Long Spicy Poems
Long Spicy Poems. Below are the most popular long Spicy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spicy poems by poem length and keyword.
Murk Rammer froze as he felt the nuzzle
of a snub-nosed thirty-eight’s deadly muzzle.
Louis The Retch poked it into his back.
“The jig’s up, Rammer. I ain’t cuttin’ no slack.”
Murk had been tricked by a double-crossing dame,
alias “Frigitte,” he didn’t know her real name.
She’d been his undoing, that cute little louse,
undoing the buttons on her bulging blouse,
then slipping out of her slip and her hose,
and her holster too; yeah, she had one of those.
He’d fallen for Frigitte, completely deluded.
She’d come on strong, delightfully denuded.
She’d kissed him hard and let him get a good grab,
but when he dozed off she skipped out and blabbed.
The shamed shamus woke up and found a clue
and went to a warehouse -- a decision he’d rue.
He’d fallen for the ruse, he’d taken the bait,
and walked right in to a date with fate.
That darn dame had put him on the spot.
He was one peeved peeper who’d loved for naught.
The warehouse was full of contraband goods.
They belonged to The Retch, a sleazeball hood --
lead falcons from “Malta” and vases from “Ming,”
dubious diamonds and other blarney-ish bling,
a lading of lies from a smug little smuggler,
who played for keeps and went for the jugular.
And now The Retch had gotten the drop.
No chance for Murk to call for the cops.
“It’s curtains for you,” the Retched one said,
“The only way out is to go down dead.”
“You win,” Murk said, with a little shrug.
He knew he was beat and waited for the slug.
A bullet in the back was the final payoff.
Fat chance The Retch would decide to lay off.
Murk heard the click of a cocked-back hammer
and waited for death in his taciturn manner.
Bang! went a gun – but not the thirty-eight.
The shot came from someone hiding behind a crate.
The Retch went down with blood on his chest,
then high heels approached; you know the rest.
Bad girl Frigitte leapt into Murk’s arms.
She just couldn’t stand to see him harmed.
And that had been Murk’s ace in the hole,
playing so well the Romeo role.
He wrapped his arms around Frigitte’s waist
and their mouths joined together, such a spicy taste!
Then he took her hand and led her out
into rain washed streets where wet shadows slouched.
Did Murk turn Frigitte in to the cops?
Or let love fill his head with mushy slop?
The ending of this tale I’ll leave up to you,
but as for me, I haven’t a clue.
On the Twenty Fifth, December Night,
Black Skies Sparkle with bright light!
Church Bells ring,Ding!Dong!Ding!
Chores of angels ,start to sing!
Merry Christmas!Everyone!
Happy Birthday,Jesus Son.
We rejoice in prayer and joy,
as We thank this New Born Boy,
He is Born for You and Me,
from Our darkness ,sets us free.
Christmas time,a time for Friends,
Tender Hugs and shaking Hands.
Red Holllies in Window Sills,
Deers and sleighs,Over the Hills.
Cheery music in the streets,
Christmas time,a time for peace,
Neighbours sharing Merry greets,
robin's nest, safely in trees..
Its a time we give Our best,
thinking more about the rest,
Christmas Cards,a Christmas Gift,
Its Our time,to give and give!!
Christmas Spirit,Home sweet Home,
A star twinkling ,on each Dome.
Lots of toys, For Homeless Kids,
Stories told and ancient myths.
Brindisi ! a toast! Saluting with a kiss,
Warm mulled wine,We never miss..
French Beres,Red coats to dress,
in their tails,Men, look their best.
Decorating Christmas trees,
altogether,Families!
Phone calls ,far across the miles,
Happy Cries and lovely smiles.
Stocking with little surprise,
Before New Dawn,wake and rise.
Five course lunch, For Everyone,
Turkey roasted,just well done.
Aunties,Cousins ,join together,
On this Christmas ,Winter Weather.
At four tea,a Christmas Bun!
Crowd in Chit Chat,having Fun.
Grandma ,bakes ,a Christmas Cake
Snowballs,Mince Pies and Fig Dates.
