Long Spritz Poems
Long Spritz Poems. Below are the most popular long Spritz by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spritz poems by poem length and keyword.
You came home from Quebec,
you were never alone;
your shadow chased you around town
like a dog in love or out of love.
They told me you have been to places
where flies sat conveniently on the ledges of your lips,
you've eaten ugali with your fingers, someone else's fingers,
soaked in saliva and the red juices of greens and beef liver
I remember you leaving Scott County to drive along the roads
of summer with green trees waving at you. You were famous.
You sent a picture of Niagara. Before a mirror,
I saw my eyes in the falls that should've lectured you,
then you sent Alberta dressed in flora and sunshine,
but before a mirror, I saw where sorrow dug trenches in my brow.
At sunsets, I watched the tired lights walked slowly westward like an old lady on quad cane ... and I forgot the sound of my name on your lips
When July entered our town with loud children, you were in Whistler. His mother is continuing in Paris,
and poor James, God rested his bones somewhere in London.
You killed me with Yellowknife when you spoke of the northern lights,
but not once questioned my lonesome nights in White Sulphur
where fresh winds licked the skirt of a White horse to ignite a horseplay
You say Saint John spoke proudly of Como,
so I searched the map to find you where you would sit to sip something
that spoke proudly of Campari Spritz.
I found Whistle Pig Stout.
Some nights, I'd search for you when my finger was tired of scooping peanut butter from a jar. I traced from Revelstoke to Squamish, then to Halifax,
but I found no lobsters big enough to keep you there.
You called about Ottawa, and I found Rideau Canal, a lazy river that still works for the people. You told me Tofino spoke proudly of Costa Del Sol,
so I searched the map to find you where you would drive along something that spoke proudly of Ruta del Sol y del Aguacate.
I found Chesterman Beach Road.
December drove you home, pulling down your dress
to cover the spots where the cold winds were touching you.
I am getting used to being single.
Written 03\28\20
Beauty from the Inside-Out
We have searched for unfading and true beauty in unsearchable places.
It is unfortunately to most of us, we have ears but cannot hear-we have eyes but we cannot see
We have become nonentities due to ideas and influence that persuaded us that beauty is the outward appearance, short skirts, makeup’s, high heel shoes, hip stars and all that.
We have been fooled and still perpetuating in outer of reality,
But now I understand, that the creator of beauty, knows its purpose and he defines its source and function, This is the Beauty is from the inside-out.
You are beautiful-I see your beauty from inside–out, my African Queen, yes you are beautiful
I have searched for unfading and true beauty, from mountain to the highest mountain, from the sea to the deepest sea. The beauty that is premier and brighter to lighten my dark moments and my dark path, The beauty that can never be influenced by western cultures, civilization or globalization, the beauty of African Queen. - Original from its birth, its quality and value never diminish, It Can never be bought, neither can it be sold, it is priceless……And only attained by them that understand its source. This is the beauty from the inside-out
You are beautiful-I see your beauty from inside–out, my African Queen, yes you are beautiful
I have searched for unfading and true beauty for decades; Finally, I have arrived at its source,
You are beautiful; don’t let them lie to you, perfect as you beyond man, s imagination
Fearful and wonderfully made, divinely designed just to be you-as you are-on other
How beautiful you are! My Darling, your pure heart spritz forth to the outside,
Your heartbeat speaks the mystery language only known in the world of True Love,
Your eyes behind your veil are as white as dove’s, bringing out the message from the inside.
Your mouth speaks forth the words of healing from the inside to the broken hearted. Your lips drop sweetness and entice me to deep heavenly kisses. Milk and Honey are under your tongue; Your legs describe the pillars of joy to my soul. Your body is like polished Ivory-decorated with diamond and gold, Oh My love, Oh my love-you have the beauty from the inside-out.
