Long Spices Poems
Long Spices Poems. Below are the most popular long Spices by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spices poems by poem length and keyword.
Its boughs spread like a giant umbrella,
Its girth, like the span of many hands,
Its foliage was lustrous green and exuberant,
Its roots dispersed like the tentacles of an octopus.
This tree stood tall and strong,
It stood against the tides of seasons,
It withstood fierce winds,
It swirled and danced to their rhythms.
It was the admiration of many people,
They praised and talked about its resilience,
Children played around it until sunset,
Travellers took refuge under its shade,
Others took parts of it for herbs and spices.
Nobody knew what it went through on the inside,
Little cuts metamorphosed into deep wounds,
Tiny slashes transformed into intense lacerations,
These were recalcitrant to healing.
There was a raging storm,
It passed through the town,
It shook everything to its foundation,
It pulled down and ripped apart,
This tree bowed to its wake.
A part of it held the forte,
It only took a while,
After spring,
There was an awakening,
It sprouted and budded again.
November 6, 2022.
Renascence,
This or That, Vol 14 Poetry Contest,
Edward Ibeh.
Your diary is filled with dates of meetings and functions that you have to attend; graduation ceremony and wine tasting events and meeting with the press secretary.
I wasn’t sure if your assistant had documented it properly, but every time a special date is announced for the meeting you change it to another month.
Her auntie traveled all the way from India with spices and lots of surprises for the biggest event of her life, but she has to pay a heartfelt sacrifice.
When she arrived, the city was turned upside down and water had flooded the entire town so the event was cancelled and a new date was arranged.
Sometimes the joy becomes pain and people think that you are insane but the trouble is there to break the bubble and set you on the right track again.
You keep going around in circles flipping through the diary pages looking for that special space to write down another date.
There is a long list of appointment staring at you, dinner with the ambassador, and lunch with the foreign secretary and meeting with the poor people in the community and then there is a dentist appointment and an international engagement.
Take a good look at your diary and look for that special event; it is the date for your child’s first day at school and a meeting with your high school friend.
There are some dates that you should not miss and some places that you should not cross but if you forget to attend her birthday, you must make it up the following day.
Don’t forget the carnival and the date to launch the new show, remember to order cheesecakes puddings and pies and the new recipe for the entire family.
And when the day is done you will have a whole village on the run, bags and pans, luggage on trolleys and baggage gathered in one place. You must wait for your cue to know when you are through, nothing happens before the time so circle the date.
Be careful of premature and hasty decisions, because the dead will come and hunt you before your time is through. Check your dates and give me a call before it’s too late.
light weight lamps outweigh surrounding darkness
float on wavy strings of lucid reason and emotion
translucent Christmas decorations are up to cheer
but ill-humoured disbelief has tripped the fuse box
remember there was a halo but just one single candle
close to the manger to minimize the risk of burning
the crowded inn sheltering hope and weary migrants
displaced marginalized and exhausted from pregnancy
Mary cast a passionate glimpse on her naked offspring
immaculate in her faith and her belief in human love
spreading like a wild fire into shadows of hardship
as the sun of politics and false religion already cast
the image of crucifixion at the cross roads of Jerusalem
and yet she nursed the baby in strong arms and mind
shepherds flocked around radiance of a guardian angel
scented spices took away the foul stench of the barn
cast away in safety of frankincense myrrh and gold
but alchemists already waited to secure a silver shilling
so heavy that it was difficult to turn the temple’s table
fixed upon the burden of dogma false shine and crusades
Joseph reminded doubters of glow and lustre to prevail
Mary took a thread from the loincloth of her baby boy
braided a bit of cotton into wicks and gave them freely
to those who knocked helplessly upon the stable door
the homeless often share more than those who can afford
but only give generous amounts of self-righteousness to
further their mercurial almost satanical inequitable quest
they fear that the little saviour undermined their wealth
some say the story is a historical myth and fabrication
with Christianity a deceiving invention to distract from
monopoly of market trading and the heavy price of shares
and bright light only resides in vaults while safe boxes are
the key to happiness and the miracle of being able to buy
one hundred chandeliers to illuminate opulent housing
but in my own heart I prefer the message of good will
07th December 2020
The Light Contest
Sponsor Regina McIntosh
Steaming hot pasta, covered
with aromatic dreams.
Thoughts of loving, fellow poets,
who comment and you, they do read!
Sprinkled daily, with fragrant spices of
both simplicity and toasted love.
They are loving creations of God, high
above.
They don’t read you, because they must
have a list of long replies back.
Their hearts are too ful, and they have
no poetic lack!
To these, raise a crystal goblet of sparkling,
fresh, warm, apple cider.
Then, relax in humble gratitude on your
deck’s soft, welcoming, sunkist glider!
11/11/2022
The sea was in trouble; turning from blue to black
Nothing alive could survive, said Captain Quack
His ship was bouncing by the storm this night
Everything felt lose, nothing tied down tight.
We were tossed and blown, a sailor fell into the sea.
He screamed a few times, many hands counted three.
A shark was seen circling, so we turned away.
It was too gruesome to think about, too late to pray.
Our clipper ship was bound for the West Indies.
Where spices were waiting of all textures and degrees.
We lost four bodies in all during this storm of strife.
Two cooks, a whipping boy, and the captain’s wife.
It happened on an ordinary afternoon.
