Long Stoves Poems
Long Stoves Poems. Below are the most popular long Stoves by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stoves poems by poem length and keyword.
Ice cream and water
Why, even bother
Cinnamon peanut, butter
Fresh churn collards
what is the purpose of man
Cooking in saucepans
On the stoves and. . .
candy under the iron
flavored running water, (nobody's trying)
who'd taught us?
taught us
Spring not a well
Floured fishes
Like golden fishes
Pepperidge Farm Goldfish
wHo placed the Carmel on the stove to long
Cause it burn, it's burn
Carmel left on the stove
what do you mean you didn't know
Honey Hut Cheerio's, Sugar Pop's oh! I meant Smacks
who'd taught us?
taught us
Spring not a well
Floured fishes
Like golden fishes
Pepperidge Farm Goldfish
Raisin Bran, Captain Crunch
Ice meltdown to water on the back porch
I didn't even call yo warm turn to boil
Faded brown orange tan sugar syrup
Leaves me with
without ashes. . .
Burnt Molasses
04/3/14
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
I told you long ago that this land called "Romania" has exhausted its sources of blood and dreams.
For 35 years, we've been walking the thin line of memories, on the debts left by those shaped under Ceau?escu,
but they are slowly retreating to the quiet pensions and to the Cold Park of fleeting shadows.
Those who follow are merely dreamers of small trades, a kind of Hittites wandering through markets,
and it's no wonder that Georgescu wants to appoint them Land Leaders, shepherds for a lost nation.
A forgotten model of pueblo, like the Mayans who wove the sky with the earth, boroughs breathing history,
a combination of lost tribes and medieval ages, a time that was never born.
Perhaps another 935 years under an iron hand were needed for Romanians to become a nation of dreams and hope,
but never! They are talking tools that cannot be quiet in the toolbox of history.
Personally, I would lean towards a utopia between an ashram and a kibbutz, a sort of camp finding its place,
under the open sky of a cauldron where dreams and desires mix, grills and stoves, a dance of fire and smoke.
Here, between the heated stoves and woks that swirl the aromas of life, you clearly see we are nomads of the soul,
or perhaps the Brought Ones, nourished by the camps of a present seeking roots in a world of mist and echo.
In this story, we always find the same images, the same longings that do not fade,
a country searching for its identity in the smoke of an eternal fire, a nation dancing in endless circles,
where the past and future meet in a melancholic dance, like a song that never stops.
Yesterday, I happened upon a quaint, old-time country store.
I felt I was reliving my youth as I trod its squeaky wooden floor!
The sights and smells were familiar when I entered the door.
Memories flooded my soul as I gazed upon those things of yore!
A glowing pot-bellied stove provided an inviting place to sit and chat.
Upon a barrel of cheese snoozed an inscrutable tabby cat.
Old-timers were playing checkers hunkered over a pickle barrel.
'Mongst the clutter of merchandise you browsed at your peril!
Suspended from rafters were horse collars, lanterns and milking pails.
Boots, overalls and cured hams were hung with ten-penny nails.
Silverware and pocket watches were displayed in sturdy oak cases,
And others held buttons, thread, needles and rolls of fancy laces.
There were boxes of cigars, Mail Pouch tobacco and various tools,
Straw hats, aprons, bonnets, corsets and rolls of colorful tulles.
Stacked on shelves were galluses, overshoes and boys' caps,
Crockery, umbrellas, mantel clocks and several muskrat traps.
One wall was lined with churns, cream separators and kerosene stoves.
Wafting about the place was the pleasing scent of cinnamon and cloves.
There were bins of onions, taters, carrots and fresh roasting ears.
I sat by the stove a spell to absorb the flavor of yesteryears!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I have seen Millennia in
and now its twenty fifty
I somehow made my century
rejoycing with my family.
It has passed it seems
in the mere eye blink.
Now I remeninsce
held close in loving arms
Festivity floods the senses
stores groaning with toys.
Butchers laden with meat
people scurrying hither and thither.
Shop fronts all lit up
with flashing decorations.
Children's eyes on beanstalks
wish lists growing bigger.
Fridges crammed to the brim
with tempting tasty treats.
Good will for neighbours
as carol singers carousol.
Mothers sweating over stoves
as Dad mixes up eggnog.
Presents colourfully wrapped
adorn Christmas trees feet.