You are beautiful-I see your beauty from inside–out, my African Queen, yes you are beautiful
painted my fingernails
lips, eyes, cheeks
with dark
lovely pink
went out on the town
purse, shoes, belt
had hues and shades
of pink and of brown
spritz myself behind
ears, blot wrist and neck
with lingering soft fresh scent
purchased a drink of class
green, long stem, wide mouth
martini two cherries
speared they sink in the
pink contents of my glass
hair
short, soft, sleek
disposition
mild, calm, meek
blonde, fair, with faucets of pink
in the bouncing
shimmering light
short skirt what a catch
button up jacket, low cut shirt, long bare legs
painted toes
and a golden glittery glow
to match
eyes green dashing
happy go lucky,
only clue to give away
my youth, flamboyant, age
something about my
still, spilled, thrillful
flashing
face i want you to see
notice about me
painted in pink
for the night
drawn on grace
all my life
can't i stay
this way before the dawn
drags me back to
swear, spit, smoke
look tough,
ride rough,
kick dust as i wander away
thick skin
again again again
but in this night i did shed
this beast dark side kindled
nurtured i fed
feminine fair
dance, dreamy, wistful
flair
the next day without regret
for the reasons i live
and go back i dare
and stare it down
with confident care
painted in pink
for a fairy tale like
cut-off calloused soul
and for one night
down hill it rolled
away as it should stay
starting over
is no longer easy for me
but again it rained and poured
and my pink painted face
a mere canvas of watercolors and pastels
dripping, slowly
erased
misplaced
lost again in time and space
showered
hot, smoldering, smothering
water
thoughts
loud
lonely not alone but
a portion of me left and died in that crowd
what a large price to pay
being cinderella
delicate bella
for that day
put on
jeans, t-shirt, bra
all plain
but i gather from reflections of this mirror
my calm, collected, beauty
remains the same
still painted in pink
just a quieted flame
within me i think
blazes long
through this dawn
on and on....
on and on.......
and on.
Form:
When in swanky restaurants, 'tis easy to daintily dine on cordon bleu,
But dining on lobster requires deft finesse without humiliating you!
For what its worth, I offer the following that I've learned o'er the years,
To show snobbish waiters you're really not all that wet behind the ears!
First of all, a wizened waiter will provide a bib if he's really on the job.
(Somehow, they perceive right away that you are a rather artless slob!)
When cracking open each morsel, some violent squirting may occur!
Should juice spritz the guy at the next table simply say, "Sorry sir"!
The hapless lobster is dissected in certain order to make the meal complete.
First, remove the claws, crack the shell with a claw cracker and remove the meat.
For this a fork is provided, then discard the shells in a bowl being discreet!
Next, twist the tail from the body and break off the flippers - those you musn't eat!
And now for the piece de resistance, that long anticipated holy grail,
(That you paid fifty-five bucks for!) - that scrumptious lobster's tail!
Insert a lobster fork into the flesh and gently ease it out of the shell.
(Sucking meat from the legs is optional - on that matter I will not dwell!)
A female lobster might contain a bit of roe considered a delicacy by some.
(If that is your fancy, quietly asking about the lobster's sex is the rule of thumb!)
Plunge lobster pieces in butter taking care not to let it run down your arm!
(Leaving a sizeable tip for the disaster you've created wouldn't do any harm!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Written: December 07, 2023
______________________________________
An art display with free and delightful assets,
Blemishes and brightness of nature are blatant
Confusingly gorgeous and full of magic and wonder
Digging deep down the dictum draws a drain.
Earth apex joins the sky peak to heal man's soul
Fathom thrills in its primal vogue as chaos
Gorgeous greenery coiled in your rippling blade
Hobble with a brisk ember for fall indulgence
It seems that nature is the most visually enticing.
Jewel blooms in a savored indigo whisk breeze
Kissing spite swirled, swaying spritz and sunlight
Levitate into the hills tidings; peace will reach you,
Mercurial avian melodies mingled in a zephyr swell.
Numb tears as marigolds sprout in the dawning sun
Observe nature in a gladsome way and appreciate it
Parasol arose in the blissful glory of glorious wile
Quintessence infuses both lost and found creations.
Remember, when the seasons alter and rain falls,
Sunshine and steel drum bands hug periwinkle sky.
Tender, rich maple-scented trees swirl with the wind
Uncork while chirping with birds to relieve stress
Vegetal forms decay, die, or are rudimentary.
Wail with a willow whisper whisked wind wilting
Xenoliths lack implies peridotite-eclogite connect
Yodeling, bird song disguise, and stage presence
Zenith inhales, exhales, fresh air renews your spirit.
What is it
that makes us put labels on ourselves?
Many of my friends are Hispanic or Latino Americans
each might say they are the diverse cultured Americans,
still holding on and speaking their native language.
A few of my friends are Black or Afro-Americans,
few claim they are African Americans since they were born here,
my best friend Tammy just says she's a proud black woman and she is.
Three or four Muslim, Islamic and Pakistanis, India Americans
live across the street and are good neighbors
but speak English American in my presence.
One or two are Native Americans, and native Hawaiians are relatives
acquaintances proud and openly revealed
while still embracing their history.
A neighbor is Chinese American, another Korean, Asian Americans
who practice the customs of their land of origin
with ceremonies and foods reminding them of home.
Some family members are from England, Brits,
a few cousins are Danes, some from Norway and Sweden,
they simply say, they are now Americans.
I am second generation Irish, Polish, Russian and a spritz Italian American,
some might say a conglomerate,
well blended, a European, White American.
I don't see it that way, discarding the prefixes, whatever they be -
I am humble and proud to be me, myself
an American
and that is enough to be proud of.
