Long Take home Poems

Long Take home Poems. Below are the most popular long Take home by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Take home poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Vanilla Ice Cream and Strawberries

I have a memory of picking wild strawberries with mother
         on a sunny afternoon when I was just a little girl
     it was a vast country field . . . 
                         with many kinds of wildflowers swaying
     (I picked mother a bouquet to take home too)

filling our baskets with the berries we headed home 
                  (after eating a few, of course)
          where mother washed and sliced them
                           and got out my special ice cream dish

         I can still taste the sweetness . . .  
                            of those wild juicy strawberries
  and the cold smooth vanilla ice cream melting on my tongue
      this is a  memory . . .   I keep pressed to my heart 

______________________
June 20, 2022


Poetry/Imagism/Vanilla Ice Cream and Strawberries
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1466-777-20
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France


Written for the Standard contest, Ice Cream
sponsor, Julia Ward, Judged 07/15/2022
Form: Imagism


The Honky-Tonk Ghost, Part I

Janet went down to the honky-tonk
for some line-dancing and some beer,
down to a joint called ‘Edna Mae’s,’
she always had a good time here.
Old Edna, tattooed, worked the bar,
three bikers player pool, one guy scarred,
a country band played Hank up front,
soon her first beer Janet had drunk.

She joined in with all the dancers
and did soon find herself besides
a blond-haired cowboy who moved well,
with such deep, haunting, grey eyes.
After working a sweat both took leave,
at the bar he said,”Hi, I’m Steve.”
Up and down Janet’s eyes did roam,
he was the type she could take home.

They both did shots, rot-gut whiskey,
then made their way back to the floor,
there they both kept up the hot moves,
for another full hour more.
In a corner the two made out,
she took his hand and led him down
the front steps towards her small car,
for adult fun, they would go park.

But Steve froze at the sight of it,
then ripped his hand clean from her grasp.
he turned and sprinted for the bar,
she’d never seen a man move so fast.
Confused, she followed him back in,
could not find Steve, started looking,
half-hour passed, he was not found,
she went to the bar, and sat down.

Janet told Edna about it,
who listened to what Janet did say.
Edna smiled, and asked softly:
“Did this man have deep eyes of grey?”
Janet confirmed the truth of this,
Edna said,”Come to my office.”
She took down a picture, carefully,
said,”Took this back in ’eighty-three.”

Janet gasped at the image there,
what she saw then beggared belief,
where, dressed in nineteen eighties clothes,
was the young, grinning face of Steve!
“He was my partner’s son, you know.
He rode the local rodeos.
But then in eighty-three he died,
murdered, in the lot outside.”

CONCLUDES IN PART II

The choice is yours to take

It took the planted seed forever to germinate 
Its beautiful blossom withered, welcoming a friendly rain 
I have seen the sun fall before the dawn rises 
Yet watered every sweat to the rooted root like a basket fully holding it 

The Can is yours to take home; let go of the watering and allow nature to grow 

It was a miraculous mirage, hoping it would turn a new green leaf 
I sat with my imprisoned inner eye beneath another long armed tree 
Ready to be plucked without ado or stress
Where I had no handful sown yet reaped from  ripened fruitful fruits 

Awakening your oblivion to the begotten truthful tale
Wherever on fertile land, a seed drop shall rise again
Adam wasn't fearlessly fearful of Eve but of the favourite forbidden fruits 
(C) Yusuf, A.O

Premium Member What's In a Name

what's in a name


mama once said 
never give out your name
voluntarily
loose lips sink ships
she was right
loosey goosey lost his life
was moms favorite jingle
especially with so many peering eyes
on the net
like grease balls that identity theft
hunters that prey on opportunity
but mama listen
please
this is your oldest son speaking 
remember me
look here, see my logic
my entry can win a poetry contest
a poetry contest, a trophy
p-o-e-t-r-y  c-o-n-t-e-s-t
I can take home the bacon
win all the glory
how's that sound
think of all the recognition
that I can receive
it might even be stepping stones
or better yet
I might even attract a women's heart
see the perks, see I told you
the risk and rewards are great
my name in the big spotlight
from japan to Africa
to samurais to towns people
see how wide spread this can be 
see I'm telling you
mama
barking dogs would even bark my name
mama you awfully quiet up there
mama, mama
are you still there
mama

connie pachecho

1/7/17

non contest entry

A Bowl-Ful of Clementines

The woman decides 
on which cat to take home
from the local pound.

