up and set me loose!
Rice pudding, Christmas pudding
Let me say it loud and clear
Summer pudding, Eve's pudding
Figgy pudding - bring it here
Cottage pudding, Diplomat pudding
Pancakes served throughout the year
Plum pudding, mango pudding
Put it on a plate and cheer
Hasty pudding, Saxon pudding
Vanilla pudding, chocolate pud
Yorkshire pudding filled with treacle
Make winter evenings warm and good
Sussex Pond pudding, sweet biscotti
Semolina (if that counts?!)
Panna cotta, profiteroles
Gâteaux. Meringues in any amount
I guess spotted dick is a bit of a worry
But to bread and butter pudding, I say "bring it on!"
I could plan on a flan, or a lardy cake
Or butter with glee my scone or scon'
Mince pies, cobblers, baklavas, strudels
Loaves and pastries - all tell a story
Even blancmange has a heritage
To match or beat our knickerbocker glory
There's fruit tarts, jam tarts, custard tarts, egg tarts
Milk tarts, cheese tarts, butter tarts too
Tarts from Manchester, Liverpool and Bakewell
French tarts, Jamaican tarts - to name but a few
Buns from Chelsea, cakes from Eccles
Wafers and muffins from all over the place
Doughnuts filled with jam or chocolate
Made to squirt on your shoulder or face
Strawberries & Cream, Eton Mess
Artic rolls and brandy snaps
Trifles should always be trifled with
If laced with sherry - it's a perfect nightcap
Sorbets leave the palate tingling
Fritters fritter your cares away
Waffles and crêpes warm the spirit
And sundaes are perfect for every day
So, whatever we may call them -
Be it puddings, sweets, desserts or afters
They taste best when shared with company
Served with a spoon, a smile and laughter
The store sign read “The Christmas House”
so we walked right in, greeted by giant Mouse!
Upon his head was a fluffy Santa Cap;
truly he was quite a friendly chap.
In the warm Foyer he took my coat;
a Chihuahua chorus barked holiday notes.
I knew they served great pet treats
but this place is amazing and sweet!
An elf waiter skated up to me
and handed me some wine and Brie!
To my dog Ben he gave a scone
shaped just like a big dog bone.
“Welcome, welcome, our new guests”
he sang to us with great zest;
“You’ll have the happiest time in here
I’m sorry, would you prefer a Nog or beer?”
I thanked him and said all was fine
and I swear that was a vintage wine.
we ate and drank and felt so merry,
I even enjoyed some plums and cherries.
Progressing to the other rooms
we smelled the finest of perfumes;
wafting from within the kitchen
of gingerbread, Ben ate a smidgen.
The next room had a singing snowman;
around him kittens played Kick The Can.
There were Christmas trees in each room
and pets could visit Santa on Zoom!
Christmas bones, and treat shaped mice;
were served by elves, how very nice;
I met the cat who did the cooking and baking,
jerky and chicken fingers he was making
Imagine my surprise as I drew near;
a cat chorus that brought me such cheer.
It was directed by a talented Dalmatian;
and my heart did swell with elation.
The harmony unlike any I’d heard,
those felines sounded just like songbirds.
poodles were hanging Christmas wreaths
a beagle hung icicles on a tree.
The animals left with packages galore;
it was a fine place, that’s for sure.
As we left a Great Dane gave a shout,
“Next year they’re hav’in a bigger blowout!”
“A Merry Christmas to Ben and his human,
we thank you for stopp’in by and Zoom’in.”
I wished them all great holiday cheer
and Ben and I’ll sure be back next year.
The Cat in the Hat
Invited me in,
He stood on the mat saying
"Come along in,
Come in, come in,
Come in I say,
Enter, enter,
Step this way.
Would you like to take a chair?
You can sit
Here or there,
You can sit
Anywhere.
Perhaps you'd like
To sit right here,
Sit down,
Sit down,
Sit down my dear.
It's good to see you
To see you is good
Now what would you eat
If only you could?
Would it be fish,
One fish or two,
Red fish, green fish
Or fish that is blue?
I have the freshest fish
Which you can have with Finney fries,
The freshest fish dear Pop
Will make you oh so wise."
"I don't think I fancy fish.
Can you recommend a different dish?"
"You don't fancy fish,
Not fish you say,
Then can I recommend this,
This dish if I may.
How about green eggs and ham?
It is a favourite
Of Sam I am.
Green eggs and ham
Are very good
You should try them
You really should.
I also have some Spam with jam.
If you ask my friend,
Dear Sam,
He will tell you, how good it is,
How good it is
My Spam with jam.
The look upon your face says No,
Then let me have another go.
I am good,
I'm good at tricks,
Watch me, watch me
With chopsticks.
I can make noodles red,
Or purple sausages
And pink bread.
Yellow meat with orange peas,
Would you like some of these?
Or how about black milk to drink,
Black milk to drink
What do you think?"
I couldn't stand anymore,
"Stop stop, stop stop,
I do implore.
Just give me apples,
Apples one, two and three,
Apples with some apple tea,
Some apples with some apple scone,
I'll eat them up,
Then I'll be gone."
The Cat in the Hat said,
"I'm sorry Pop,
The apples all got the chop,
When they dropped
Off of the top,
So apples are all off the menu,
You will have to choose
A different venue."
21st March 2017
I Need A Cup Of Seuss - poetry contest
Sponsored by Jerry T Curtis