Long Stewing Poems
Long Stewing Poems. Below are the most popular long Stewing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stewing poems by poem length and keyword.
She is still mad just stewing over this everything that has happened. When ever she gets upset over anything or doesn't understand something the brown eye girl writes it out or does something to focus her anger. But this time is too much and she knows. All the brown eye girl wants is answers is that too much to ask? She needs closer to things. But instead she gets told she uses people for whatever reason. If the green eye man knew her really knew her he wouldn't have said that. He knows that isn't true how she really cared for him and he threw it away like it was nothing. It felt like he ripped out her heart without a second thought. So cold and cruel to do that. How many lies he has told her, he helped her through the perfect best friend's death and now he is throwing her away like a used bottle. If anyone used someone it was him using her. After everything that has happened her heart still wants him even though all he has ever done it was tear it in little pieces. Now the brown eye wonders if there is something wrong with her to deserve this kind of pain?
long scarf of a night
clasping the bracelet of a moon,
what emptiness is this when i have you not near?
the distance of a thousand galaxies collecting stars
unbinds me,
when once i could tumble upon your
nape so bronze
as if there to fly
swept by every lingering breath
borrowing some endless moaning of time:
a stewing chorus of sacred yet raw vignettes
coming together then parting...
farewell, a few more steps closer
and i shall disown my soul and bones under
the cloud's dark awning
to silently memorize your fading eyes
entombed in the burial of an unbecoming night.
.............
Contest Form-E of Broken Wings
Originally written: 1/23/2014
Reposted: 1/24/2017
"Chai Tea, Vanilla: Writing it All"
We are a cauldron
steeped, stewing bitter,
unlike sweet chai tea
boiling
and bubbling,
our reality,
is hard
to swallow.
how do we live
with ourselves,
knowing,
we live
complacently?
we observe,
we write,
we watch it all,
the killing of
innocence,
the black
and white
of it all;
the death
of a dream.
before the end,
the war
begins
it all.
the future of
our children:
we watch it all.
we watch it all.
we take notes,
we journal,
the poetry
of it all.
do we make
changes?
do we?
do we,
do
anything, at all?
writing it all.
We are a cauldron
steeped, stewing bitter,
unlike sweet chai tea.
we are so
Vanilla,
do we do
anything?
writing it all?
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
John 1 (NIV).
"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."
Lux Vitae.
Strewn on the shoreline, as I walk along the beach
Bits and pieces of life forms, churned up from beneath
Shells, jellyfish, crustaceans, even sea anemones
What was alive yesterday, lays shredded in the weeds
Hard to fathom what happens, below ocean waves,
One big stewing pot, perhaps a connoisseurs buffet,
Before me are remnants, of this very watery grave,
4 billion years of evolution, I’m the apex that surveys,
Take a second to absorb, let my observation sink in,
No creature other than humans, come here to think,
Many have walked this path, maybe even to swim,
I only see gulls now, pulling starfish limb from limb,
Humanity tries to discern nature, a need to understand,
Figure out what the hell’s going on, in our wonderland,
Where’d that seed come from, who’s really in command,
The biggest question of all, was anything ever planned,
A moment of clarity, really hits me over the head,
Why me, an individual, but one of unknown depth,
Sitting on the sand now, drawing in, rigid breaths,
What’s it all about God, come on please confess,
Voice in my head says, people are the chosen ones,
I’ve seen this very instant, before the universe begun,
But nothing was planned, when all is said and done,
I see what’s going to happen, you design how it comes.
10/18/20 original post
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 11 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
08/09/22
I'm such a strange individual,
Sometimes I'll parade with a smile,
Other times stewing and curled into a ball.
I'm such a wounded individual,
Yearning for love like a neglected child,
With wrinkles of her own.
I'm such a weird individual,
Wherever I notice everyone going,
I run from there and am called to isolation.
I'm such a timeblind individual,
Existing in this world of realities,
Floating inbetween as timezones shift.
I'm such a contradictory individual,
Intellectual and intuitive but naive,
Timeless and aging simultaneously.
I'm such a human individual,
Navigating the realms again,
Knowing not how many times she's been here before.
