Long Spoon Poems
Long Spoon Poems. Below are the most popular long Spoon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spoon poems by poem length and keyword.
We struggled along damp, smoke-filled streets;
leaves still summer green,
a chilly breeze rustling some, turned golden early
in anticipation of the fall.
Neil at one end of the log;
me at the other.
Occasionally we paused our journey, rested;
took turns with the diminishing gobstopper;
and backward walking with the heavy branch.
Early October, our collecting started;
we had first-dibs on Ethel Jones' old settee,
two shabby chests of drawers,
about a mile of rotten fence,
branches collected from the woods,
assorted liberated shrubs,
and now, of course, a giant log.
We were to build
the most monumental funeral pyre;
the street had ever seen,
topped with fabricated Guy,
long-wheeled from door to door
for a penny here or there.
It would be the biggest and the best,
standing proud in the bombed-out lot,
that was our playground,
but once home to family and friends.
November fifth would come,
the bonfire built, would fiercely burn;
cracking windows with the blistering heat
scorching paint on faded doors.
Part-cooked potatoes
thrown in the embers;
would later, held in hands
be greedily eaten with a spoon;
steam rising from damp, woollen gloves.
Red noses, rosy fire burned cheeks,
sparklers waving patterns in the dark;
oohs, aahs; and gasps at fiery rockets,
whirling Catherine wheels and jumping jacks.
Then time for bed
Our grubby faces,
smoked stenched hair and clothes
would last a week
'till bathday.
October Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Date wrote: 03-October-2021
CORONALITY (2)
The world speaks in mournful tone,
The times keeps me up on it's own
Leading to crash but thought beckons,
The blueprint to pay for many tomorrows.
I swirl spoon in watery calamitious broth, tasteless,
Sit speechless, government powerless,
Aviation wingless, travel-ban endless,
Many activities motionless,
Our once trusted hands have become prohibition,
Toilet paper, nose mask and sanitation,
Just like liquid bleach sanitizing humanity,
Have become most sort after commodity.
Tupac predicted it when our health was alil better,
That Corona will emanate from China.
Eschanton apocalyptic reign.
Covid-19 pandemic now the world's stain,
Every breath you take may implicate you
But healing waters will benevolently flow through
To relieve the world's pain,
To commemorate the slain
And wipe off CORONALITY from mother Earth.
This, most definitely, I can bet.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 2020.
There once was a fiddler from Fartsie Oh Midler
who played in the park with a naturous tether
a one legged man
by a river of tan
with one gimpy leg that sat still as a peg, oh what a sin
He finished his gin then he sat with a grin
just as ready as old Dr. Quin;
In this grassy remote where the frogs like to gloat
they were never content when the rivers did bloat
one frog hid in rent
without a red cent
in a fiddle the size of a broom no bigger than, an over sized spoon;
There once was a clever who had an endeavor
to never reveal his God send
together they played from morning to noon
while jointly they made their amends.
January 19, 2023
Sponsor craig cornish
Contest Name The Fiddler and the Frog
A hot July evening, and nothing had stirred,
the minutes just ticked slowly past,
too hot for much effort, and even the birds
gave up chirping as long shadows cast.
I savoured the moment and reached for my glass,
cold lager to help quench my thirst,
when I saw something black in the bubbles of gas,
close inspection, and I feared the worst.
A fly had snook down while my back had been turned
lost it's footing and fell in the beer,
and now paddled in vain for the side of the glass
but could not make it out of first gear.
Since it spoiled my enjoyment, a spoon for employment
was acquired and from my drink was scooped
the sad fly in some drops, poured it out where it stopped
with no movement, all out it was pooped.
With it's legs in the air (and I know, I've been there)
it finally righted itself, shook a wing, rubbed it's head
but not flying, instead took a gentle walk on my shed shelf.
Oblivious now to the story of how
I'd just graciously saved it's poor life,
I wondered as it slowly wobbled off home-
what on earth did it say to it's wife?
The house is filled with the wonderful smells
of our own treasured ingredients passed down
from generation to generation.
Diminished Hexaverse, brevity food is warm,
powerful, emotional, and comforting,
cooked up in a large Dutch oven with a wooden spoon.
