Long Spicing Poems
Long Spicing Poems. Below are the most popular long Spicing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spicing poems by poem length and keyword.
Miles of broken, sunbaked seashells,
resembling pieces of porcelain of lesser value,
lying across a populous beach subdued by misty blue,
as hungry sea-gulls pounce the fiddler's crabs..
The beach entertainer draws huge crowds;
singing funny songs and making comic skits
by spicing up his unique modus operandi,
and modestly mocking his modus vivendi...
He has never made lots of money,
but settles for dollar bills to earn their sympathy;
dressed in tight and colorful ministrel's attire,
he amuses the public with his monkey-shine...
And he pulls out his fiddler and the crowds go wild,
awakening, by its high-pitched sound, a dope fiend,
who has built a temporary shack threatened by the blowing sand;
He puts on his sunglasses and disappears in the groovy sunshine...
The beach entertainer follows him, leaving everyone behind
saying," Sorry, brother...I didn't mean to wake you up, the bum turns around taking off his lenses.
and exclaims, " Music doesn't fill an empty and aching belly...and cheer up a feeble mind! "
" Here's all I got...take it and get something to eat!" He says stretching his hands.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
What was that?
No Darlin', I'm listening!
Yes, you have my complete attention!
You want me to do what?
Right now?
Before dinner?
Wow...that sounds hot!
I know, we never tried that before.
No, I'm not afraid of spicing things up!
No, I'm not afraid of experimenting,
It's just that...I don't know if I can take the heat!
Of course I love you!
I love you more each day!
Okay then, if you want it hot, then hot it shall be!
Your every wish is my command!
So...habeneros instead of jalapenos in the chili then, huh?
Ooh Baby, that does sound hot!...But...we might pay the price tomorrow!
----paranoid, pornographic, psychotic, pontific, politically aware, rapping, rhyming, right here, right now in River city, rock and roll up the Yazoo, sad, sadistic, sarcastic, sassy, satanic, schizoid, shitting, silly, sexy, smarmy, smelly, smooth, snarky, snarling, stupid, stinking, sweet as honey, sweat inducing, symphonic, Trump can’t handle this coffee, vengeful, Wagnerian, wicked, with nutmeg and cinnamon swirls, with a hint of stevia, with a hint of vanilla, with a hint of rum, with a hint of whisky, with a hint of cherry, with a hint of fruit overtones, with a hint of drugs spicing up the coffee, spendific, speeding, splendid, superior accept no substitutes, survived the Vietnam war, the Iraq war, the Afghan war, the first and Second Korean war, World War 11, the war on poverty, the war on drugs, the war on black people, the sexual revolution, Soulful as a summer’s night in MOTOWN- James Brown approved, TOP approved, Berkeley approved, the coffee that Jimmy Hendrix drank before he died, the coffee that Elvis drank on his last breakfast, the coffee that Barry White crooned as he drank his cup of coffee – and the coffee that made the white boy play stand up and play that funky music, the coffee that made Jonny B Goode play his guitar, and made Jonny bet the devil his soul after he drank his morning cup of righteous coffee and the coffee that make the Rolling Stones Rock and Roll, the coffee your mother warned you against drinking, the coffee that Napoleon drank when he became the Emperor of all Europe, the Coffee that Beethoven drank when he wrote the Ninth symphony, the coffee that Mozart drank as he wrote his last symphony, the coffee that Lincoln drank before he was killed, the Hemingway drank before he killed himself, the coffee that started the 60’s, and ended the 20th century, the coffee that Lenin drank as he plotted revolution, the coffee that Hitler and Stalin drank with FDR as they divided up the world after World War 11,
My youth is gone; but my energy and enthusiasm
are still in me making me full of zest and gusto.
At seventy, I am more enthusiastic and excited
about life for every day is a new day, an adventure.
Gone are the days running in the fast lanes, being
here, there and everywhere to get things done.
Or the days when every little things became big
deals making you spin your wheels for nothing.
Now, I just take care of myself, do things on my
sweet time and let little things not bother me.
I am so thankful of just living my life to the fullest,
like a little child, so free, full of energy, enthusiasm.
That zesty feeling makes me spunky to dress up
in style, adding accessories, like spicing my cooking.
Feeling zesty pleasantly stimulates me to do my
drawings with pizazz and delight in sketching them.
It makes me so excited to sing and to learn Italian
songs with correct pronunciations and rhythms.
It gives me exuberance when I dance that people
notice and let me know they enjoy watching me.
Feeling zesty allows me to be zealous in writing
poems to motivate and to encourage positivity.
Feeling zesty shows my free spirit, happiness,
creativity, passion to inspire others to live it up.
12/5/21 "Z" Contest, New Or Old - Poetry
Constance La France
Theme: #8 - Zesty
A lesson needed to be taught
This wandering wolf thought
Prowling the area Birmingham flats
Saying “we are not getting into that”
Finding the villa owned by Astin
Gate code giving without the asking
Went up a few flights
To have afternoon conversation with bites
Ringing the doorbell
“Are you gonna sell?”
Right off the bat the wolf questioned
It was the first stage to the Wolf’s lesson
Trying to find out if Astin was in debt
Something he was trying to forget
Feeling invaded
Astin made the wolf do some waitin
“What’s your price?”
Inquiry was very nice
“Are you ready to go downtown?”
Wolf was let in, Astin showed a frown
For the first half
Two of them had a laugh
Now it was time to drop
Excuse being there are nice shops
“You all are very good
Kicking the ball around like you should
You need to better your skills
And forget about the high profile bills”
Wolf explained as the tea arrived
Astin knew he was giving it his best try
“I am leaving here with one goal
Am I being honestly cold?
Or are you playing very bold?”
Back in the dungeon
Doing some watchin
Working the financial books
Spicing them up like the money cook
“Who is going to be with me down here?