MD
In a workshop far away
Toils a man to fill his sleigh
In the window, there’s fresh snow
And the winds swings to and fro
He is working hard from dawn
While creations that are spawn
Pile up on the empty shelves
Helping him are faithful elves
He makes toys and cherished gifts
And what his long list there depicts
On the stove, the tea is brewing
Savory pot roast that is stewing
But this man must toil away
Much to Mrs. Claus’ dismay
Be he cannot take a break
All the presents, he must make
When he flies on Christmas Eve
All the people will believe
That he is the world’s greatest wizard
And can handle any blizzard
So to bring the children toys
And bring joy to girls and boys
who left trail of heartbroken sage woman
commander in chief deliberately stoked,
née sparked long
simmering smoldering, and stewing
long festering white supremacist altercation
fiendishly igniting racial conflagration
exploding during late spring 2020.
No matter no child left behind kibitzing
(yours truly as boy plucked petals
off daisy reciting "she loves me,"
"she loves me not"...
cupid loosed an arrow
into boyhood neighborhood sweetheart
she innocently bespoke
"I wanna marry you,"
when uttered courtesy Sherry Jones,
a little girl who lived
approximately three doors down
along cul-de-sac within Apple Valley
perpendicular to Lantern Lane,
or more age apropos,
when young gallivanting
purported vestal virgin ladies
nonverbally signalled
libidinal proclamations of emancipation,
as demurely expressed
lest unlucky (chaste into)
precocious phallic proclivity
suffered the punishment
of being buried alive.
Now back to present day,
when our old geezer,
the prototype garden variety
male of present poem -
any resemblance between general referenced
fella and living persons purely coincidental.
He (yours truly) easily qualified as
overly cocky whippersnapper,
i.e. young buck and/or Casanova wannabe
experienced bit torrent
hormonal secretions gushed
particularly in close proximity
wherein wafted pheromones -
think a waif faring ingénue.
As evident and quite obvious,
I fabricate (prevaricating
my signature trademark)
rather than stating bland reality stark,
yet will plainly explain issue
in summary essential rhyme
without reason constitutes
nothing more spectacular than
garden variety generic pockmark
excised pustule ofttimes hallmark
of teenage/ pubescent pimply benchmark.
Zestful
Beneath a weeping willow tree
Shielded by its canopy of leaf
Two lovers found sweet serenity
Zestful to share love in ecstasy.
Sadly a vicious storm was brewing
Both their zestful hearts began stewing
Thunder clapped and lightning struck the tree
The sweethearts too, they died instantly.
Forlorn the couple took off in flight
Into the darkness of sky at night
Flying to unknown territory
To dwell in everlasting glory.
The pair were eventually found
They’d decayed into the underground
Their loving souls live on tenderly
Entwined in heaven's grace zestfully.
The tree recovered its heart still beats
Often sadly the willow tree weeps
Never before in its history
Has it known such zestful tragedy.
*+*+*+*
12th May 2023
Writing Challenge - 'Z' Words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Word choice no.10 - Zestful
Afternoon Tea
in a bone china cup
Tastes nicer
don’t you agree
~
Earl Grey tea
especially
when poured
from a teapot
after brewing
not stewing
~
For exactly the time
that it takes
for to make
a nice cup
of Earl Grey tea
~
Lay out your best china
Royal Albert ~ Liberty
On a tray
On a cake stand
there all for to see
~
Brown finger sandwiches
with salmon
with ham
Scones and whipped cream
homemade strawberry jam
A plate full of dainties
exquisitely made
Washed down
with a cup of
Earl Grey
or Assam
~
So typically
English
is afternoon tea
Always a treat
both
for you
and for me
Written 5th June 2022
Contest A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
You don't need to swear and cuss
Making such a big loud fuss
Calm down, take a breath
You are scaring me to death
I know your angers coming through
Because of what he did to you
You are mad and really shaking
Your anger is hotly baking
Into a burning black pit
From this disturbing violent fit
There's smoke coming from your head
There is not a single shred
Of peace or calmness down inside
All your nerves are badly fried
Stewing in a pot of hatred
Too far gone to even shake this
Your bloods like a pot of water
Boiling till its even hotter
Than the suns rays shining down
There's a madness all around
Circling you in a heat
Until you are too far beat
To repair the damage of
A sleazy cheating awful love