I prepare ten christmas logs,
Cherries,Nuts,Whisky and Chocs,
Yummie Candies,so delicious,
Forget all which is nutritiuos..
Little Crib in every House,
Grandpa dress as Santa Clause,
Presents,granting many wishes,
Christmas Day, so very precious.
Missletoe and Gleaming eyes,
Christmas Carols,Christma Rhymes.
Cosy Eve,Burning Flames of Fire place,
Spicy wood and Indoor games.
Long Processions in the Streets,
all the Door Knobs Hold Gold Wreaths.
Candle lights in Children's hands,
Miss Christmas and Snow men Dance!
All the Nations holding Hands,
War Is Over,Still a Chance!
Many Blessings On Our Lands,
Merry Christmas Super Friends..
Merry Christmas Everyone,
Welcome Home,Enjoy the Fun! :)
(Inspired by Caroline Devonshire)
(Welcome in my picture of Christmas Landia)
Charma
To Eat A Peach
Spring is here.
The delicate tree blossoms replace
the delicate white lights of Winter.
From the petals fruit will grow.
Pears, plums, apricots, cherries,
nectarines...
Peaches.
I set the unripe soft rose and yellow
orb on the windowsill.
Two days later I tenderly lift it
and gently squeeze its warmth before
I wash it.
Biting into it...
the sweet liquid is Ambrosia.
The juice runs down my chin onto
my tee.
I greedily suck the peach’s flesh dry.
I daydream as I munch.
Peach cobbler, peach pie with a lattice crust,
peach shortcake, peach muffins,
stewed peaches, peach tea bread,
slices on your cereal, slices in a bowl with cream.
OR...only for dessert?
How would a
chicken breast soaked in a peach marinade taste?
My taste buds begin chattering.
Summer’s here!
corn on the cob, okra, tomatoes:
small ones that pop in your mouth
and big beefy wedges that
garnish crisp celery slices, carrot medallions,
tender Bibb lettuce, sliced mushrooms, cucumbers,
asparagus, broccoli, Vidalia onions, cauliflower...
Watermelon, blueberries, cantaloupe,
strawberries, honeydews, raspberries...
Juicy hot dogs, spicy barbecue, thick charbroiled hamburgers,
hot German potato salad, 3-bean salad, macaroni salad,
potato chips and French onion soup dip,
soft pretzels dipped in brown mustard, popcorn...
chocolate chip cookies, Snickerdoodles,
strawberry shortcake,
chocolate cake with red, white and blue frosting for the 4th,
apple pie
— softball, Mom, doggies —
I awake with a start. There is drool
on my pillow.
Another day begins but it’s really
not another day.
It’s the same day I’ve been living
since 1 May 2017 ~
The day I let the dentist pull
out the last 5 teeth I had
in my lower jaw.
And as I come to consciousness
my tongue pushes
against and spills out over the
the soft toothless tissue that burns constantly
and is covered in a thick gooey saliva ~ place a
teaspoon of Elmer's
glue in your mouth ~ if
you care to have a taste
of my reality.
Summer’s here.
Clear your palate.
Clean your plate.
Barbara Dickenson
1 May 2018
- [ ]
A is for Australia, full of weird beasts,
Where even the cute ones can bite you at least.
B is for Brazil, where football is life,
And people dance samba with joy (and no strife).
C is for Canada, polite and so nice,
Even their insults come with advice.
D is for Denmark, with pastries divine,
And a happiness level off the chart line.
E is for Egypt, land of the old,
Where mummies stay wrapped and pyramids hold.
F is for France, where bread is a dream,
But don’t ever mess with their wine or their cream.
G is for Germany, beer, cars, and might,
And sausages eaten at morning and night.
H is for Hungary, but don’t get it wrong,
They have food so good, you’ll eat all day long.
I is for India, spices galore,
Curry so hot, it’ll knock you to the floor.
J is for Japan, sushi so grand,
And toilets that clean you with jets on demand.
K is for Kenya, safaris so wild,
Lions just chilling while tourists get riled.
L is for Luxembourg, tiny but strong,
You blink and you miss it, but hey, it’s not wrong.
M is for Mexico, tacos and cheer,
But don’t trust the hot sauce—it burns for a year!
