Long Torte Poems
Long Torte Poems. Below are the most popular long Torte by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Torte poems by poem length and keyword.
Wish to wake up surrounded by the snow-capped Alps
Sipping tea in the quiet, quaint villages of Switzerland
Watching the glittering ripples of sapphire blue lakes
Staying in picturesque lakeside hamlets
Overlooking emerald valleys and majestic mountain peaks
Wish to climb the summit of the Matterhorn
To ride in horse-drawn carriages in the village of Zermatt
Journeying through train to Jungfraujoch
Riding cable cars and gondolas over the Lauterbrunnen Valley
Visiting flourishing flower gardens in Interlaken
Enjoying the Swiss Transport Museum in Lucerne
Wish to write about the beauty of Lake Geneva
From within the halls of the famed Chateau de Chillon
Skiing and snowboarding in St. Moritz’s Cresta Run
Stopping by in the Rose Garden and Bear Park
In the stunning Swiss capital of Bern
Wish to go to the Zurich Zoo with my family
Walk the cobbled streets of the Old Town
Strolling toward the Swiss National Museum
Call on the tennis great Roger Federer in his Wollerau home
Watch him practise his game and spend time with his family
Wish to enjoy some Cheese fondue and Älplermagronen
With Rosti and Zürcher Geschnetzelte, a veal dish
It would be wonderful to eat Engadiner Torte
Taste some Huppen wafer biscuits
And some sweet Swiss chocolate
If I were to go on a vacation,
I would choose Switzerland
without a second thought
Dreamy and inviting
That’s the place I wish to see.
28th March 2022
For L Milton Hankins' "My Dream Vacation" contest
devastatingly, grievously, inconsolably,
got hexed, issued jilted livingsocial, a less
son learned to late, how maddeningly mess
say yon nick lee infuriated, not accepting press
sing ill fate, nor countenancing fatal injustice,
refusing to curtsy fiendish inxs did piss
her off (poisoned scorpion sting) remiss
cheekily peppering psyche as if Swiss
cheese, a once spunky Arthur Murray shored
dance instructor, who scored
door prize in the guise of thee less torte sured
near nonagenarian papa, where meanness poured
from grim mortal outlook parlayed moored
deadly reaper, quashed, ruined as lord
stole, sacred maternal tribal nurse, unfairly did hoard
final precious seconds unexpectedly meant un explored
positive rapport forever undergirded "door"
closed to resolve ambivalence with venerable bead
did association between
kith and kin, unfairly
dead poet society lettered deed
wrested a vibrant life despite zest that freed
a vibrant gal to coast along dialed up esprit
de corps spirit to live, yet greed
of metastatic cancer upended lead,
where mind over matter, sans power
in positive thinking rubric and plead
ding didst kill last ditch homeopathic screed
ambitions trumped, thus giving up the ghost
wracking sadness, sinking sorrow spilling most
lee tears of loss, among family, fellow Unitarians
of the Thomas Paine Fellowship
included with your obituary post.
From the pulled-sugar tux
To the pressed-sugar gown,
The sweet candy couple
Will paint the cake town!
From their sugary heads
To their saccharine shoes,
They're the topmost of all
To spread the good news.
They've layers of goodness
Stacked under their feet,
First, a moistened red velvet
Of chocolatey sweet ...
Below that, two inches
Of soft coconut cream,
That rests on two layers
Of strawberry dream!
A tangy, tart lemon cake
Is what lays beneath,
Then almond vanilla
Circles all like a wreath.
Two inches of spice cake
Then gives that support,
And under that, still,
Is a rich German torte.
The base of Cake Mountain,
This pyramid pleasure,
Is double-fudge marble,
A sweet, scrumptious treasure!
But it all looks the same -
Frosted art, to the eyes,
With all the fun layers
As a wedding surprise!
But the rose-gilded sides
All coated with frosting,
Aren't nearly as steep
As what it's all costing!
But don't worry, each inch
Of mouth-watering ice,
Is confection perfection,
And well worth the price.
But if you're still craving
The sweet stuff that's inside,
Seems the groom craves that, too,
When he looks ...
At the bride!
