Long Steam Poems
Long Steam Poems. Below are the most popular long Steam by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Steam poems by poem length and keyword.
when this poem title
is used with "she
received her..."
it is a
negative
but i'm not
writing about
comeuppance but
about her sweetness
so should she be
a pie or cake or
something
other to call her
yet a pastry all
the same
now i must admit
that i've given up
coffee and so
the tradition
of ending
a menu
with
a
cup and
a dessert
doesn't work
for me any more
but the more i know
her i know the more i
need her and the irony
is she's from Colombia
so
like a train
i cough
coffee
coffee
coffee
building e
nough to steam
milk foam for a
cappuccino
but for me
those
days
are
over but
when you
think that
your youth
is spent
or gone
and went
remembering
i had a baby
tooth until i
was thirty
two or one
but i had
one but
maybe
it was
thirty
three
but no
that don't
seem to agree
with me thinking
that perhaps that
was my sweet tooth
so they
tried to take
her away from
me before she was
to
be
my
me
lt
in
g
dis heart
Form:
Ballerina barre bob, white stocking wings whir
Mushroom plume tutu trails translucent steam
Sticky foot pick ups signal patient Spring’s stir
Pollen swollen coconut tip tongues crop cream
Statue branches pop rabbit ears amazement
Magnolia ruby tuxedo tucks ruffle ivory shirt
Wasps whisper, biscuit sugar stored fragrant
Whimsical wizard voila Iced VoVo for dessert
Tinkerbell petals tender invite insects parched
Peter Pan aeroplane dive in opioid pond drone
Champagne flutes etch a marigold moustache
Bon voyage hibernate, heavy hive honeycomb
Buzz! Botanical I’m back!
20th Royal Jelly July
Flight of Watermelon Fantasy
How I wish I could ride a bicycle
I never could and doubt I ever would
Twas being afraid to ride on the road
Yet something inside told me that I should.
One night when I was in bed sound asleep
A fairy came and this is what she said
Come with me I have a surprise for you
I did as she said and rose from my bed.
By my hand the fairy led me outside
Was scared and exited at the same time
There stood a bicycle waiting for me
With watermelon wheels, frame painted lime.
The fairy told me the special bike flies
And that she would be flying by my side
I sat on the saddle, the bike took flight
Into the night on a magical ride.
We flew past the man in moon, he is huge
He looked pleased to greet us, his face did beam
Asked for a slice of watermelon wheel
We refused for we would be out of steam.
The moon changed his tune, told us to fly off
Then through the stars up we flew heaven bound
Star gazing was truly captivating
Angel voices being the only sound.
Then the fairy said our dream time was up
Was sad for I'd had a wonderful night
We had to fly back to earth to awake
From my fantasy watermelon flight.
5th July 2022
*+*+*
A Watermelon Fantasy Ride To Feed My Imagination Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
When the west was young
Town’s people among
Mountain high and Sunshine warmth
Rugged detail
Vast land landscapes
As miles could see
The Stagecoach days
History from then to present
Breezy sir
Flying prairie dust
Reminder when horses were the ride
Gunsmoke atmosphere
The Cowboys and Sheriff who were connected as foes
Railroad sounds in the distance of Steam driven engine smoke announcing passenger arrivals
Drunken environment of Saloons
The memory of Cheyenne, Wyoming
Western style
As the sunset fades and the prairie dust kicks up
The ride into the distance towards the sunset
Town people’s chant, “Y’ALL COME BACK
a puff of steam
a drip of dew
a sip of water
an entire drink
a glass that's is full
can make a pool on the ground
add more water and there'd be a pond
let it rain and make a stream
joined with gravity and other streams
down to the creek the creek that flows
into a lake or a river who knows
old man river, old man river
must know something
but he don't say nuthin
he just keeps on rolling along
goin to the ocean to be with
tsunami's and tidal waves
sunsets and peacefull bays
all depends on the order of the day
splash, a small part of me
has landed in the sun
soon to be a puff of steam
another life begun
“50 Words for Poe: Lillith”
Lillith was a cat on a hot tin roof
all coiled up ready to spring
Cat on a hot tin roof
dancing bare feet on a bare floor, cold bed without springs, locked in her own mind, a locked door
you could feel the heat rising off her
like heat when rain hits blistering bitumen, steam slowly raising the atmosphere, electric, charged
She smelt like heat and rain
and fresh cut silver grass and lemonade
Her mind was like the ocean
She rolled her hips as she swayed in her tight skirt
bare feet in a room next to Terror
In Room No.9
Lillith, kind of entranced in her own fire, wired
Turns her back on shadows
in the mirror
Terror’s knocking on her wall
She turns up the music in her mind, higher
She was New
after all
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/dhGETVlOM0Y
“Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,
The dew that flies
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red
Eye, the cauldron of morning.”