In the quiet kitchen I was busy like a masterchef,
moving unnoticed with self-poised dexterity.
The intent was to cook a perfect silky tomato soup.
I reached for the salt, instead grabbed the sugar jar,
sprinkled a generous amount into the saucepan.
The smell changed instantly, sweet and wrong.
I grimaced, added more spices to mend the mistake.
She walked in then when I was at a crucial stage,
for the recipe required a vigorous whipping,
I was practically dancing with the saucepan,
holding a large spoon full of half-cooked soup.
As she went past me to reach the cabinet
I spun around to ask her to taste if the salt is ok,
ended up holding the spilling spoon over her white skirt.
The only sound I then heard was the soup hitting her feet.
I didn't say excuse me or I’m sorry,
instead, thrust the spoon toward her mouth,
murmured, tell me if it's too garlicky and salty.
I could still make the tangy taste right.
She ducked under my arm and silently walked out,
leaving me with the dripping spoon.
I wondered if I should hand over the kitchen
solely to my wife, for I felt that was not my place.
Note : I am not an accomplished cook, but I often try to do some
culinary experiments. I chose this moment and the situation
because these were quite embarrassing and awkward for me,
for my wife used to tell me to not mess around in the kitchen.
The hardest line to write was “ I didn't say excuse me or I’m sorry”,
because at that upsetting moment I wanted to divert her attention,
doing and saying something else, but actually I wanted to say sorry.
From the first draft I removed the last two lines of the last stanza where
I said I should spend more time in the kitchen to be an efficient cook,
but replaced them with the two lines as shown, a realization that I think
was pragmatic at that time.
— — — — — —
The dragon’s kitchen, ancient spices full
I choose food, you teaching me.
Without notice, your touch slides down my back.
Delicate, barely a touch — more your fingers verse.
Which says — honey, I’m hungry for your lips.
In the calm of the day on the castle wall
The golden dragon landed
This image is your true nature.
*
Under the snowy mountains,
who takes and gives lives by a marvelous nature of her own.
Made of eternal oak wood and volcanic stone.
I was created for you — to your liking.
To be your water cradle.
My chest to be your headboard.
*
You were made for me.
From the gentle birch
and elegant cherry.
In a silver cradle surrounded by flowers.
And with the dragon’s heart to be my soul guardian.
*
Our nest in the stone chamber.
Drums of fire from underground.
Passion music carries our bodies.
I fly with a dragon because our bodies are one.
Everything is open and flowing naturally.
Thought, speech, touch, sigh, the cry of love.
*
In the timeless green of your eye
I lose myself; I feel your touch down my back again.
Barely a touch — it’s more a bite of passion.
I see a flower garden planted on the Island of Love.
All created out of our sighs.
When I leave this world
I’ll take just a picture of your touch.
— — # — —
In my kitchen's grasp, where spices hop free,
Whispers of our memories, in each recipe.
Khichdi's humble grace, a bow to our roots,
In grains and lentils, tradition assent.
Herbal notes linger, a fragrant ballet, a scenic design.
As generations gather, in love's display.
Grandma's hands, a harmony of care,
Amma's gentle touch, flavors rare.
Papadums bloat, tales of old flames,
In every fold, history takes flight.
Black tea's warmth, with Tulsi's caress,
A sip of time, warm embrace.
Amma's pickle, a tangy delight,
Mingling with Khichdi, in consonance light.
Handpicked mangoes, memories unfold,
A dab of pickle, a story retold.
The Great Indian Kitchen's embrace, ceaseless love
I could smell that fresh baked dough, rising up
through the air. Created from double zero flour,
from Italy, carefully prepared.
A fine effort, was made to preserve this delicious
perfection. A secret recipe handed down from
generation, to generation.
All the spices were fresh, to create an awesome
flavor. San Marzano tomatoes, fresh garlic,
and basil to savor.
The crust looked crisp, as this creation was pulled
out of a wood fire oven. Melted provolone, mozzarella
and Asiago, cheeses, I was Loving.
As I chewed, my taste buds were having a love affair
with the tomato sauce. For me it would never again,
be store bought.
I would love to share a slice with you, because I know
my friend you'd love it too!
Michael Tor 8/22/2015
Dedicated to all pizza lovers.
Thyme and Lavender, in time to purify where Earth meets feet,
Bathed in springs, so soothing and sweet.
Nature's spirituous spices give blessings,
And they're forever making the winds refreshing.
Wise chefs blend the cauldron of spices,
Herbal passages to culinary horizons.
Kin to mint, Thyme's a delight to nature's family.
Thyme is said to guard against ancient immunity.
Aromatherapy with Thyme lifts one's mind
To realms marked by stars and roots intertwined.
Thyme's perfume sings through stones and blooms,
So gather it reverently before it enhances indoor rooms.
Lavender also smells great
On one's body or served on a plate.
In moonlight rites, it's added to the bath
As a charm for various cures of the homeopath.
It springs from the soil with other chanting plants.
Then, with maritime breeze affinity, it surely enchants.
Thyme and Lavender would float fancy-free
With Enchantresses bathing happily.
Thyme and Lavender will endure in time,
And enhance lives when added to one's paradigm.
Pleasing us each and every day,
These spices sweeten time's sachet.
They soothe us in their scented displays
In the mornings and at twilight's grand display!