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spacesoup
Alphabet Soup

Poems

C P X  Oct 2017
brown sugar soup
C P X Oct 2017
Brown sugar soup
It hasn't killed you yet
It's in your intestines
The highway covered by mud
Take a spoon and lick it
The land will shake you off
The road is blocked and you can't talk
There's soup in your throat

That brown sugar soup
It hasn't saved you yet
The mafia finally found you
You will hide in your car
You need some soup
Poison to your belly
Poison to your heart
Poison to your liver
It will **** you first
Living in a tiny toy car
Driving on alone
On a predictable plastic road

Brown sugar soup
All you want is more
Take the car on winding highways
But I think the land has shifted
Take a spoon and dip it
There is no road
The road is gone and you are ******
There's soup in your blood

That brown sugar soup
It was brewed for you
You lost your money on a card game
What could make life better
You need some soup
Health to your brain
Health to your heart
Health to your soul
You can live again
In a life that will not fit
Outgrow time and clothes
You've seen it all before

Brown sugar soup
It's a potion of luck
Drop your dead weight along the roadside
Look at how much you've gained
Take a spoon and bend it
It's all inside you
The road is round and you won't mind
There's soup in your head

That brown sugar soup
You can't get enough
Your smile isn't listening
Your mind is tethered down
You need some soup
Soup for your belly
Soup for your heart
Soup for your brain
You will die
Tasting sweet on your lips
One thing left to do
You've done it once before

Brown sugar soup
It's all your own fault
You do not belong here
But there's no room on this highway
Take a spoon and use it
Look at how much you have to gain
You need some more brown sugar soup
Kimberly Gedeon Sep 2013
I made some soup.
But it’s not for you.
It’s for me.
I don’t want you to change it.
It’s my soup.
Some people want to add some basil or maybe a little oregano.
But it’s my soup.
Some people think it’s too salty.
One person thought it’s too sweet.
But I told ‘em
f--k you.
I won’t change a thing.
It’s my soup.
Someone even tried to stir the ***
I grabbed the ladle
and bopped him on the head
I told him it was my soup.
Someone told me to turn up the heat
For what reason?
It’s a perfect temperature.
Someone else told me to turn down the heat.
I told him that would make it too cold.
It’s my soup.
Someone even told me I had to take some ingredients out.
But I love it the way it is.
It’s my soup.
Someone even tried to take a sip
The nerve!
It’s my soup.
Make your own.
Someone said I overcooked it.
I told her to leave me alone.
I like the smokey flavor.
To my horror, someone even tried to throw it out.
I grabbed the *** and put it back on the stove
Where it belongs.
This is my soup.
This soup…
**is my life.
I think we've all had the experience of people trying to change the way we are or the way we live our lives because it makes them uncomfortable. It's time you to take back your soup and make it yours.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
rarely do you wake up with your father in pain, stomach... so what the hell happened you ask? ate some sausage, best-before-date 20.1.2017... no wonder! but it was frozen and recently defrosted! so you just tuck into that **** raw? yeah yeah, should have poached it. like hell you should have! so he runs me an errand, can you make me rosół? no problem paps. i'll give you the money, run me this errand. you taken any no spa pills? yes yes, well thank **** for that.

ugh, soups of england, soups in england,
what an ugly sight,
   no soup pasta in them,
  and all of them look like mud holes,
or shambos (the pits of **** in rural areas) -
can we get some clarity in them, please?!
and this one is a classic,
its a clear chicken soup,
  contested between both jews and poles,
from times immemorial...
you get a chicken, cut off the *******
to use for an idea for tomorrow,
and then you chuck the remaining corpus
into water, pour water to the brim of the ***,
throw in a bay leaf, peppercorns,
five allspice meteor,
       and a few teaspoons of all-purpose
seasoning: namely / mainly salt...
          then you get some carrots,
garlic, a whole onion, leeks,
     celery, a parsnip, and fresh parsley,
and then you cook slowly,
  until all the fat runs off the chicken,
   and a bit like pouring a pint of guinness,
you wait for at least two hours,
until the almost brine water,
   turns into a golden colour,
       but that's it!
  then you boil some angel hair pasta,
and there you go: a clear chicken soup -
dubbed the medicine soup,
  it's actually now even called a soup,
  it's actually called by its name as a separate
category within the category of soup,
i'll try to write you the name without
the native diacritical markings...
  rosół = and this is by best approximate:
   ~ρ-sew
         (rho-sew) - yes, that verb participle of
the act of sewing - as: prompt (enforced
labour: sew! sew!) -
          no, sowing as in rho-sow doesn't cut it...
like that prolonged sound of disgust
with eww / eew... however you write
oh and ooh...
           can't think of an easier chicken soup
recipe, but *******, it's tasty...
  and heavens above: it's not a typical english
soup of just plain dumb creamy:
creamy tomato, creamy mushroom, creamy this,
creamy that, **** it, let's just skip
the entree, eat the main, and get stuck into
the choc cake and custard...
   when i eat a soup, i want to see the bottom
of the bowl...
the garlic and onion are crucial,
  and yes, you plop the onion in a whole,
like all the other veg (obviously cut up slightly)...
   nothing simpler, but you need to slowly
cook the **** thing until you get this
diluted amber colour...
   and you definitely need a lot of fresh parsley,
and angel hair pasta...
           fine spaghetti, after all,
  it's not a chinese noodle soup...
              and before going to bed i asked him:
any better? yes, better...
    so we finished watching the nail-biting
poland vs. montenegro game... 2 nil up,
2 - 2, and then magic in the space of 10 minutes,
almost feels like 1974: 4 - 2.
so i asks him one last time:
   can you drink a glass of cognac with that
medication? no answer, a grunt...
       you know, the scots call ms. amber the maiden
of the bowels... have a warm glass of
cognac, to burn that bug out...
and he goes: did you know that eating
a polish sausage can **** you?
  yeah, it's called a *kiełbasa jad
(tenacious d -
opening track:
  etymological explanation -
   kieł- i.e. canine, -basa [baza] i.e. base -
   based on canines - tearing into it,
carnivorous implication, my bet) -
      so he says:
  yeah, you leave the sausage in a warm place,
esp. in sunshine, and it turns into
a venomous snake, can **** you,
   starts fermenting a venom akin
                                            to an asp...
so i reply: well, next time stop being so
****** greedy, and if you're in the mood,
at least poach the **** thing!
he might not be drinking the prescribed
cognac... (insert snigger):
   but sure as **** i'm drinking the whiskey.