Long Sherbet Poems
Long Sherbet Poems. Below are the most popular long Sherbet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sherbet poems by poem length and keyword.
If only a dream
were the path to the future
Where crickets and toadstools
began the parade
If storks in the sky
were a common occurrence
and lemonade grew
in the cool summer shade
If roads led to villages
covered in daisies
While rivers and streams
glistened bright in the sun
And heartache was more of a
forgotten notion
as each day appeared
and was so much more fun
Where chimneys all smoked
but had no fear of cancer
And skies were so blue
you could paint with a brush
And sea captains danced
on a wave of approval
While sailing so slow
without even a rush
Where moonbeams of sherbet
made custard on Sundays
and tables were set
in the fanciest fare
And doors were unlocked
as the neighbors were knocking
along with their dogs
and a nice rocking chair
If only a dream
were the path to the future
Our minds could control
every place we did go
It’s all up to you
how this world comes to happen,
just set your mind free
of the worries that flow
I’m excited, I got a job
I now work for Bob Bob’s Gob Shop
They asked me to stand outside and sell
These white packets, of what I cannot tell
But I was shifting the goods a hundred an hour
I felt alive excited and empowered
Mothers and fathers were buying off me
And giving their kids, who named the stuff LSD
I didn’t hear it clearly at first,
Until I was arrested and that’s when I feared the worst
The police took me to their van
God only knows I tried to run and then… Man,
I got the tasered,
And did a twenty-five second bad imitation of Bob Marley crossed with Jo Fraser
They called me a dope peddler
An addict enforcing meddler
The cops tasered me again and beat me up
Then left me laying in a pile, yelping like a helpless pup
Then took me to a room with a table that had a pile of white powder,
And three inch black sticks they called hash, my mouth went sour.
They questioned me further demanding who was my supplier
As they kept me dancing at the end of the taser wire
I screamed Bob and Bob of the Gob Shop
They stopped and said this must be their under cover job
Just then the chief of police walked in
He looked at me with that we gotcha grin
He took a bit of the white powder and put it on the tip of his tongue
Then with s surprised look as if he got stung
The chief of police quickly picked me up dusted me off and apologised
He said “Don’t worry sir, I’ll punish these guys”
One policemen said “But sir his a drug dealler, selling LSD?”
“How could you be willing to set him free”
The Chief shouted “YES THIS IS LSD, NOW READ MY LIPS”
“LIQUORICE SHERBET DIPS”
Well as a consolation, I got a house and a car out of them,
Never went back to that job again.
Beware yourself do not break heart hurt noone
Do not hurt a human who is a groaning slave at abroad
In the way of love do not hurt single painful bizarre one
Be patient to every sorrow do not hurt house of Merciful Lord
If you are a human in essence do not hurt anyone at the fate
Do not be a sinner do not hurt honor of universe glorious prophet
Take your hand from propensity of world if you are in love with God
Drink sherbet of conversation, however he wishes submit your soul to Lord
You are a guest in the vineyard of destiny do not think a lot
If you are in trouble be patient and its cure will be given by the Most Kind
If you are a human in essence do not hurt anyone at the fate
Do not be a sinner do not hurt honor of universe glorious prophet
Written By Alvarli Efe
Translation Onur Ünlü
It is forty degree centigrade
Scorching heat everywhere
Tap Water almost boils
Heatwaves in the air
The leaves on the roadside
Have withered to sickly brown
Fewer people on the roads
Hot summer day in the town
Only people who rejoice
Are sherbet vendors in the streets
Chilled fruit-drinks they sell
Under cheap plastic sheets
And there is another group
Who enjoy their game every whit
They are the young children
Whether they win or lose it
From the very morning
They have played soccer
In almost empty pavement
In terrible heat a shocker
Now they are exhausted
Need plenty of water to bathe
In water supply at their home
They haven't much faith
Innovative in whatever they do
Now they open a hydrant pipe
Water gushes out in speed
Soon the issue is a hype
To their heart's content they
Lavish themselves with water
Splashing sound of hydrant flow
Mingles with the booming laughter
People come out of office buildings
At the excitement of the day
Smile and say to one another
‘Didn't we play the same way’
September 7, 2017
If stars could see the sun~
slurping the grunglethorp grains
from sweat-soaked streams,
purging puddles of blurmorgris,
you’d hear the phazephonyx symphony
of my intestines churning chyme
into acidic rhymes~
releasing piled pain upon
a peezling palette of biled ballads.
But why are the whistling whirls
tangled in throttled thickets,
weeping amidst the periwinkle werifesteria,
grooving to the garglesome wind
that suffocated the cartilage
within the dry throat of wilderness~
ready to lure purple, perplexed pupils
to the reeking ruins of once upon
a rosy rendezvous,
where picturesque polaroids
of thanatophobic thistles
fear the pungent aroma
of decayed desires~
drenched in the stale shadows
of whiskey specters,
cloaking wisteria wishes
fluffed with puffs of fluorescent fleur,
designing a sky dressed
in the darkest dews of rainbow rhinestones.
So let the grotesque seeds
of passion-fruit moon
embrace the fossilized fragrance
of fated flames,
flickering mercuric beams
splattering grubblortz
sherbet of seven stars,
for between the rising of blortmusk blurs
and setting of fermented fog
you will see the light~
awakening the parietal lobe
of cracked constellations,
merging rivers and lakes
like the calloused corpus callosum,
while mumbling gibberish in
sheer eloquence…
If to live,
I shall master the sticky sails
across saccharine deceit,
I will forever steer
letters glazed with remnants of pests
to land in a canvas of magnified grey matter,
an embodiment of an aesthetic disaster.
