Long Wasabi Poems
Long Wasabi Poems. Below are the most popular long Wasabi by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wasabi poems by poem length and keyword.
her brown skinned
body laying atop a
table top covered
by a white table
cloth but she is
naked yet dressed
as a buffet with
delights to eat
placed like plates
for to be self served
my finger tips imitate
chop sticks to take
the taste of her now
noodle hair with
seaweed eye brows
following further down
her cuisine figurine
fingering disoriented
flavors and spices
sipping the saki shot
puddling her bellybutton
pairing with her pear
hips where sit not fig
greens but the earthy
shiso leaves that by
uncovering these find
two slices of raw tuna
sashimi dripping blow
fish soup the deadly
delicacy i immediately
drink licking her bowl
clean liking her sticky
rice inner thighs i
find no longer fingers
but my tongue turning
over the table now
able to smell pickled
ginger and inhaling
the heat of
wasabi
Form:
Those with a culinary masterplan
Know go for neon glow talisman
Spick & span with fancy dan elan
Wooing doing the cooing can-can
Riot on a diet expands my lifespan
Wrinkle free wry mystery Peter Pan
Doorman to sly new world deadpan
For sushi like John Belushi a madman
Oodles of noodles like silky doodles
Caveman craved calming ramen amen
In a hurry then lasso a curry.. yep Katsu
From svelte purveyor and belt conveyor
Time to have a durry in the rusty daihatsu
Beg for an egg sandwich from heaven
Palette parsons from Lawsons not 7/11
Stricken saved by nori or yakitori chicken
Remembers glory of flaming embers story
Or ditty of look at me too pretty sashimi
Detect such respect in every single aspect
Mingle & scan no defect full effect scran
No also ran but our number one suspect
Wasabi touch of ginger..trusty kemo sabe
Culture protect am a fan can only be Japan
So will Ben be back to lead his men?
Stacks of hacks chiding with their pen
Question all asking time & time again!
Key and Baz hiding in their ECB den
Riled echo chamber dialled up to ten
Let us know and if not now then when!
Fall of Bazball no longer a verdant glen
Now bogged down in a waterlogged fen
Astounds as Baz all about pounds or yen
Folks a coup by you know who should ken
Stokes came first not the egg but’s the hen
Spicier than wasabi with his kemosabe zen
ECB on their tod as it all crumbles yet again
So odd sod the fans & their God called Ben
If is the end than ECB to hell we send Amen
Written: March 2nd, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wingbeats on warm whisper wavelength
wasteland, waves of wasabi writhe
with wilting, whimpering, witless wring
whirls and willows whimsically wave.
Emerald pride waves over meadows,
Venetian Barcarole flails and whizz
viridian desires dance onto dales,
Eurydice weeps lost love in auric tears
Dawn draws dwindle, damp dimples.
Of flickering flowers and floating stars
Orpheus, the poet in paint-stained palms
portrays the paradoxes in love,
a roar of zeal and salty air in a blue sky
love stings, even endless moons
In ablaze that seldom strikes
Elysium ethereal elixir of souls.
With such spongy, slippery strokes
soothing serenade in early spring
Thunder rumbles, but cannot shatter
love of Orpheus and Eurydice
Destiny is etched in their stride
as wingless wisps prose sang and swam
Moon loops conflate with wispy vowels
pride is a cornerstone of identity
egos hold a shield of protection
love embraces all they cherish
paired potency, pelt a pound planet.
Akin to operas, rehearsed by singers
their spoof spirals higher in stride
a syzygy of stars in a mellifluous oasis
nurturing nemesis crystals
soar in silky, springy ischemic swings
fetching felicity, as flurry fades
Ignore impulses, let time slip away
still in grip of quintessential propinquity
over a pyre, rainbow Ink swirls
with ethereal wingless, sanguine sighs,
sumptuous zeal stirs the lifeless,
springtide serenades sibyllic sweeps.
As wisteria, spring sequoia, and love slay
weave an aura in vow threads
once serendipity embraces karma
Scarlet moons bleed in a plum sky
still, sustains its sonorous scintilla
at the zenith of wistfulness, uncover bliss
loving endures the rumblings of thunder
hope in its darkest night, never fades
smoothly drifting on brisk wing beats
love is a fruit of tangerine tenacity
love lullaby ignited by stark infatuation.
She's a Cyndi Lauper look-alike.
had a ‘one hit wonder’ back in the day;
a tune about some balloons and a bike.
She's not new anymore
but still a ‘hip’ artifact for sure.
Glittered eyebrows, bangles, and beads,
she’s what any wistful old guy
thinks he needs.
