Long Tomatoes Poems
Long Tomatoes Poems. Below are the most popular long Tomatoes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tomatoes poems by poem length and keyword.
I spent my days inside my backyard for most of the summer
I have a pet visitor who loves cherry tomatoes and finds them succulent
and juicy. She checks the fence everyday for items that could be used for
cheek stuffs. I watch her flit this way and that and sniff my tomatoes
until I lose composure . I hate it when she leaves remnants atop my fence.
She definitely makes a mess of things with her squirrely shenanigans.
She's a finicky eater who eats only the red tomatoes and leaves behind the green.
One day a raccoon decides to emulate her by jumping onto my posts.
He is so hefty that he causes my beautiful plants to break and fall.
On that particular day, Ms Lady Furette stays at a distance. She knows
I am not pleased. As I replant, she patiently stays by the wayside and keeps
a watchful eye on me. "Tomorrow I'll bury the pulp behind that awful
beluga of hers " she thinks as she wags her tail. I eye her and wait for her
to throw me that furtive glance that says, " Aren't you done yet? "
The End.
Rainbow faeries in the sky, painting furiously and fabulously
God’s magic in the hands of the mystics.
His glorious red, representing our life’s blood
after it hits oxygen. Showing nature her full beauty
in the scarlet coneflowers and crisp crimson strawberries.
Flat out showing off in tomatoes.
Rainbow faeries in the sky, hurrying before we catch them.
God’s colors in their nimble hands.
His glorious orange, making us feel optimistic,
throwing a laugh into the rainbow, bringing a sense of play.
Orange, my favorite color, which is shown in
butterflies and marigolds, a sense of whimsy and fun.
Rainbow faeries in the sky, racing toward their favorite color.
The color of the sun, showing their full out yellow, which
gives enthusiasm and joy to the rainbow, softening the
other colors, acting as a beautiful companion, cheering them
all on with an exuberant happy cheer.
Rainbow faeries in the sky, settling down with calming green.
Throwing it in sparingly, as it is already in every meadow,
forest and field. The ultimate color that slows us down, allowing
our breathing to calm us, making us feel nurtured and a part
of nature.
Rainbow faeries gladly adding a touch of blue, the color of
sky and sea, the color that takes our eyes to heaven, and helps
us remember we are here to love each other, showing us compassion and empathy, giving us peace.
The beaten clay of the market road is thick and heavy underfoot,
clinging to the tires of purple line 7 seaters and boots of the commuters.
The silence of the Kasane tarmac feels a thousand miles away
the moment I step across the border line and drop into the shouting of the crowd,
where the zinc sheets of the stall roofs are still dripping onto the mud from the sudden downpour.
I navigate the narrow lanes, my sneakers sinking into the wet, rutted earth,
as the sharp smell of dried kapenta mixes with roasting maize and hot diesel exhaust.
The money changers lean past my shoulders, aggressively flashing thick bricks of Kwacha notes,
their voices competing with the loud, erratic vibration of a petrol generator
that someone is fueling with a plastic funnel just a few steps away from the food stalls.
The woman who sells tomatoes doesn’t look up as I squeeze past her wooden crate;
she is entirely focused on using a piece of cardboard to sweep the muddy water away,
her plastic apron heavily stained with the dark juice of crushed vegetables.
Beside her, a trader aggressively unpacking secondhand jackets from a damp canvas bale,
shouting out prices to consumers who keep their heads down, calculating the cost of a meal.
A couple of young men stand huddled together under the narrow shelter of the butchery awning,
their smartphones held high toward the sky to catch a flickering network signal after the storm.
They are talking loudly about a music gig in Lusaka, using big words and forced laughter,
trying to pretend that the wet mud on their jeans doesn’t tell the true story of their morning hustle,
but the market doesn't care about their city pretenses.
It only asks that you look closely at the people who do not have the luxury of quitting,
and that you write down their names exactly as they are written in the mud.
The afternoon sun begins to drop behind the floodplains, turning the puddles into sheets of orange light.
The freight trucks bound for the north begin to rev their engines, waiting for the customs gates to clear,
while the vendors slowly fold up their damp tarpaulins for the night.
I walk out toward the edge of the clearing, leaving the smell of wood smoke and wet earth behind,
as the market closes its books and prepares to do the exact same thing tomorrow.
Three ladies all in lettuce dress
arrived to greet the crowd
their gowns were long and leafy green
with roughage all around
The gang had gathered angrily
to protest increased price
the market had just raised the cost
of everything but rice
They tried to quell the noisy bunch
of wholewheat, white and rye
but they had lost the crowd
to three tomatoes walking by
They called on Mr. Bacon
They thought maybe he’d assist
Bacon knew the owner
maybe he could raise his fist
What happened next was not at all
expected, as you see
the owner made a sandwich
that’s now known as B.L.T.
PEOPLE STAND ON THE SIDELINES
IN THE NEWS READING ALL THE BYLINES
WONDERING, WHAT IF, WHAT IF THEY COULD SUBTRACT ALL THE OUTLINES
THEY'RE SUFFERING WITH. . .
Putting ketchup on tomatoes
suffering with skiing on mashed potatoes
there is no summertime without the rain
won't be seeing you again
I MUST RECEIVE SO THAT I MAY BELIEVE
NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY
STANDING TALL STILL CAN'T REACH THE SKIES
YET I TRY, I TRY, FOR THE OUTCRY
I CRY OUT I TRY I CRY THE OUTCRY
places burning fires forest trees are burning
everywhere I keep reaching and reviewing
all those things that can' never be explain
can't be right about the rain cause ain't no clouds near
I MUST RECEIVE SO THAT I MAY BELIEVE
NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY
STANDING TALL STILL CAN'T REACH THE SKIES
YET I TRY, I TRY, FOR THE OUTCRY
I CRY OUT I TRY I CRY THE OUTCRY
WE CRY LIKE NEW BORN BABES, WE CRY, (SIGH!!)