She had been torn 
between two. 

She had viewed
a youngish grey-white 
cat, nervous, bold.

And uncomfortable-
looking. Yet his fur
colors remind 

the woman 
of storm-clouds, 
heavy August afternoons

rowing an uncle's 
little row-boat
on the pond

with the wooden raft 
that pulls and BUOYS

her. Yet...like sun-light
fulfilling the morning 
with its shine, 

an older cat
with deepest yellows
and an edge of sea

in her eyes,
convinces the woman
to choose HER

orange"fluff",
that sprouts 
from her skin, 

like dandelion seeds
when they are ready 
to fling 

through the breezes
to plow new roots.

HER orange
is a brush 
of the hand 

on something soft,
to soothe, tantalize.

While the woman 
considers, she
has an evocation:

like...

an orange 
star-burst-
sparklers

in her hand-
tangy sweet tart
flavors in her mouth.

She knows 
a Summer sky.

She anticipates
the sharp eruption
that will alight 

her tongue, 
her gums,
her throat.

The 
inundation,
of taste...

or...
maybe...

her mouth 
can't quite... 
take it, but 

-loves it-

She contemplates
the gold sienna

 (of
her new
cat)

her breakfast juice, 
maybe even 
“Tang".

A clementine,
one amongst 
a bowl-ful;

an 
orange Grove;
the LIFE-SAVER?

Dark orange flames 
to warm her,

like the only friend...
in childhood.
Form: Imagism


A Spicy Story

One afternoon
with Ginger and Basil
we met an old sage
whose voice was quite nasal

He told us our lives
were in need of some spice
which got me to thinking
of my favorite rice

So my two friends and I
spent the afternoon looking
for wonderful foods
to take home and start cooking

Rosemary stopped by
with that little nut, Meg
who loves telling jokes
and pulling your leg

And wouldn't you know?
Now what would I do?
Of food we had plenty
but our spices were few!

I asked what shelf
is all the saffron?
Loudly I cried
where has the tarragon?

But we used what we had
and the dinner was great
it went by so fast
and when it got late

My friends said goodnight
'twas a fun time, you know
and I suddenly thought
where did the thyme go?

Premium Member Access: Denied

So have I a stony heart fit in course
Incarcerated imprisoned  by my sins
 blinded in mine heart skips a beat fragile and tall 
Sin Access denied 
Been rebirth again
Now do soar, fly
you need to be reborn but what was you but always me you are right here where you supposed to be
Sin Access denied 
Been rebirth again
Now do soar, fly
Been cheated been misleaded then accosted been contained you don't even know it your name
 is really your name
Fortified mortified soon with you enthralled in shame no no one really knows the party you in the game in
Sin Access denied 
Been rebirth again
Now do soar, fly
Set apart put on a lot Embrace low risen High I'm not that kind of guy you want to take home
Blessed and shown been remade Reborn like modeling clay God's put his hands on me now I'm renewed
Sin Access denied 
Been rebirth again
Now do soar, fly
Been cheated been misleaded then accosted been contained you don't even know it your name is really your name
Fortified mortified soon with you enthralled in shame no
 no one really knows the party you in the game in
Satan git out and away from me cuz yo...
ACCESS denied

5/7/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2o23 (c)