Winning matches without any global fear”
Canary wondered shedding not a tear
“Will it be the angry buzz?
Or the west ham that was?
There may be some nice cherries
For Astin whose villa must be sold in a hurry”
Within the boxed confines
of ancient wood and plaster
waking, sleeping, dreaming in solitude
Only the cats soft purr
and frisky nature seeks to scatter the
dust bunnies which hide at sunrise.
Within the box of mind
or the box of heart
daily I peer outside of myself
through a pixeled frame of light.
The ingredients of my day
the passion of my night
all congeal in a broth like fractal art
spicing the tendrils of thought.
The mind mixes and blends friends
a genetic sea of salt and water minds
bubbles and boils and become.
~Without this soup you see
there could never be a universal we.
I would remain an eye without thee.
Everybody’s noodle pudding’s
Baked a different way.
If you lined them up, you’d find
A real diverse display.
Mine, which is delicious,
Has two different kinds of fruit –
Orange slices from the can
And pineapple, to boot;
Sour cream, vanilla, butter,
Eggs and cottage cheese.
It disappears so fast, there’s not
A piece left I can freeze.
My friend makes hers with cream cheese,
Also pineapple and milk!
She bakes it half as long as mine
And says it’s smooth as silk.
Some recipes have raisins
And use cinnamon for spicing.
That combination, to my palate,
Isn’t that enticing.
In spite of the ingredients
That they’re concocted of,
All kugels* taste delectable
If they are made with love.
Yet every cook who makes one
Would be proud to take a test
Just to prove what she knows in her heart –
Her noodle pudding’s best!
*Yiddish for noodle puddings or other baked dishes
In this kingdom of fragmented gates,
I'm frustrated in being chained in a glass mansion.
The world is trying to change me,
forsaking my 'chess of life' into ruins.
I yearn to soar like an unconfined eagle,
but my talons are like frozen footsteps on glaciers.
My heart used to illuminate like the northern lights,
like a perfect portrait of a poetic sunset.
Now the unkind mind of humankind attempts to mould me,
tormenting the claws of my tiger spirit.
Upon a path of nomadic illusions,
spiritual delusions, struggle to salvage sunrise,
when the horizons are a blanket of black.
Crooning clouds resemble melancholic tones,
when twilight bleeds in burgundy blood clots.
I see seas of sorrow with an unstoppable ending,
when Satan's sighs summon a history of hurt.
His garnet eyes feel like thorns in peacock feathers,
silencing sentiments into a voiceless cocoon,
spiralling spicing moments into solitude, so I summon
my Goddess of Thunder.
The enigmatic voice of my queen of the night,
resonates in calming flawless frequencies.
Like art from abstracts of an architect,
we bathe in my pool of sentimental stars,
delicately dressed in dancing dandelions.
Each petal sparkling in a lake of rose quartz,
under a moon affair of astral rain-dreams.
If truth had a colour it would be her chocolate eyes.
Her celestial nature tells me heaven can wait.
No longer is my concrete onyx heart on fire,
as it glows like a trillion golden dragonflies.
The inventor of the number system and chess;
the originator of algebra, trigonometry and calculus;
with the globe’s largest railway and postal network
and second to none in the height of a bridge.
We speak of the largest government of, for and from the people.
Beats Israel, Egypt, Mecca, Rome and Greece
in the number of religious visitors attracted to its shrines.
The circumference of its seasonal experience
is well partitioned into six segments.
It is the major contributor in giving the world some spicing,
its currency and sharing are very big antonyms
while Meghalaya is confirmed to be the globe’s tongue.
Even with these medals and accolades,
it still struggles to give women enough warmth and comfort
Amaryllis splendid beauty, Christmas bells of pride thrill us
Birds of Paradise in flight making its opera debut in its crane plumage crown
Calla Lilly’s endless white elegance bouquet, a peek-a-boo lavender funnel play
Daffodils, shoo-in to scoop arm loads, out of the cold, into the morning sunlight spills
Ephemeral, short-lived and quickly fading beauties, trilliums, and harbinger of spring
Freesia innocence captures your heart trust with its fragrances and sword beauty
Gaura, a wand burst of delicate stars as bee-blossoms sing delightful springtime
Hyacinths, sincerity of fragrant with folded leaves a play bouquet of stars
Impatiens, touch-me-not to bloom anew Bizzy-Lizzy in all its playful trim
Jack-in-the-pulpit Arisaema triphyllum striped showy pining lover male-female as one
Kangaroo Paws their long beautiful stalks attract birds to perch and sip its nectar
Lily of the Valley flowers of spring sweetly scented miasmatic wedding bells
Marigolds brightly shine in bur-pee garden spicing up a dish fresh, and new
Nightshade, adorable soothing little green elfish hat and long flowing pink skirt
Orchids a touch of elegance in its uniquely posture, delicate in its buoyant poetry
Peonies, shades of red to white or yellow fragrant strong and hardy the Flower Fairy
Quinces magical splash of color with thorns heralds spring
Rue, sour herb of grace symbol of purity deterrent kitties and snakes
Sweet Peas reaching to the heavens embraced by the breeze, then flowers fade
Tansy yellow bitter buttons hang dry then boiled to clear amber-yellow dye
Uva-Ursi, grape of the bear blowing pink urn kisses into the air
Voodoo Lily, breathtaking with its height and beauty, not its foul odor attracting buzz
Windflower, star sprinkle flowers in your garden, but easies stomach and cough
Xeronema Callistemon sheer dazzling red toothbrush look perched on cliff top
Yellow Anemone, pure and fresh sleeps at night and wakes at a hint of sun
Zinnias sway with its parade of orange tutus charming wings flavor its beauty
4/26/2016
Garden Inspirations Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley