Long Steaming Poems
Long Steaming Poems. Below are the most popular long Steaming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Steaming poems by poem length and keyword.
Finn was at his job today
You know he drives a bus
Never really much to say
When he talks to us
He's never talked bad of folks
Or said and evil word
In fact I'd never heard him joke
He thinks that it's absurd
But early on this morning
Right there in front of us
A woman started boarding
With a baby on the bus
With one look at the baby
Finns said to my surprise
"That one ugly kid there, lady
And I tell you that's no lie"
Her anger started fuming
As she headed back toward me
But found an empty seat
So she sat beside McGee
Well, MeGee, He saw her steaming
As she told him of her plight
Then they both started scheming
To try and set things right
They both agreed, there' someone
That she should go and tell
but meant while, what should be done
Is for her to give'im hell
As she stood to walk precisely
To do what she must do
McGee then offered nicely
"I'll hold your monkey here for you"
I once had thirty nine brothers and sisters
now I’m all alone in the world
Probing fingers
viciously tore me apart from my twin.
My white dress
is speckled with dark dust…
it’s all that remains of my siblings.
I was tossed back into my carboard box home
and left in solitary confinement
I know my days are numbered
as my captor mercilessly
dips her hand in and grabs me.
I do not struggle as she pulls me out
but I can hear a hiss and see a steaming monster
I’m popped into a pretty bone china container
It’s lovely and warm, I feel quite relieved
Until my captor says to me,
“Gran always said I should warm the teapot first”
Then the stark reality of my fate smacks me in the face
All of a sudden the floral china lid is raised
My captor is standing in front of me
I see the steaming monster towering over me
Now I know the fate of my relations …
they were all boiled alive!
Train travel
Since I was a small child,
trains have fascinated me,
Some memorable journeys,
still put smile on face in glee.
Recalling of a train travel,
as it ran swiftly on the rails,
Trees ran opposite to us,
fields walked away in trails.
Counting of platforms,
that intervened till the destination,
Bridges and tunnels it crossed,
we screamed, what a grace!
New friends and sharing,
playing cards singing songs
Reading novels, what next,
sleepers extended beyond,
Calls of vendors at platform,
snacks and tea in earthenware,
Everyone wanting it first,
when thrill was more than thirst,
Looking out of the window,
the hair stuffed with coal,
The whistling sound,
the green signal as of reach,
Wish to travel more on rails,
and change tracks often as it did,
Satiate zeal of adventure,
steaming, beaming on train!
Written August 4th, 2015
For contest "Trains and fantasy" by Mystic rose
SAT NAM
I am rose in sunlight breathing
Buddha in middle of balm bathing
beckoning my Heart leavening lively
I am a loop in Love cathedral of pure
passion where two beanpoles
dance dare devils deafening
I am wolf wandering in wild weather
finding a fabulous feathered feed
mesmerising messages of marvellous magic
I am darling dove in Dover
watching wedded buy woven wonders
my wings widen their purse-strings wonkily
I am ant anticipating bald-headed eagle
escorting a co-op car to labour ward
fetching mother and new bursting born
I am bardy breeze trying a tango
in coralled coloured church chinks
witnessing choristers sing new comely chords
I am quint quilt on forked farmyard fence
damp dough in toddler tweaks
forte fingers on trebled trumpet tumbling
I am sage steaming vapour soothing stomach
Salomon’s battle stoned and sprung
mirroring his victory on glass floors glimmering
I am tiger in Tibetan temple tempered
monks on my turf as they deserve
stroke my striking countenance smoothly
I am silhouetted stallion in South Sea surf
galloping my gay freedom song
whilst scientists girdle genomes googling
I am witch of weathered spirits
witnessing zigzag zaps down
lithe legs as learnings of latent timelines
I am grandpa goat gambling
another term of gum boot dancing
Lady Nada gifting a hymn for Beatles ballooning
I am Goddess of the Moon
inspiring mortals to seek
Sat Nam Sat Nam Sat Nam !
Saaaaat Naaaaaaammm…
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song
2008
The first time I ever made you coffee I
handed it to you, black and just a little burnt.
with apology on my tongue, I said ‘sorry, there’s no cream.’
You, with your long black hair and snow
driven smile replied, with reassurance on your lips,
‘it’s perfect, I prefer it black’
It’s been 6 months, sweet love, and I watched you
making coffee with your short black hair
and the sun shone bright against the cold,
snow driven cream as it slipped into your mug.
And in this moment I am struck by
love’s elasticity. I held your love in a
2 liter carafe, the black coffee steaming.
Yet in an instant you seamlessly hug
the corners of the square cardboard carton
of half and half and I tuck it away in the fridge
door for safe keeping.
She served toast and jam with chamomile tea,
And placed a tidy white petunia on the table.
She brought grits and gravy with hickory smoked bacon,
Then flipped a western omelet on a bed of crisp hash browns.
She served a steaming stack of buckwheat pancakes,
Dripping with butter and pure maple syrup,
With a slice of country scrapple on the side.
She also brought cherry pie and sticky buns,
Various imported sweet meats, vintage ports,
And seven brands of breath mints meant to please.
Then she flipped a cock-eyed Bloody Mary,
Smeared Tabasco on her lips and winked,
"Now I’m gonna make you taste my cupcakes."
All I did was ask her for a cup of black coffee.
Chorus: He’s got a steady job, but can’t afford her;
His waitress has that borderline disorder.
Out of the darkness of night
crept the dawn.
Steaming with thirst,
the dry mouth sun rose—
inebriating itself with morning
dew—leaving sparkling stars of green
scattered across the quilted earth.
The greying languid sea,
annoyed by quiet cheerful winds,
laboriously moulded lethargic waves;
lethargic waves of fickle frothed faces
falling upon the pillowed shores.
Above, a lone seagull
slices through the salt-laden air—
leaving an invisible trail—salted memories
left behind by the perilous journey’s end.
Laying in the roped womb
of a verandah hammock, I cracked a smile,
humming praises to the Creator:
and gave thanks for another birth of day.
I heaved a sigh…
when visiting an exotic country
witnessed a pageant of luxurious cars on the road,
exuberant palatial houses on both sides,
also saw a mother begging, carrying a fragile baby,
at the curb side…
What made me sigh….
on a bitterly chilly morning, watched people warmly dressed,
steaming coffee on hand…
heading to the workplace,
when someone close to the roadside heating vent,
in tattered clothes, trying to entertain them
by playing guitar with shaking hands….
for a few pennies.
What made me sigh
when I had to discard countless books and paper,
because they were considered old and outdated,
knowing thousands of needy children
across the globe could use them,
imagining how their eyes would sparkle with delight
finding those treasures!
I heaved a deep sigh….
July 12, 2021
For "What Makes You Sigh" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Brian Strand 1098 Free Verse Poetry Contest
FIRST PLACE
Two women hug near the breath of a steaming oven. The beef stew bubbles. Aroma floats upward in a canopy of captured mist. The air stout with scents of apple pie, dumplings, roasted chicken. For two women who've had a history together that has skipped through decades. They hug tightly in a quiet blanket of comfort. It's time that cries with them like splattered grease on the wall from eggs frying. Two women wiggle free from labels, in this stolen moment, in the coarse twilight, the clumsy clutch of need. They've built life's private scaffold, a shared life on which to hang their sign: Diner Closed, Pandemic Grieving.
undertow of loss
yawning void of tomorrow
that left hope dangling
Haibun Composed: April 29, 2021
Contest:Moments of Reflection
Sponsor: Malabika Ray Choudhury
Down by the forest's edge at night
she dances as her auburn hair wildly glows.
She steps out into the pale moon light,
so the night creatures can see the show.
Misty fog the woods it does grace
as she is sealing in the circle with salt.
The fire's glow lights up her intense face
but Let not Ye be caught.
Tiny Fairies quietly watch as she brings
her steaming cauldron to a boil.
When the spirits cry, a bell she rings
the witch calls out her chant of toil.
Even the wise old owl says not a word
as the spell unfolds. A frightful story in
the darkness of night, is going to be told.
A frog's eyes, a bat and a dead man's bones,
a rumbling sound and a lot of groans.
A few roots, a newt and a wing of a bird,
screeching sounds chillingly heard.
From the ground her dead lover he does rise
welcoming him with such passion and a kiss.
Each time her soul is filled with sweet surprise
when she sees the one, she has missed.