Premium Member The County Fair

With cotton candy 
Pink and dandy,
Funnel cakes, sweet
All you can eat

A Ferris wheel 
To make you squeal,
The carousel 
Sure looks swell 

Toss a ring
To win something, 
Pop a balloon 
You'll get it soon

Try to get that prize
Go for the biggest size,
Win a pet if you wish
Take home a goldfish 

Stay there all night
For every sound and sight,
Like a kid again, be
So much to do and see

Show off what you do
Win a ribbon, blue,
Shower what you raise 
With the highest praise 

Craft and quilt 
By hands built,
Goodness canned 
Grown on the land

Pumpkins and pies
To delight the eyes,
Each cow and pig
The biggest of the big

Farmer's best on display 
Sat in a pile of hay,
Take in the dairy air
At the county fair!
Form: Rhyme

Akecheta

Long before the white man came 
to the Black Hills of South Dokota,
in a teepee made of buffalo skin
lived a young Sioux warrior called Akecheta;
he hunted with a hawk that spotted the slowest
horse, his friends admired him for his courage.
He rode through prairies for hours,
never taking taking a nap and rest
under the shade of a Prickly Pear Cactus!

He watched rainbows stretching 
over a horizon dazzling with sun
and invoked the Great Spirit before
heading home through prairies;
he lived in the shadow of mountains
where Howthorne trees showed
their small red berries in the beezy 
and pleasant days of early autumn!

He found a hawk who had injuried
wings and showed him his kindness;
hunter and predator became friends, 
their boldness could scare a bear. 
On his hunting days Akecheta carried
a red-tailed hawk on his shoulder
for guidance, hoping to find a fawn
to take home to feed his family! 

Ackecheta hunted for rabbits and deer,
their meats were so tasty and tender; 
there's was no scarcity of food: 
either be buffalos, nuts or berries.  
America was already blessed by God 
before Europeans came to conquer;
was the God of the Sioux kinder than
that of the adventurous pioneers? 

Ackecheta never saw a beautiful ocean
with shrieking seagulls flying overhead...
only mountains that he called canyons. 
He loved the majestic Roughlock Falls, 
but he cried when he saw the newcomers
cut down all the tallest Quaker aspens: 
had he tried to stop them with angry
screams, he would have been killed!


Written on 6/12/2017
Form: Narrative

Premium Member Thanksgiving

Family gathers for Thanksgiving dinner

  As you step into grandma's home
You smell the savory aromas

   Turkey is stuffed and cooking in the oven
Glazed ham garnished with pineapple and cherries
We’re getting very anxious for homemade buns to rise

   Table is decked with grandma’s fine china
Table settings and white lace linen
Fresh Thanksgiving Autumn floral bouquet,
Candles flicker in-tall thin brass candleholders

   Salad, asparagus and cheese sauce,
Mashed potatoes and gravy,
Cranberry sauce,
Cinnamon sweet potatoes garnished with marshmallows
Ambrosia fruit salad, cherry and pumpkin pies
Apple crisp with caramel sauce a prize
Punch bowl filled to the brim 
With eggnog and hot cinnamon schnapps

   A second ham sits in the baking pan on the stove
Of balance over the burner knobs
Pa picks up the lid to take a peek

      Did a hip-hop back

   As it slides off the top of stove onto the floor
Bathing everyone around with sweet greasy glaze
For once I wish I had Rover and Max around to lap up the floor
As they were locked up in their dog cage so they wouldn’t be underfoot

   Slipping and sliding and grabbing on to the counters I whispered
Please dogs come and save us from this wet dirty job

   We dropped plenty of towels and got a mop and a bucket of suds
To sup- up the entire sweet greasy glaze
 Finally the crazy mayhem was over
Turned to face the table and held our composure

Bless us, Oh Lord, 
and these thy gifts which
we are about to receive from thy bounty, 
through Christ, Our Lord.
Amen.

   Moaning and groaning too stuffed to move
Rubbing their bellies that are just ready to bust
Still enough food left over for everyone to take home

11/24/2016
© Eve Roper  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Narrative

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