“We are all living in an illusion and mistaking it for reality.”
noon’s furnace: asphalt shimmers; air—thick, slow—
cracks open. cicadas drill through stagnant gold.
a sprinkler’s hiccup-hiss: the pavement’s glow
un/curls in steam. the hydrant’s shout: uncontrolled.
children shriek!—a liquid burst of now,
popsicle rivers bleed; knuckles—sticky, green—
cling to handlebars. shadows stretch: thin, lean
across chain-link. each blade of grass—laid down—
bakes. but dusk? a match-strike: fireflies!—
the yard exhales jasmine; stars prick the bruised eaves—
porch swings gasp. the melted things—still writhing—
pool in gutters: chalk suns, lemon peels, dreams.
the silence hums. even time—soft, unspooled—
beads on your neck. and summer? stays. but cooled.
I'm desprate to tell you this,
Because you deserve to be on my seats,
Your first love ceased the wrath which will have girded you for bad deeds,
The bowl placed on my table was full of water,
If I met you aside the dead,it means not my love shouldn't clean your feets,
Stretching my hand to hold you speak of what I have for all sheeps later,
Here we're to commune in flesh and blood,
What should I be expectant about from your heart?
Should it be a broken head puffed with doubt stitched to a brat?
If I should die before miracles come from above,
How would my resurrection be said about?
But since you'd felt the steam of anointing before you're gone,
Count my lips that everyone on my side isn't wrong,
Till night strike the fowlers guns,
Never will they suspend to shoot my fans,
And on assertation,I'm coming back to carry you all to those promise lands,
But If I should leave you behind after armageddon,
Where then will you establish solely dinning table in a desolated kingdom?
I demand you guide yourselves,for the devourer is piling souls to boredom,
And I can't lose you after we both hear the sound of the horn.
the rooms grow smaller
quieter
after every departure
clicks the latch
they're built to keep
weather out
not harbor grudges
that echoes leave behind
forks, vases, plates and pens
settle into their places,
as though, they're expected
the yellow walls
once held afternoon teas,
until the laughter
sealed the paint
and screened the light
the banister
smooths its touch
before any hand
remembers its feel
the curtains
lift their seams
peering underneath
themselves
the stairs
borrow sunlight
for the tread of feet
the kettle
answers itself
in a kerfuffle
chorus of steam
the floorboards
clear their throats
one board
too soon
the hallway
widens for every
shadow
still waiting
outside
every afternoon
rehearses mornings
one curtain call
at a time
the dust learns
the shape
of fingertips
the chairs
lean much closer in
to listen
the doormat
combs its
greeting nap
every echo
tries on
a different voice
as the house
leaves
the door
ajar
for no one
When suited with loneliness, sorrow is seductive.
I reek trefoils and heed we bear a deep urge to relate.
My quest for commonality steered me to a lake fictive.
Pondering the twilight steam, so the lake whirls me to debate.
Ridden by the ethos, a lilac cloud goes to a grape.
I reek trefoils and heed we bear a deep urge to relate.
There are harmony and congruity here, just as kinship.
A slight wind doesn't sham the willow's sensory body.
Ridden by the ethos, a lilac cloud goes to a grape.
One thing I lack haunts a bustling life with true liberality.
In this world, even a hunter and prey may gain alliance.
A slight wind doesn't sham the willow's sensory body.
I wish to be vital for that globe, producing hot guidance.
This information might work with us exploring the world.
In this world, even a hunter and prey might gain alliance.
As I unwind in peace, I realize life follows a vital word.
To reduce interruption caused by uncommon conflictive.
This information might work with us exploring the world.
My quest for commonality steered me to a lake fictive.
Written: January 3, 2022