Long Serve up Poems
Long Serve up Poems. Below are the most popular long Serve up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Serve up poems by poem length and keyword.
Don't forget to remove the Bay leaves from the
pot.
Make it easier on yourself
put the bay leaves and rosemary sprig
in a cheese cloth.
I'm in most incline to agree
yet some deemed them useless
almond ash and hickory ash
was used to create a super
strong aroma.
Pungent and earth friendly.
TENUTO___
The Zoomies
a group of five
songstresses
Clutter ( a Contralto Alto)
Clowder ( Contralto Soprano)
Glaring ( Mezzo- soprano)
Pounce ( the Soprano)
Bunting(Contralto)
allorubbing
glissando
tremolo
trill.
Piano!
Piano!
Staccato< paino
an detached and fast tempoed!
She detached her relationship
to be seen as more uncaring
toward the male gender.
She said such allowed her to negotiate
from being lesser involved from actually
being responsible
inside a fully functional relationship.
The legend goes that 1n 1887 at a festival somewhere unknown.
A group of Women who were hired to perform and were allowed
to have concessions.
The woman (The Zoomies) were fixing to serve up some delicious foods.
An inspection by a local there
who looked troubles in the face with a laugh, came up
to the head cook in the busy campground.
He told the woman she better take those bay leaves out of the soup
before someone starts complaining. The woman didn't take to kindly to this citified person
turning his nose up at her with an order. She sat the hot pot on the piano (according to legend)
She went down in her blouse, and pulled out her mini firecracker canon and launch a firecracker at the visiting chef. It's said the shoot knocked off the gentlemen's top hat. People thought it was part of the show.
* Point of Reference- The guy is said to have come up to the stage while more then 50 people( paying customers) were there and said "the rat and kitty stew smell like beef: that b*tch better not forget to take the BAY LEAVES outta the pot" Another legend is said that 6 woman singer corner the fella and stood above him and releived there selves. Ans said while the guy was enjoying his supper a woman reached down in her blouse and pulled out her breast and asked the man did he want her to make it a french creame soup!"
There are those who would give anything just to have one moment of recall. But they cannot, because of sickness. Our hearts cry out for these, and may we always treasure the gift of sweet memories.
Memories. Don’t let them catch you unprepared and unable to deal with them properly. They have been with us for a lifetime; some of which are good and others not so much. If our memories have not been delightful, they could have us saying, “Did I do that?” For some, they may be so painful that attempts are made to deny them. Some of us drug and drink them away, but they refuse to be dismissed.
When a very young man, I attempted a trip on a snowy and icy road, and didn’t get very far. Not only were the roads bad, but my tires were shamefully worn. Within a mile of my home, a tire blew, the vehicle flipped, and landed in a ditch.
The vehicle sustained minor damage, and I was unscratched, but totally embarrassed. Each time my memory serve up this incident, it is one of those, “I can’t believe it”. The disbelief is not that I came out free of injury, but that I foolishly attempted such a drive. This is one memory I would like to send to the ‘no recall zone’, but I can’t.
It wasn’t a dream, nor a nightmare, but a once upon a time live event. My memory! These kinds of “Say it ain’t so moments” may go into the recycle bin, but you can’t delete them, and they literally refuse to be sent into some black hole. Like computer data, it is stored as memory; but it has limited storage capacity. But our brain has more memory capacity than we could ever use. Memories! You gotta love em! 05232015 PS Contest, Mid October Premiere, Brian Strand
Singers and dancers,
artists and writers,
philosophers and poets,
academics and health professionals,
parents and teachers,
actors and contemplatives,
grandparents and children,
live and die between Heaven and Hell.
Between Heaven's interdependent sensory Enlightenment
and Hell's individual secularized Industrious-Militant Revolutions
Pathology and sin result from severing healthy spiritual tools
for development
from degenerative denatured fake-wealth weapons
for destruction.
Heaven's tools restore peace
where re-tooled weapons
without divine mercy
redistribute Hell's sure-fire punishments.
Sacred tools,
like bicameral hearted minds,
were
and are
for hunting,
gathering
harvesting
cooking
serving
cleaning
recycling
composting
regathering,
impressing
not trangressing,
health-restoring FuturePowers.