At end of day, happy faces
and a few groaning bellys,
people falling into bed
T'is all done for another year
written 12/12 /2010
contest Christmas past, present or future
Fire hydrants, fire trucks and firemen's faces
After they have been heated up
Chocolate heart boxes, and the prettiest roses
Some of the most fragrant tulips
Ruby jewelry, all sparkly and haughty
My favorite boots, my checkered shirt, my brick oven
An artist once told me without a splash of red, art is not art
I do not know about that, for I favor orange, which is red with the sun
Red umbrella with orange cats, red dog collar, red french fry holder
Valentines, and Santa Claus, Christmas stockings trimmed in green
Best of all, my mother's red stove in the early 60's
Which no one else bought because all other stoves were white
She did her whole kitchen in red and everyone loved it
Pizza Huts, and Christmas lights; all in reds.
Bulls and red hankies, clowns and red noses.
What would we do without red? How would we know to stop?
Solo it came; embedded in the droves.
They covered bodies with once whitened sheets.
Assembly lines carry them to the stoves.
Stench of death and burnt flesh along the streets.
I am doubtful now of ignorance’s bliss.
Red flag; just another blown forewarning.
Death; ‘tis the season of our new abyss.
Where sorrow wakes us, to greet the morning.
Prayers now ending with the plead “please God’s Son!”
Overwhelmed worldwide by a lunar phage.
If only heed had been on precaution
existence may have bilked this final stage.
Solutions are socially systemic.
Every soul, a role. Prevent pandemic!
"What is life but a succession of preludes to unwritten words . . . "
Quote by_Constance La France
BLANK PAGES OF A DOORMAT
a touch of emotion is what she’s after…his touch a fire
lit inside their combatant stoves…pen ought to inspire
tit and tat attention, enclosed in verbal laundromat -
mumbling and tumbling inside - the words of a doormat
no conception in this tight-fisted vestibule - counselor points
to a list of verbs, nouns, adjectives - each word disappoints
11/14/2022
WRITING CHALLENGE - ''V'' Forms
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Writing
Release your look away at the horizon.
And notice the people straining on the stoves.
Arranging the days and the routes.
Bereaved, surrounded by total silence.
The waves slammed against their feet.
In front of the smoldering sun, their eyes were bleeding.
You, who sprang from the midst of furrow plowing.
And the internment of burials and deceased.
A branch of retribution is on your mouth.
Also, your hands carry the sign of calmness.
Let them have some of your compassion.
A droplet is the emblem of this vast sea of kindness
These are your kids, your flesh and blood.
Being risen from the floods docks through the scarcity.
The long-standing era of conflict and strife of empires.
Since ancient times, they've been your lovers.
They were overwhelmed with the costs of eternity.
As also brought the phoenix back to life.
He hatches an egg in the mother's womb.
What are your plans for the evening?
And by what blessings will you swear on a fugitive's life?
Cities are dozing off when they are split by railways.
Count the number of beeps it makes.
The wolves are howling.
Written: July 7, 2021
A BRIAN STRAND JULY 12 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Male gnomes are known for their tailoring and sewing skills.
They live in roots of oak and pine trees at the bottom of the hills.
People make appointments and they fashion them into suits.
They dress giants, gargoyles green goblins and galoots.
Female gnomes are known for the entertaining prowess.
How can we explain this? Please forgive but allow us…
They visit each other’s houses and laugh about the dust.
None of them like to cook or clean, their stoves all go to rust.
I want to be a gnome! I said.
My daughters chimed in “yes!”
But a female gnome of course.
Their life would suit us best.
Themed based
takes the place
of sponsorship strategies
a consortium of things
that angles on the
possibilities
Wrong choices
selfish motives
and disobedience
are key points to began
instruction
each theme focuses on
person " Anyone"
who needs instruction
but does know
the right terminology to
illustrate what he or she needs
Thematism and Sponsorage
teaches terminology with
word usage and definitions
to separate
the confusion
of spoken words
in play or in day to day
communication.
We will take time
to find each genre were each
term is usaed and
define it's purpose.
Using the right word in
the right pretext
illustrates one's professionalism.
Incontext studies
will separate each term to use
words in the jargon and field
where it is surpassed to be.
For example Prise Mandel
is smart. But a person on his job
doesn't like him.
Instead of auguring with him
or fighting him
he uses his position as manger
to get Brice into trouble.
He put's Brice in charge of
management while he is on vacation.
He tells Brice that he is to
reopen the restaurant after hours
and asks Brice to
clean the grills and stoves before
inspection.
He tell Brice to write
the chore list under
the title " duty of the Flurrers".
Flurrer is a **** term. When
the District manager came
to review the books she see's
Brices entry in the Chore Ledger
under Duties of the Furriers:
and she instantly fires Brice for
being unprofessional. Brice has
now been seen as a joker, someone
unprofessional. And he doesn't
ed and worked
to achieve.