N is for Norway, fjords and cold air,
And prices so high, your wallet will swear.
O is for Oman, deserts and heat,
A land where the camels take naps on the street.
P is for Portugal, wine and the sea,
And a love for Ronaldo, as strong as can be.
Q is for Qatar, money so high,
Even their ATMs wear suits and a tie.
R is for Russia, where vodka is king,
And winter is long—it lasts through the spring!
S is for Switzerland, chocolate and banks,
And watches precise to time all your pranks.
T is for Thailand, food spicy and sweet,
With beaches so dreamy, you’ll never want to leave.
U is for Uganda, gorillas so cool,
Living their best lives, just breaking the rules.
V is for Vietnam, coffee so strong,
One sip and you're jittery all the day long.
W is for Wales, with sheep on the hills,
And words in their language that give you the chills.
X is for Xianggang (Hong Kong's other name),
Sky-high buildings and dim sum the game.
Y is for Yemen, ancient and grand,
With mountains and history spread through the land.
Z is for Zimbabwe, Victoria Falls,
Where nature goes big, and adventure calls!
—
So that’s the world, from A to Z,
With laughs along the way for you and me!
Let’s Eat Something New This Christmas
(Parody of Have a Holly Jolly Christmas)
I can make some spicy tacos
better than the ones down south.
Please though know to eat them slow
or they may burn your mouth.
Try my sauciest lasagna
better than a Christmas ham.
Cheese galore – I like that more
than even roasted lamb.
Some get hung up on foods
so traditional.
My foods you cannot call
repetitional.
For dessert, there’s tiramisu.
I’m so sick of pumpkin pie.
Cookies crumble
so I grumble: why not new foods to try?
Christmas Balls,
(Parody of Jingle Bells)
Christmas balls, Christmas balls on my Christmas tree.
I’ve got a cat that’s such a rat beneath the tree he’ll pee -ee.
Christmas balls, Christmas balls, flying through the air.
When both cats get hold of them, they scatter everywhere.
One night I took a pause because I’d heard a crash.
Hoped it might be Claus bringing me some cash.
I saw my big dog’s face. She looked up guiltily.
To those darn cats she’d given chase destroying our tree! Oh!
Repeat refrain:
Christmas balls, Christmas balls on my Christmas tree.
I’ve got a cat that’s such a rat beneath the tree he’ll pee -ee.
Christmas balls, Christmas balls, flying through the air.
When both cats get hold of them, they scatter everywhere.
Two oldies:
I Heard Mother (to tune of "I Saw Mother Kissing Santa Clause")
I heard Mother scolding Santa's elf
As I prowled the house on Christmas Eve.
He'd hid in St. Nick's sleigh And then sneaked out to play
After having waited for his boss to fly away.
Mother caught him gobbling all our snacks
After he tore open every gift.
Oh, when she glared down at his face,
He went scrambling from our place
Screaming, "Santa, stop the sleigh-
I need a lift!"
New Body
Parody of the Xmas Song: White Christmas
I'm dreaming of a new body
with every chocolate I unwrap.
But I can't stop eating, I can't stop cheating.
There's just too many Christmas snacks.
My nightmare is a pot belly -with every Christmas treat I take.
But I can't stop feasting, my size increasing;
when I stand on the scales they'll break.
Yes, I'm dreaming of a trim waistline,
so take that Chex mix from my face.
May my buns be smaller and flat,
and may all my body lose its fat!
(I no longer make Chex Mix. It’s just too tempting)
A marriage formed by insisting parents
To join lands and force grudging events
We stood stiff, shivering and apprehensive
Each of us nervous, fearful and defensive
He was over six feet one inch tall
I was only four feet eleven inches small
Clutching wilted wild flowers to my breast
Wearing a shapeless yellowed white dress
His shirt was murky grey his suit was done for
Pants too short and his coat an eyesore
The minister mumbled words barely audible
Yet we heard him say without any fumble
I now pronounce you man and wife
Together you are forever joined for life
Dizzy, I fell into shadows and confusion
But my new husband moving with precision
Caught me his enclosing arms fixed firmly
Saying softly in my ear and only for me
I’ll take care of you, I promise, wait and see
We began our marriage studying each other
Faking indifference our interest under cover
My husband was confident and never grim
I became proud that folks respected him
His humor was dry spicy and often wicked
I’d blush and laugh I just couldn’t help it
His cursing was mild but if he was riled
He’d switch to Croatian no translation required!