Weapons were
and are
for killing
threatening
hating
condemning
judging
repressing
depressing
suppressing wealthy MultiGenerational Matriarchal FlowCycles.
Technological tools,
post industrial,
have evolved from
WorldWideWebs of Heaven
for cooperative social health information
Too often devolved into propaganda weapons
against WorldWideWalls for self-ghettoizing Hell
promulgating competitive anti-social disinformation.
Sacred tools, verbal and non-verbal,
derive from
and help build
heart-paths toward progressive liberties in love
and conserving equitable and responsible compassions.
Secularized weapons
contrive from
and help destroy
other paranoid
rabidly bipolar
mind pathologies.
Sacred tools serve immortal life.
Secular weapons serve up violent death.
Just as word choice
is the smallest detail
of communal win/win communication,
Weapon choice is the smallest
and also least cognitively wealthy, part
of commercial and residential conscious win/win choice-making
well-tooled
politically healthy
true-wealth conserving co-investment,
Articulating
incarnating
re-creating
sacred life evolving in-between
LeftBrain's ideas of Heaven
and RightBrain's experiences of lose/lose Hell.
I'm at ease in nature and its informality.
Church is rigid like a crucifix.
Everything in its proper, perfect place.
While nature makes the sweetest grape.
Church turns it into the spirit of sacrifice.
Nature is honest- carefree, without need to lie.
Church has many closets without exits or alibis.
My imperfections are just blemishes on the pristine.
In nature I'm good enough-good enough to eat.
Church will serve up your flesh in a collection plate.
Sauté your pocketbook week after week.
I'm at ease in nature
in my stained blue jeans
sitting on the mossy face of decay.
Beneath an emerald umbrella
face to face with a Paw Paw tree.
The First Six Months
January, you remind me to close the door to yesteryear
And to welcome the new entry ways you have for me
Febuary, I'm off and running, and not the least bothered by
Any resolutions that I did not make
March, I am filled with the energy you bring and the anticipation
for things just ahead
April, with a name like yours, how can I not see and feel the
Spirit of resurrection in the air? Ah April, how refreshing you are
May, I have seen and crossed many bridges, both the great and
Beautiful ones, but none serve up the service you deliver. Why,
You are the calm and silent one connecting and blending the warmth
Of Spring with the heat of Summer.
June, your name competes with April and I will say this: I am acquainted
With a lady name April, but one of my best friends has a wife name June.
She is one jewel of a person.
100819PosoupFB
I worked 25 years for a company that taught me several valuable lessons, but one has stood far and above all other lessons learned from that company. They taught me to 'check and double-check' and always 'assume nothing'.
I once had a friend who never realized that maybe her preconceived conclusion was not only subconsciously prejudicial but also offensive to me, and whereas I could have been righteously indignant toward her, I chose not to be. She never knew because we never discussed my beliefs about the subject matter. She was an older person set in her ways, and when she spoke in such an uninformed manner, I did not want to set her straight. So both in mind and in my heart, I forgave her of her serious 'lack of understanding'.
Barack Obama was running for president, and my white friend assumed because
I was Black like Obama, I would be voting for him to be president. She assumed wrongly. She lacked understanding about the fact that there are 10% of Blacks who vote 'Republican', unlike the 90% that traditionally vote 'Democratic'. She therefore lacked the understanding of me and my beliefs. She passed on several years ago, never knowing that she offended me. I knew her to be a good person and a personal friend with no offense intended. If I chose to correct every person that offended me, I would be overly busy.
I tell this story because it is very relevant to the times we are presently experiencing. These times are not new, but they continue to surface because we never solve them. At best, we conversate but seldom communicate. We investigate and facilitate, but we fall short of compensating with justice. I learned more from listening to my friend's discourse than I ever could have by correcting, arguing, or debating with her.
I've learned that we humans serve up more division and bigotry when we fail to listen. My friend falsely assumed that I was in a certain group and therefore thought the same. Racial injustice is nothing new, but there are times when egregiousness becomes a tipping point, a neon sign that compels and forces the world to take notice and act.
061220PS
he did it for the love he thought he'd receive
it's not hard to believe
they made it so all could
understand
better yet, a future
created in endeavor
don't say she's clever
she finds it hard to be real with a man
yet sum would say
cause they know the outcome
their positions refuses to allow them to
support him in a relationship
look beyond their reasons
and the silly they believe in
maybe then you can get a gleams' of what he feels
love is, for lovers
loving and understanding
creative understanding love
take all the racks outta the stove.