Anthill
An army of wood ants ,
In Swiss Jura Mountains,
Lift up the mighty leaf
Overhead,to feed
The queen, a fairy , labors in her womb
The males carry thin paper wings, too
Female workers go without
The queen populates the colony and makes nests
Which guards protect
Against those who wish to expand their empire or have a feast
Fighting even until death
Workers watch over the eggs and brood,
forage food
And build anthills
Strange mounds
Low hills and small mountains
Inhabit tunnels and chambers
Hibernating wood ants under twig, branch and needles in rough
winter days and nights
Spring melts the bitter frost
Thousands emerge from their resting place
Bathe under the sun
Toasty with warmth
Energized, ready for work
They’re great beasts when bound together
Vibrations underfoot are echos to their ears
Rival ants ,
Beatles, bees, caterpillars , spiders,
All get a spritz of acid
All to be consumed
Queen consummates with males
And clip off their wings
Like those of flies
Leaving them scattered
To be taken by the wind
They die of hunger and exhaustion
The queen looks into expansion
Battling and killing small field ants under a rock
She conquers and some submit to her majesty
A queen’s dream: total domination
Others dare tear her apart
Marckincia Jean
Narrative
10/02/19
When I glanced out my window on this bleak December morn,
My eyes were drawn to the Ponderosa Pine standing so forlorn.
Gradually, as if decorated by God's own Artistic Hand,
'Twas soon bedecked with colorful ornaments so very grand!
Its boughs were adorned by garlands of snow in jeweled display.
Crystal icicles glistened as no mere artist could e'er portray.
Clusters of golden cones festooned the tree here and there.
I watched in wonder as it began to assume a festive air!
What was just moments ago a tree, brooding and austere,
Was soon alive with critters that chose to winter here.
Cheerful robins added a spritz of color with their scarlet breasts.
Haughty blue jays flitted about flaunting their bluish crests!
A couple of squirrels sprawled upon a branch lazily a-snooze.
Cardinals and bluebirds roosted there adding their delightful hues.
Flitting finches and chickadees graced the tree without cease.
At the very top perched a dove - that beautiful symbol of peace!
What a wonderful transformation I witnessed in that stalwart tree!
I'd like to think that the Creator decorated it just for me!
As I gazed upon the scene, my soul was filled with jubilation,
Marveling at the miracle of Christmas and God's wondrous Creation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Welcome to Gutter Ball Saloon
Where careful words waft through the tavern;
Serpentine swirls with evil intentions.
Watch your step and pocketbook.
Observe the chap in the derby hat.
No, the other one.
No, the other one…with the honeycomb vest.
That singular sap is one of kind.
Or one of ten; a soldier-still pin at full attention
Standing in formation on the glossy maple
Eager to be wrecked, toppled head-over-heels.
Spare.
He’s been gassed, you see.
Some fancy bouquet of honey perfume
Mingled with cheap cigars and one too many.
He’s feeling lucky and takes a gamble.
Throws in his hand and a couple of dice for good measure.
Snake eyes!
Just look at that dame.
Her dark velvet accentuated physique
Candy apple lips that drip pearls
A string of words she drapes about his neck
Intoxicatingly beautiful.
The phrasing…and she’s a bit of a looker too.
A real up-and-comer with a knack for bowling.
Spare.
A quick spritz and yank of the string.
I dare you to look away.
He’s choking…but of course he is.
He never had a chance in that bowler hat.
Just look at those red cheeks.
Flush.
She’s got him by the balls.
Snake eyes.
Now if you’ll look closely…
I’ve got your wallet.
Strike!
4/26/15
Recipe For My Poetry:
! Cup of release from reality
2 tbsps of too much time on one’s hands
As many cups of McDonald’s coffee you wish
So easy! No pots and no pans…
A generous pinch of ego
A lot of long lost dreams
Some healthy bites of breakfast burrito
Not a lick of respect and self-esteem…
1/2 cup of feeling of failure
4 shot glasses of Tennessee Honey
Smidgeon of feeling of being put out to pasture
Mixed lightly with a minimum of money…
A dollop of overblown sentimentality
A handful of memories and loss
A pinch of penance and a spritz of banality
Add a bit of joy…at never having a boss…
Stir in with a grin, lots of rainbows and sunshine
Blend in memories of days warm and sunny
Don’t skimp a bit when adding red wine
And don’t forget… 6 shots of Tennessee Honey…
Blend these ingredients all into one
Then pour them all into an open mind
Then set it aside…til you think that it’s done
Might want to moisten it, with a bit more red wine…
Dust it a bit with some cinnamon and cynicism
Make sure it’s firm…not too dry or runny
If it doesn’t measure up to your very own criticism
Just moisten it up with another cup
…Of good ol’ Tennessee Honey…