Slow-cooked serving inspiration.
Melt 5-line stanzas, each containing 5 syllables,
and let simmer for two minutes. Creating a good base.
Add 4-line stanzas, each containing 4 syllables.
Whisk together 3-line stanzas, each containing 3 syllables.
Add the rest of the broth in, 2-line stanzas,
each containing 2 syllables.
The finishing touch! 1-line stanzas, each containing 1 syllable.
Cook for 5-8 min. until you're ready to serve!
This recipe never disappoints.
Memory Moments
Held hands
Made plans
Life goal
Be bold
Life run
No pun
People know
Peep show
Year in
Year out
Century in
Century out
Kiss now
Milk that cow
Day
Night
Monstrous
Fright
Full Moon
Silver Spoon
Freeze
Wait
Now
Reanimate
Free
Verse
-or-
Vers
Libre
Never
Perverse
Not
Zebra
Beer
Glass
Broken
Glass
Idiot
Fool
Nasty
Pool
Polite now
Wonder how
President’s dream
Money scheme
Milky way
Bale hay
Shout out
Never pout
Wonder how
Bless now
Star night
Stage fright
Moose fight
Monster fright
Twilight
All right
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
October 5, 2021 (Short-Line Free Verse)
Covered bridge sheltering frothy lagoon
Woven tapestry gilding each silted dune
Garnished threads over polished diadem doth croon
Fabricated ensemble breaching pristine medley, emitting swaggering tune
A treasured grove; each branch artfully hewn
A regal polish smoothly layered on a well-crafted spoon
Scented laces nestling in furrowed moon
Binding corset ballasting each milky balloon
Red velvet gown swaddling paps so roon
Silver, monogrammed broach cresting over satin plume
Golden necklace the antechamber doth groom
Lilac perfume from each tendered Liily doth fume
Plowing through the quilted morass so carefully strewn
O'er snowy plain with sculpting touches tenderly prune
Nurturing each crevice; in your fecund valley swoon
Watching in rapturous chorus each mound bloom
With fertile lips I pollinate each riveted loom
From each rendered nipple a sweet nectar I exhume
When three friends entered the egg and spoon race
Pooh did not think that his pals stood a chance
he's so convinced that he’d come in first place
he’d pre-prepared a new victory dance
Pooh did not think that his pals stood a chance
Until he dropped his boiled egg on the floor
he’d pre-prepared a new victory dance
as he had always won this race before
Until he dropped his boiled egg on the floor
he's so convinced that he’d come in first place
as he had always won this race before
when three friends entered the egg and spoon race
Pantoum Rhyme 1 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
Image 4
Checked with Rhymezone AND HOW MANY SYLLABLES - 10 PER LINE
07/17/21
The hairiest arm came out of the pot and slapped me.
I slapped it back, angry now, for without a head,
How could the arm do that?
My husband jumped out of his recliner.
What are you making? He asked.
His voice was shaky.
It is always shaky when I am inventing food.
Don’t worry about it, I told him.
A foot came out and kicked me in the head.
Damn Neanderthal soup!
“What IS THAT?” my nosy husband asked, running toward the hallway
Where he hid like a yellow belly.
His voice was soprano.
“It is supper,” I informed him.
“Go away.”
The hairy arm came out and I whacked it hard with my soup spoon.
“I am not eating that!” He whined.
The pot laughed.
“It is Neanderthal Soup,” I informed him, and you will eat it in droves.
Neither of us could eat it actually
As it slapped us unmercifully
knocking the soup spoons out of our hands.
The gentle caring way we spoon
Is like a slow soft love tune
That invades my inner senses
Making me lose my defenses
Your my weakness--I give in
To your devil ways of sin
That control my every action
Your like a pleasant distraction
Always catching me off guard
Making me fall really hard
In your soft web of desire
Flames of passion getting higher
With each touch and hot caress
I am under your duress
But wont fight this spell I'm under
There is not one bit of wonder
How I became this far gone
Your love is just way too strong
To fight off or be without
This romance is all about
No boundaries or discretion
Just a lot of great obsession