We began to thaw to be at ease to yearn
Each of us maturing determined to learn.
We worked hard to make a stable marriage
Careful to find nothing to dislike or disparage
The core of our marriage was warmth and contentment
As we tirelessly worked towards a life-long commitment
Laughter and tenderness ensued sharing passion
Soft endearments whispered even if old-fashioned
We had stops, starts, and minor setbacks
As we finally tread on true and straight tracks
We cultivated a strongly anchored life and love
That enclosed us like a favorite and well-fitted glove
Our foundation cemented as the years sped by
We had no children and only God knows why
We filled this lack by composing and teaching
He a sports coach instructing and training
While I by feeding and seeding in writing
To those young minds uncluttered and seeking
A short path is upon us as we rehearse our final bow
Our off-stage exit beckons as we share a loving vow
To never forego our familiar and loving banter
That has been the link forging our balanced center
That cultivated our strongly anchored and enduring love
That now resembles a familiar and favorite well-fitted glove.
Revised March 22, 2019
Monday morning comes alive with the piston train speeding by, thousands of people gather at the gate and crowd the platform before it was too late.
Monday morning full of passion with hangover lingering in the shower, a change of clothes and alcohol on breath the impatient driver is starving to death but a passenger was just in time to save his life with a mug of coffee, spicy donuts, and cinnamon bagel. He has an appetite as big as a lark and when his passenger emerges from the dark he flips the script.
Monday morning stumble through the street and the traffic and city sound disrupt my heart beat; business women and business men tunnel through the crowd and the vendors on the other side bellowing in the air selling merchandise in the early morning.
Everyone with conceited mind presses through the thick crowd and everyone talking very loud and even the quiet one expose his ambitions.
The crowd in the street began to swell and the small school bus and big trucks rubbing side by side speeding down the street trying to outdo one another and the children scream and shout and laugh out loud when the driver pull away from each other.
Cars and van honking their horn as the traffic converge at the stoplight and an impatient fellow came out of nowhere and speed through the crowd and collide in a big tree on the side of the road.
There you go again; the traffic lined up around the bend and
the cops were swift to pick up the dead and the traffic come to a standstill.
The ambulance began to shout with red lights blazing from the hill and busy nurses in the back resuscitating the deceased back to life but it was a feat on which destiny rely.
The traffic began to flow and a radiant light burst through the sky and lit up the entire street.
Across the distant the sound of the Piston train has completed the sixth round and destiny billows through the angry town.
It did not stop at the usual stops and the people were unhappy about that, but the train picks up the speed and continue to barreled down the street.
It got out of control and Monday morning began to roll and the piston train empty its contents in the bush and set ablaze.
And birds in the bushes gather around to give their condolences to the relics scattered on the ground and the Piston train broke in several pieces.
“It does not matter if you are a rose or a lotus or a marigold. What matters is you are flowering.” Rajnesh
Placed 10th in:
Admire a Summer Flower Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Jay Narain
Marigold.
Marigold in pure saffron hue
Blooming in soft summer season,
How with perfume and beauty true
You gild my green garden, beckon
From afar bees to suck nectar
From the sweetness of your petals,
Rouse my delight and my pleasure
While butterflies on you settle.
I gaze at your beauty for hours,
Inhale your seasoned spicy scent
When you`re drenched in a mild shower
Or wave at me without repent
With stirs of the sweet southern breeze;
No flower mate will match your grace:
You propagate with so much ease
That you for ever I`ll embrace.
With full majesty as a queen
You adorn the vase in my room,
Perfuse loveliness through the scene
And at dusk dissipate dark gloom;
When light`s on, you shine with brilliance
With charming petals reflecting
Elegance of your radiance
And gracefulness of your living.
