Long Skewer Poems
Long Skewer Poems. Below are the most popular long Skewer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Skewer poems by poem length and keyword.
------------The Sonic Signature--------------------------
Baritones Sweet Tooth Get's him in trouble
with his Mezzo Soprano Lady Friend
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He flirts with the Alto not knowing she is freind to the Soprano
who is angry due to his cheating.
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24 strawberries
melted white chocolate
melted dark chocolate
pistachios crumbs
golden oreo crumbs
whipped cream fused with
coconut rum
don't omit the mascarpone
roll sugar cookie dough into 7 inch long by
2 inch wide oval end shaped cookies
bake until golden and cool.
wash and clean
dress strawberries
dip in either chocolate the tops
coat with either nut or cookie crumbs
skewer 6 alternating between white and dark chocolate
set atop oval shaped cookie
decorate with whipped cream
sprinkle coca attop
serve with coffoe
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My Phone
I've just been down to Tesco to get some shopping done,
I never go with money cos I have a little fun
You see it makes me snigg*r when I hear old ladies moan
'What was wrong with money,' as I Pay them with my phone
I went off to the countryside to see some lovely views
I also liked the country sound of bleats and quacks and moo's
A bloke lugging a tripod let out a little groan
As I stood right beside him taking photos with my phone
You should keep up with all the news my father said to me
You can get it from a newspaper or see it on TV
He snigg*red and he chided in a most sarcastic tone
When I told him if I want the news, I Watch it on my phone
Was driving in to central London later on that day
My dad said take an A to Z, don't get lost on the way
If you're like me you know you will be wrong direction prone
I said it doesn't matter, I've got sat-nav on my phone
Took my grandad to the library, there's a book he wants to read
He's always liked his fancy fish, there's some he wants to breed
I told him how to do it and produce a guppy clone
And if you're wondering how I knew... I read it on my phone
Sailing on a pleasure cruise, booked it up online
Suddenly a wicked ocean broke the liner's spine
Treading frigid water, foghorn having blown
I wish there was a lifebelt app loaded on my phone
Stuck on a desert island, no signal, battery flat
No Google, Facebook, Instagram... Don't think much of that
Tired of eating coconut at washed up wobbly table
Dad stuck my phone under its leg to make the table stable
My dad near drove me bonkers fidgeting with string
And tying to the end of it a small bent metal thing
To crack another coconut I hit it with a stone
Then dad went off and caught some fish... didn't need a phone.
We made a kind of Barbecue and gutted all the fish
We cooked the fish on skewer sticks and what a tasty dish
I asked him how he got them cos they really tasted fine
He grinned and said, that's easy son.....
I got them all online
A Flood of Tears
When tears glue eyed lids’ tar to balls of fire
and tear apart a soothing balm called resolution
as tar defeats the lysosomes of ragged vision
a third eye calls for sixth sense in a sickened time
a cry for a cry decries a festering splinter inside out
When shackled chakra invites distorted sounds
sticks on that loopy tone and tune in endless loops
as hearing plasters mucilage in mutilation’s muteness
a third ear of quietude invites a healing frequency
a voice reprimands cacophony and beats the drums
When smell exudes a sewer’s skewer
taste falls foul on buds and buts again
touch lost its grip on grapple’s clench
and rotting leaves leave decomposed what’s left behind
one message remains to battle out the wreckage
There is no phoenix no panacea no external healing
no clever plot to complete the warring conqueror’s return
let alone no algorithm or conceited panoply of ease
but only you can change the things you try and can
and everything starts with longing length for suffering to cease
I ham guilty for gobbledygook...
and ruffling turkey feathers!
An innocent miss steak kin...
once former main lion,
resident iz cow herd vegetarian boar
ring beastie boy, who doth
newt practice, what he preaches your
truly battens down chicken
coop hatches so... call me galore
re: us hypocritic,
this honest to dog omnivore – more
accurate said buzzfeeding primate -
*****sapiens, he whelk hams
adieu after quick bonjour
hears ear splitting eeyore
deaf finning chore
tills unable to ignore
admits transgression,
now wonder wherefore
whether art thou still
game to reed my adore
hub bull poetry
understandable if ye deplore
such atrocious, egregious, opprobrious...,
violating ethical core
puss regarding straying
against dietary herbivore
rudimentary eel lamb ants
(chocolate covered my dear Watson)
boot fault in the starfish...por
favor mice elf can
oxe plain twittering like plover
with reasonable rhyme for sure
don't get doggy dimples in bunch
cause to skewer me but... but before...
sending killing squad to slaughter -
this puppy, aye kindly honour
my wish and don
me noggin with pompadour
as fetching drag queen
torpedo sized bosom
squirting parti-color
milk as self defense mechanism
averting casus belli thus
amidst melee I abhor
find self on horns of dilemma
life story these of this poor
cooked goose flambé
caught between rock and trapdoor
special cannibal delight
where madding crowd
chants "send him back"
accursed unconscionable roar
ring anger, but lurch for eats,
an impulsive reflex courtesy extempore
rain nee yes unforgivable poor
craven impulse to up peas hunger
uncontrollably craving regarding carnivore
pang additionally not further injure
ring innocent animal plus more
to this fishy tail than
meats the Wawa birdseye.
We’re back in Paris because school starts in a few weeks.
I’m told the combination of air quality and heat are similar
to being in a sauna where everyone’s smoking cigarettes,
or barbecuing where you’re the meat on the skewer.
The song ‘Pink Pony Club’ has been stuck, echoing in my empty head,
all morning and this isn’t a complaint.
I love this time of year. Fall is coming, you can feel it,
it’s almost college time and I’m excited to be heading back to class.
And I’m pleased to read that Helicopter parents still co-pilot
their college-age kids and that collage-core students still
aspire to the top schools.
This is a shut-out to impressive students everywhere.
Foot traffic, in Champ de Mars park (our backyard) appears to be down,
perhaps because the sculpted trees in the commons offer little shade -
and they’ve closed the Eiffel Tower top to tourists.
Thank God it’s not global warming - there’s clearly no such thing.
Troubled mortals watch the prophetic heavens
for our days are bruited with hostile heat and
our tributaries drying up with violent speed.
Can nature’s woes be coherently counted?
.
.
Songs for this:
Sing Big by Tessa Violet
Doom Mood by Pearl & The Oysters
Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan
The urge to real-ease empties and dulls
Lights in a ram-parted brain flicker on and off
Water flows down a familiar trail down the face
As the shades of gray under the eyes darken
Those sad, tired bags…ridiculed by the winds
Sagging as more rubbish is seen, felt and heard-
Through the always open pane…
A darkness like none other felt pervades so near
But never quite touches the core
It tingles the senses with malignant reservation
As thoughts melt in self-abhorrence
Crawling so pitifully into the ears of mechanical beholders
Cloudy skies that look down upon
But never rain
Worlds destroyed—hearts tightened to drain
Inhalation is shuddery as sobs retain
Mountains of energy on degrading alone
No one should feel this sickening despair
But it is the very self—it permeates the very air
Tumultuous tempests cry out some unexpressed woe
Coldness traces its masterpiece from head to toe
Emptiness dwells like sin within the most overlooked crevice
And terrorizes the last dust of hope dwelling inside
Bottled up and sent away far
The mind flees to happier days where sunsets set for fear of panicked night
Then to dreams—fantasies—nightmares—–nothing…
As we lose who we are…
I have felt the sting of grimace skewer my very bones
And they still rattle from the impact
No one can take this solitude away
No one shall get close enough to kill my heir
You will never feel the sting of grimace skewer your very bones
But you will rattle like a skeleton on strings
And the impact—the darkest urge
Shall mute the cheers
And welcome self-jeers
An heir bequeathed
By the dullest…emptiest
Urge
I QUIT!!
Just for a moment
every now and then
I tender my resignation,
tell the boss to go to hell.
Revolt….against……everything
righteously skewer everyone,
succumb to the vile distortions
obliterating all beauty.
Just for that moment – sink
into a pit of despair – wallow
in the bile of hopelessness – rage
against the devolution of man.