I want to get the food ready for
the
"after festive Jamboree!"
get me that ole big pot in the pantry.
I got four chickens, a pork roast, and a half a brisket
in the freezer, and I aint cooking no more until
all this food is gone!
6 yellow bell peppers, 8 chopped onions, 1/2 cup of garlic
1/2 cup of shredded ginger roots. 1/4 cup of cayenne pepper
put the brisket, chicken pork and veggies in the pot, sprinkle on
sum salt, some black pepper, cover with some foil.
put it in the oven and come back five hours later and we can eat!
I boiled some potatoes, and got some black-eyed peas, and rice.
got my roux waiting, to make gravy, got cabbage cooked and ready. the hock meat is minced and ready to sprinkle!
mash them potatoes serve up some roasted sweet potatoes, and dinner is ready!
Casarah Nance has been posting some poems with wonderful double entendres in the titles - here is mine for her
Where would I be without my cup of tea
The humble tiny teaspoon is the one for me
When I want some soup I head for the cutlery draw
The soup spoon is nestled there – who could ask for more
If I am after a pudding I use a dessertspoon
Use it for my ice cream on a sunny afternoon
The tablespoon I use with my Sunday dinner
To serve up my vegetables it really is a winner
Spooning in bed – I do that every night
Arms wrapped around my body - it a sheer delight
Jan Allison
10th July 2014
Why the long face, son? Did someone die?
Aw, Dad. I flunked my math exam
Did you do your level best, son?
I did, Dad. I studied so hard for the test
You know that's all I ask of you, son
And everything is always for the best. Right, Dad?...
What's up, son? Are those tears streaming down your cheeks?
Aw, Dad. I didn't make the varsity basketball team
Did you try your level best, son?
You know I did, Dad. I trained so hard last summer
That's all I can ask of you, my son
And everything is always for the best, Dad...
Is everything ok, son? You look like you saw a ghost
I did lousy on the law boards, Dad
Did you do your level best, son?
I don't know, Dad. I thought I did. But--
--But everything is always for the best, son. You know that by now.
You're right, Dad. Everything is always for the best...
Dad, you're not here with me on this Earth anymore
But your words live on inside me, and
They are of great comfort to me now, Dad
And you were right. Everything is always for the best--
I flunked the math exam because I was not meant
to be a statistician or a computer programmer
I didn't make the varsity team because I was not
cut out to be a great basketball player
I did lousy on the law boards because I never
really wanted to be a lawyer, not in my heart...
I'm a part-time poet now, Dad. That's right
My wonderful poetic friends and I are busy, busy
We create tempting, tasty dishes of Poetry Soup
~ And hereby serve up today's soup de jour, Dad
Everything really and truly is always for the best
February 11, 2019
Entry in "Repetition" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
what made her unworthy of love
was it because she couldn't live up to your ideal
that she lost her appeal?
You lived for the surreal
now too numb to feel
Tell me, what was the deal?
what made her fall from grace
was it sun spots on her face
her flannel instead of lace
her slower than youthful pace?
Was that why she lost
her pedestaled place?
Do you look at her and see
something other than beauty?
Is she flabby instead of firm
militant instead of meek
the lurid side of lovely
tell me!
what could it be?
when did she go
from pleasure treasure
to discarded at leisure
What was the measure
of your detestable displeasure?
let's me be clear:
"love is in the eye of the beholder"
Here's a tap on your shoulder
instead of a fist in your face
I won't add to the disgrace
yet your problem prevails
it's in the details:
you're beholder beholden
to your own foolish fantasy
of what your woman should be
what you can't see
is just what makes others all agree:
SHE'S A Bountiful BEAUTY!
Her body and soul
every part of the whole
exquisitely enhanced
by the years and by chance
she deserves desire's delirious dotage
not apathetic apathy
Can't you see?
maybe....
maybe you are the one
not deserving to decree
her worth, her esteem
she's gone now
go dream
scream
try to serve up a scheme
to love her up to extreme
She won't fall again!
that is true!
You see, dear
The problem, the problem
is
YOU!
Eileen Manassian