A stoic
shall wear
it like a smuggled soldier,
masquerading eclipsed heartbeats
with crystal-clear
carpe-diem calligraphies,
until the sun and moon forget
the putrid recipe
of a philosophical ponderer,
waltzing through
corridors of cathartic crumble,
frogs cradling crashed
comets dusted with cosmic chemicals
regurgitating unicorn droppings
and cavalry waste.
Would you cover me in hydrangeas of healing,
when cold is the heavy air I breathe,
alone without you, beside me?
O’ magnolia-chime, melodiously ricocheting~
above silent fields of Swarovski orchids,
this lunar-glazed love
remains my euphonious elixir,
and your lips, the petals I graze in euphoric motion,
when orange sherbet streaks of the evening sun~
descend upon glistening ripples of diamond dust,
your chamomile flames of aquamarine love,
keep rising in hypnotic hues of hibiscus red,
for your love is like a fire~
your song, like the scorching rivers,
ferrying lyrical lanterns adorned with clear quartz crystals.
Within your amethyst arms, I’ve found a melody,
turning my needs into alluring aurora fireworks,
as your love is like a fire,
screaming my name in tantalizing tunes,
while I yearn for you to come devour me whole,
never letting the breeze steal our saffron symphonies,
here I’m slipping away,
letting music of my heart to take control.
So allow me to gently trace your thorny edges~
I’m addicted to your enthralling enchantments,
chaining my sighs to your eyes, that shine like oceanic sapphires,
there, you sketch my skies with poetic phrases,
igniting vibrating sparks across the horizon,
for your love is like a fire,
it delights me with daffodil desires, taking me higher.
But what must I do,
when the colors of sunrise fade,
leaving me weaving ballads of bruised blues.
I ponder, would you feel the heat of this cosmic longing,
how in darkness, I need your silken serenades?
Remember, ten thousand moons from now,
I’ll still need you to thrill my will~
to fill this canvas with peacock pigments,
for your love is like a fire..
I’m lost in a sea of wilted willows,
but you’ll be the star that never dies,
forever sprinkling citrine threads of magic,
like an alchemist, orchestrating soothing sonatas,
pulling me back to the lavender light,
aware of how I’ve tried in stillness,
to harmonize the rhythm of this roseate rhapsody..
So allow me to gently trace your thorny edges~
I’m addicted to your enthralling enchantments,
chaining my sighs to your eyes,
that shine like oceanic sapphires.
There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent
To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on
My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads,
following the same schedule
as the other…identical
She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The weed interrupted,
“Didn’t…don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort
This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,
“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”
Perplexed she climbed upon its back
and flew, holding onto
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…
Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray
She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
marmalade miseries
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up
When it appeared, hopping happily
Jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy
Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me
"And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…"
I bubble and I gurgle,
I’m tangy and I’m tasty.
Unless you stop drinking me,
Because if you do that, you really won’t be able to stand my taste later.
Believe me, I do not care.
I don’t need the few of you who don’t adore me.
Because so many others truly admire my gassy stomach bubbles.
They don’t care that I’m tearing the enamel off of their teeth
In the 1960’s we tried to sell my cousin as a hot drink, remember?
That worked a few Friday nights at parties of pre-teen girls.
My cousin was all puffed up when those commercials came on TV.
I have always been special.
Usually, poured into punch bowls with sherbet ice cream,
Or doled into children’s mouths when they needed their stomachs soothed.
My can is gorgeous; with the contrasting colors, both Christmas-like and bright.
My distant relatives are usually red or brown - crass, harsh, rude even.
Were you around in the 70’s when they used to make shoes using my logo?
Boy, I was all of that then!
When I was a kid, I would climb up trees,
Was made to wear shorts and always cut my knees.
Played in the allotments, making tents from cloth and sticks,
Imagining we built a fortress made of bricks.
We’d play outside all hours, even till dark,
Playing football, cricket or just running in the park.
We’d ride around on bikes, on the pavement, along a street
Where everybody gathered because then you couldn’t tweet.
You would call on all your mates, ask ‘are you playing out?’
Knowing the answer would be ‘yes’, of that there was no doubt,
Whatever you were doing, come rain or shine that day,
There was always something to do, always time to play.
Mum did all the cooking, a master chef no less,
She’d bake cakes, make biscuits, ‘course we must clear the mess.
On Sunday it was lunch, a roast with all the trimmings,
A feast for everyone that cost only a few shillings.
If you were rich or poor, it mattered not a jot,
Nobody compared what he or she had got.
I’d get half a crown to spend, on a Saturday no less,
For me that was simply heaven, that I must confess.
Along to the sweet shop, where the jars were on display,
Such a massive choice that it took your breath away.
I’d maybe buy some sherbet, fruit salads or pear drops,
Or a lucky bag; If I could I’d have bought the shop!
You knew all your neighbours, each and everyone,
It was the village community to which you did belong.
The happiest times, special memories to treasure,
Growing up in the sixties, an extraordinary pleasure.
Strand Select 5 any form, any theme Poetry Contest
Date: 7th January 2020
Sponsor: Brian Strand
11/1/2023
When you tore my nubile nightgown,
from my youthful body in two.
That sherbet-colored beauty,which I
had purchased, just for you!
Forgotten, quickly then, though never
your footsteps, in the sweet,hallways of time!
Decades later, memories of that soccer
Austrian goalie and I now live eternal in rhyme
Your dimpled chin and sweet kisses, are
but yesterday’s treasure, indeed, sublime.
That starlit, spring night, so uniquely floral,
Opalescent and with fireflies~ divine.!