The spiky hair with crimson streaks
peeks between lacquered tweaks
of graying strands;
a pixie named Trixie, revered
by many 80's rock bands.
We like her colorful untidiness;
the prismatic stockings, her
mismatched punkie-ness
always the under-dressed
epitome of a pop princess.
She has her own style,
not old
just been around awhile.
Notwithstanding
folks still smile
at her girlish wiles.
Still an internet presence,
still childish enough
though her voice is more gruff
due to toking
medicinal stuff.
Now she sells pain creams,
and walk-in tubs as seen on TV
for those with gout and unworkable knees.
The renowned owner
of pimped-up poodles,
she maintains herself
on bowls of wasabi noodles.
The lady dwells above all commonsense
amid a trendy affluence,
way above
the madding throng,
forever hopeful, ever young
a songbird trilling ambrosial love,
of balloons and bikes and far off days
when sheeny rainbows
paved our more simple ways.
I thought by writing this poem
I could ramp up the cognitive demand
I wanted to get down on paper
The time my chopsticks talked to me
They told me there is a towel
On the flag of Belarus
I was flabbergasted by this
I dipped them in wasabi
I imagined a scream
Like a falling bomb
I overheard someone
Asking about the buffet
I heard the name
Emma Chizzit
This was repeated several times
With more and more intensity
Then it was realised that this
Australian woman was asking
"How much is it?"
Followed by my chopsticks
Asking me about Moses
How he makes his tea
Hebrews it was the answer
I paid the bill and left
Have you tasted the delicious torment of oysters
Let your foccacia bread drip with soft green salted olive oil
Do you know the love of Sushi
and boldly face the wild winds of wasabi
The tellers of the tales...these
unbridaled ocean gifts
smashing against the rocks
and found deep in the white and black sands
of beaches I have laid apon
These... the oils of Solomon that drip like mir from lovers hands
those that touch and those that are forced to say goodbye
Here, find them here, in your breads and oils
Taste the memory of what it is, what it was, to love
Find it there, just there, in that flash of purity
as the oyster hits the back of your throat
There... yes, there
when the wasabi flings open your passageways
and you breathe for the first time in your life
Here, yes, here I am
in all of these
as you will always be for me
hidden in tree moss
beneath enormous boulders so strong and large I find I must believe
in miracles
in the wind that catches in my sail
in you and perhaps
in time- even in me.
So how do you like your sushi
just sashimi on a plate?
or do you prefer it wrapped in nori?
decorated with microgreens and eggs?
And is there wasabi?
that heat to the tongue?
just a dash or a dab?
Does it make your nose run?
Do you dip in soy?
or is it the modern aminos?
without that salty it seems a bit drab....
Do you like your fish as an appetizer to your meal
or can it be the main course?
Do you want a bit of surf and turf
alternating between beef and fish
culinary exertion almost unreal?
Start with seaweed salad, edamame or just some simple hot green tea?
And is it chopsticks or handrolls?
or do you eat with your hands?
Are there other accompanying tricks?
I long to hear of your distinguishing traits
as you tempt me with your stories and wit
So tell me your tales of sushi
and I will tell you mine
And then perhaps we shall have some saki
and find another way to pass the time
- Do you like it raw? - Artimus (C) Susan Manley 6/15/2024 2:48PM
Yeah... I am a bit salty today
Redundancy, & Consistency; a slow death.
Seeping into the spine, deteriorating the bones.
Curve balls exist for a reason.
The vast roads that wind, different ways.
Paving the path for a scenic route, away from the drudge.
Wasabi for the palette; changing the senses for a new tasteful delight.
Cuddling with a new cashmere blanket, feeling safe, cozy, and relaxed.
Jumping out of bed for the next adventure under the vast constellations.
Soaking up the rays on a river rafting tour.
Monotony, Redundancy, Consistency kills the soul.
Individuals say this on their last breath.
Creating a bucket list, of time lost, adventures to come.
Breaking away from the norm, dancing, singing, kissing in that rainstorm.
stubbed toe / during a broken heart—
you said pain is pain, offered to kiss both.
we nursed the plot of a favorite episode,
argued over what constituted foreshadowing.
talking to you about the view was mostly talking to myself;
you liked cliffs, I liked what they overlooked.
on vacation with the lube,
you forgot to pack anything else.
we ate wasabi from the tube like astronauts.
being vegan, you protested animal rights
while wearing leather—not ironically.
I said nothing, ate a pork bun in your honor.
alive with wanting, horny as new hormones,
we ordered room service, slept instead,
called that a success.
our fifties came early—
you there before me, always a decade ahead
in age, on trends, with grief.
neither of us knowing we’d need
a language for this back then.