** 2nd Place in the "Relishing Cake Poetry Contest", Julia Ward, Sponsor. **
I’ve crossed many rivers so cold
am known to be stout and bold
the likes of cheese and crackers
makes me lips go smackers.
The flavor kicks up me nose
like cat nip makes me doze
keeping a stiff upper lip
I’m careful not to slip
I keep some in me pocket
a back up in a gold locket
some for me and some for me cat
she goes lickety split at that.
Only one cheese is called Pastone
Can’t find elsewhere, so I make me own
Vapors of melting cheese I snort
Then smooth over a toasted torte
No recipe to follow on just a trial
poured into jugs to hold for awhile
some pimentos squeezed out to hang
gives it a ting adding a nice tang
across the vast greens of Killarney
I spill out some words of blarney
when I sell me bakeries of fame
quite delicious though just the same.
Sales are rising, which are not surprising
tasty and appealing and quite appetizing,
wrapped in blocks, not yet in slices
mild or sharp taste at the best prices.
Have built a small shop in Kitteny square
wagons coming in from most anywhere
the flavors are labeled and mostly known
buy the best, ask for Pastone
Think of May as a wonderful month, never rude,
bringing beautiful days with warm showers...
to make beach goers wrap themselves in towels,
then the hottest sun will break through!
Why do we love this month that makes everyone fantasize?
Is it the new flowers, or Mother's Day itself?
We agree, its the last one I mentioned with great surprise...
wanting to honor the one we all love to death!
And as I am talking about this special event, which is of a specific sort,
you wouldn't forget to give her a little sweet something
that she likes: from a single flower, or paper heart to a chocolate torte;
many more you can find: like puppets that dance and sing!
Think of May as a wonderful month when imagination is wild and free to err,
and the desire to escape is not limited to sea, sky or a far-away friend;
it can reach, quicker than any whispered prayer, the loneliest heart so afraid,
but ready to embrace mom's heart despite the love one has denied her!
Entered in Carol Brown's contest,
" Memories Of May "
Written by Andrew Crisci
A warm comforting home environment environment adorned with
paintings, cushions,flowers, soft couches, afternoon sunlight
Streaming through laced windows breathing out cooking aromas
of chicken soup and incense fragrance of musk and lavender.
Smiles and Grandmas hugs with milk , cookies and fresh linen.
Dainty flower prints on cotton fabrics, blue and white china teapot.
Gentle crackling of a warm fireplace curled puppy fast asleep on a rug.
Whistling kettle punctured with gentle laughter around a card table.
"Last Card!" A guest makes a call ...until he is handed a three
"Ohhh?" He picks up three cards and everybody laughs.
Vanilla ,Chocolate and coconut wafts in from the kitchen.
Grandma is making her famous three-tiered chocolate torte.
Strains of Fleetwood Mac filter through from another room.
Mum has just arrived with the shopping the pup rushes exitedly.
Articulated words
From your lips...
Soothes more than
Smooth creamed cookie.
Melanin skin tone,
You are...
Makes this cookie green.
Your sapience, very distinct
Making a library curse
Your existence.
Resistence, I sucked
From your crispy nipples
Forming ripples
Down my infant tummy.
Oreo, might be yummy,
Crunchie and sweet;
That mama, can't
Contend with
Your rarebreed
Baked ennead months from your oven.
I became your best torte;
Sweeter than the sweetest,
Your end product.
Kind hearted you are,
Your heart larger
Than Philadelphia city...
Accomodates all with pity.
Like a tulip in the tropical forest
Your warmth beckon one to rest.
Your life, very admirable
Than the sight of a phillerya.
Before you depart,
Record an audio
To soak in while I crunch my Oreo.
©? Rarebreed «2020
At times I have felt as a cowardly sort,
Who is unwilling to stand on any a torte,
And just simply goes with whatever the flow,
When the reapers reap, and when the sowers sow,
I go,
But in truth I must tell you,
I must honestly say,
That evertime I chose to pay,
The price of principles I choose,
Most often afterwards I loose,
The surety that I was right,
On and in the positions I chose to fight,
So call me a coward if that is your wish,
I think that I'll just stick to this,
Before I stand and before I dismiss,
I shall try and open my fist,
And love with abandon no matter the trist.