You are the jewel of my heart
To garnish shrine of my deities
And as garlands for them apart,
So much I relish your beauty:
After the last breath I shall heave
I would long for your wreath, marigold,
By my side for your scent to breathe
And to silence my sincere soul.
Thank you for the culture so rich and colourful
The silk woven fabric, tribal clothes, so wonderful
Thank you for the rice, chapati's, and street food spicy hot
It touched me the poverty though
Which showed me to appreciate how much I have got
Thank you for the cows that wander in and out of traffic
The rickshaws, chaa wallahs, loud horns
It all feels so chaotic, but magic
Thank you for the monsoon rains, the heat and humidity
The cold northern air, but not the pollution in the cities
Thank you for the coast line and sand dust in the desert
And the mighty Himalayas
That rise up and remind us of a Tibetan presence
Thank you for the land it felt like my second mother
It showed me the way home to inner peace like a no other
Thank you for the Ganges
The most spiritual river on earth
Thank you for the belief in a possible rebirth
Thank you for the North, South, East and West
India has a gift I wish to share with the rest
Thank you for the people a billion or more
Friendly and open, spiritual hearts galore
Thank you for the religions so diverse yet the same
Thank you for showing me how to sit still again
Thank you India for giving me back my life
I never expected you to introduce me to my wife
Thank you for the knowledge of yoga and ayurvedic craft
Most of the world doesn't know everything you gave us
In the past
Thank you for the ancient places where a sacred presence lies
In the mosques, churches and temples
The burning of incense can open your third eye
Thank you for the freedom you give to walk your own path
From villages, yogis, saddhus and sages, sit and meditated
In the smoky grass
Thank you for the knowledge of I am, I am
Thank you for Shiva, Krishna and Brahman
Thank you for meditation, musical ragas and art
You have taught me a lesson that the ego is an illusion
And not that smart
Thank you for showing me the light in your eyes
The street children I bless them that they will find their prize
I bless the land of India today
God bless the people because daily millions pray
For themselves, for animals, for nature and us
They know and they live with the truth
One day we will all be dust
Thank you India, you inspire me on
I will hold you in my heart
Until my words are long gone.
Alright have to admit that whole drole Bazball or Baz Bat cool cat vibe…rabbit out of hat tribe.. is taking its toll..sunk in a hole..losing it’s goal and soul..not being a vitriol troll..maybe need to mull over a cull of this rigmarole..
Can’t pretend..is the end of this spangly jangly new fangled trend…nothing off the shelf…just express yourself…won’t spank you..will almost thank you.. if you tank…bonkers fools rules you can’t bend…must always go stonkers.. all cool no old school…when you shan't defend and depend on a blend of soft conkers and tracks to conquer..
Let’s explain there are many ways to play and entertain…the lotto of the Baz grotto..no dull lulls …no more bore score draws…one motto…just high octane insane where seemingly the sole means to control is a flat track that blunts and shunts how every attack does bowl..
I know..have already banged on..had a go at the pitches…feather beds so flat you can bat gung ho heave ho from the get go.. no wear and tear..glitches or hitches.. despair to stop the flair.. no real movement in the air or off the square..the Bazball pest…Bazbat conquest..effectively saying no we won’t be surfing the crest of a true test contest of willow and leather..hey ho nonny no…to the real deal Test fest..tally ho..
No pretension..apprehension of the lacking dimensions and few mentions of the best Test tensions..
Also must rebuke how they have turned the duke ball from a serious nuke which would spook.. enthrall..now reliant on a cherry that gets so soft you need a fluke ..well Dukes will be compliant as England’s their biggest client…we saw our copper haired laird no longer..stronger defiant..again came a cropper..and this was hardly a proper whopper green topper..
It seems kitsch Bazball rule needily greedily avoids any glitches or hitches in batter’s riches which in turn.. does spurn and bewitches merchants of seams and stitches..
Well it can be dicey to make your tracks at home too spicy..get in a lather…at the palaver as runs become rather pricey..when you could goad..milk that ilk as you explode on a silk road..
Our selector trifecta…the three wise men..Baz..Bob and Ben.. know if there is no speedster thuggery… no Geoffrey jaffas…bunsen spin skulduggery..they will be the gaffers with some Bazball muggery..