Just for a moment – I cry
lost tears searching for their pain,
I curse – the scorching, squalid, spit
of lifeless prayers – and pray-ers.
Moments pass as moments do
condemned to move on – to renew
for moments cannot quit- nor can I
as I am in – and of – each moment.
John G. Lawless
2/4/2016
how clever a peck on the cheek, a kiss on the head
a hug with a boa constriction for the parents i love.
how cruel this fate of social isolation, to stunt the breath
of this illusion, that i might have them more and more times.
the kiss off of a mother’s day and all things pretty and wrinkled.
a jolly show of faces — did i once think the actors could slink
through a small or large screen. we haggle with time, dressing
up in effects, wrapping backgrounds, like furs, around caricatures
of ourselves — astronauts, cross-dressers, punk. my mom
holds a very dry martini — six olives on a skewer in empty glass.
we kin do amuse one another and the claustrophobic togetherness
where a normal situation would have us wandering, appetizering,
sidewinder-chitchatting, fobbing the keys of a remote control,
checking seconds and minutes for appropriateness of slipping
out the door — that of course, for bored spouses, who love
the in and out of screen time and beg to screen all holidays this way
while a bored housewife wants for the drive that spurs one on
toward childhood — a link between life and death, playful
joy of trinkets and melodious voices soothed by the setting years;
the wrinkle of time sells all anger, judgment, unkindness —
the baggage that weighs down elephants, the infantile crawl
of bondage. Now the rocking of Brumbies, snail’s pace of sunset
grace of a gray nest, cascading shoulders, ears out of tune
but pure-gold’s love — the plinking strings of a plentitude heart.
Mom and Dad cheer with glistening glasses, their merry martinis
marvel at their wealth — one olive, three olivettes grin at them.
5/11/2020
Non-rhyming couplets
We drove along the secondary streets of Iowa,
Towards my grandparents’ large farm.
How excited we felt for this seemed like a yearly pilgrimage
To visit my old folks back home.
I always loved summertime with my grandparents.
Though I knew they worked hard, poor fellers.
I noticed grandpa and his group of hired men
Moving here and there like ants among the stalks
Of the corn that grew in our large fields.
Trimmers in hand, all would prune the suckers
And saw how tall they would grow, larger than me.
How grand it was to explore the countryside,
Making friends with Daisy, who lived nearby.
There we discovered a clump of oak trees
And a clean small lake that irrigated our land.
Swimming was a must and so was kissing.
I was madly in love with my friend as I dreaded
The day when I would have to leave her to go back home.
Meanwhile the cob was soon covered with smooth kernels.
And harvesting began which meant it was the end of summer.
But before I was to return home, grandma promised a treat:
She brought in some corn on the cob and inserted in each
A skewer, then grilled the cobs. Out they came piping hot.
Grandma spread generous butter on one and added salt.
What can I say? It was divine. And I wanted more….
Thus, we arrived after a long time, so full of glee and anticipation.
Daisy jumped first out of the car and rushed inside.
No one was going to make her miss her favourite dish,
A grilled corn on the cob. No doubt I followed suit.
Tongue in Bloody Cheek
Cheek on tongue he slithers on abundant wilful slime
Checks in with teeth of timeless throaty choking curse
A serpent snail an earth worm fiery dragon in disguise
He cuts the chase incises to the point of razor’s gash
Knows his lingo carves positions through his acid battles
Penetrates fissures of inherent gripping gashing strokes
Battle critique and arguments for combat shed bloody ooze
Serrated edges dribble from articulated uttered discourse
Words can kill as they prepare the ground for deeds and action
Follow seamlessly draped in gusts of gut and gory shrapnel
Prepare the field of poppies sprouting over groans of bones
Make a meal oblige culpability on cumber lands’ sickly sauce
He takes the rough with the smothered smooth and from
the camel’s needled mouth delivers one final twisted slaughter
An eye for an eye tooth for tooth tete-a-tete and tit for tatty tat
He lies in mourning finely tattered slipped from blade’s double ridge
When doctrine implants demise of reason inculcates self-righteous venom
Toxic spittle engulfs gloopy scum as he dies by his very own skewed skewer
20th June 2018