WIMPERING LIKE LITTLE BABY PUPS
NOW PUTTING KETCHUP ON TOMATOES
DOES IT SEEM LIKE CANABALIZM
I MADE IT MY DECISION
TO SKI ON A HILL MADE OF MASHED POTATOS
THERE IS SUMMERTIME WITH THE RAIN
AND I WILL SEE, SEE YOU AGAIN
I MUST RECEIVE SO THAT I MAY BELIEVE
NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY
STANDING TALL STILL CAN'T REACH THE SKIES
YET I TRY, I TRY, FOR THE OUTCRY
I CRY OUT I TRY I CRY THE OUTCRY
IS A VISION NOT A RELIGION
I STAND ON MORALS NOT IDEAS
MANMADE PHILOSOHIES
I STAND TALL, I'LL BE STRONG
I CRY, LOUD FOR THE OUT CRY
NO MATTER HOW HARD I VOW
KEEPS ME HONEST AND HOW WELL NOT I CRY OUT FOR THE
OUT CRY
written by James Edward Lee Sr. June 26 2012
Mary's fork is flat and harnessed.
Ageless her husband had witnessed
Amusing. She downs spaghetti
Noodles with a glass of ice-tea.
Kneading though air perfect noodles,
Take care if thickens it curdles.
Water is flavored with pork grease,
Bit of salt, makes a masterpiece.
Her incessant labors all day
Yielding prudently toils away.
Tomatoes, garlic, onion,
Basil, parsley, in abundance.
Steaming scent of oregano.
Weaving sauce up to her elbow.
Her success catches its flavor,
Hungry bellies ought to savor.
Whoever short, narrow verged shape
The human body can't escape
The obvious hold fallacies,
Provides a wealth of calories.
6/27/2022
A Merger With Food' Contest
Sponsor Natasha L Scragg
I do not have
cobbled heart,
nor masonry,
nor hairy ... but
my heart is skinned
equal to peeled tomatoes,
dug similar a gold mine ...
I'm not afraid of fear,
nor fear of being simple,
nor to be sensitive,
hardly even tearful ...
Feelings do not harden
tears do not freeze,
love, does not burn ...
So, my heart loose,
even dusty
in this life,
fear,
feel,
love...!
I could smell that fresh baked dough, rising up
through the air. Created from double zero flour,
from Italy, carefully prepared.
A fine effort, was made to preserve this delicious
perfection. A secret recipe handed down from
generation, to generation.
All the spices were fresh, to create an awesome
flavor. San Marzano tomatoes, fresh garlic,
and basil to savor.
The crust looked crisp, as this creation was pulled
out of a wood fire oven. Melted provolone, mozzarella
and Asiago, cheeses, I was Loving.
As I chewed, my taste buds were having a love affair
with the tomato sauce. For me it would never again,
be store bought.
I would love to share a slice with you, because I know
my friend you'd love it too!
Michael Tor 8/22/2015
Dedicated to all pizza lovers.
Yesterday was a miraculous day!
and miraculous days, trust me, you don’t want to miss them.
Our day was filled with so many miracles…bear with me as I take a few…and list them:
I woke up next to Deborah…yes I opened up my eyes.
I got dressed, took a walk and wrote a poem about dragonflies.
Not long after I returned home…and walked through our front door…
I woke up Deborah who got dressed…and then we walked some more.
On a windy morning we watched as birds floated on the wind like balloons.
We watched clouds of all shapes and sizes run quickly pass the moon.
We ate cereal for breakfast then watched as the sky turned gray.
We greeted a cardinal at our bird feeder, followed by a woodpecker and blue jay.
We checked the caterpillars on our milkweed…to see if they were still alive.
As of yesterday morning we’re happy to say…the count was up to five.
We worked on crossword puzzles (it helps stimulate our 71 year old brains)
We picked tomatoes from our garden, read books, took naps and listened to the rain.
We had dinner at Nancy and David’s house where we talked for hours
like old friends around a campfire…sitting on a log.
They served asparagus lasagna and key lime pie…and we got to pet their dogs!
These are but a few of the miracles we experienced yesterday…
For those of you who may be skeptical that these are miracles…
listen to what Albert Einstein had to say.
You may remember Einstein was a theoretical physicist…a prodigy, a genius… a whiz
He said: there are two ways to live your life…
one is as though nothing is a miracle…
the other is as though everything is.
Yes, you can live your life as if nothing is a miracle…as if all the little things don’t matter
but when it comes to miracles and life and Einstein…as for Deborah and I…
we prefer the latter..
Red is sunset and sunrise, sky splashed with red wine.
Red is hot flames, lava, coals in fire and molten metal gleaming.
Red is soft rose petals, cherries, lips, ripe tomatoes, raspberries and rosy complexion of cheeks.
Red is lusty hot, devilish, tempting and sinful.
Red is blood flowing, oozing from fissures, pulsing and throbbing, gushing out.
Red is shiny crystals of ruby, garnet, sapphire, stained glass in windows glowing, sap dried on tree trucks solid and crystallized.
Red is the outer most span of color in a rainbow, tying it together like a ribbon bow.
Red is a primary color, that combined with green and blue can make any other color, using RGB color codes.
Red is hot, cold, warm, steamy, flowing, crystalline, throbbing and stopping.
Red is a fundamental color, inbred in nature.