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"bisque" poems
For any time the urge to wring an autumn gourd, this one's the thing Smashing pumpkins, not so nice but Butternut Squash, an honest vice Long and beige, hard and smooth you'd never guess it's power to sooth that underneath the toughest skin is meat like pumpkin, seeds within A steamy bisque for autumn's chill, peel and chop them as you will Dump them into four cups broth* add apple, pear, or applesauce a cup or two will do just fine and while you stand there, have some wine! sautee onions, a cup and a half dump them in and cry or laugh and now to add your seasoning stuff cumin, curry, nutmeg, Fluff hold the Fluff, that ain't the truth best to pull that old sweet tooth Bisque is savory, better than sweet warms the cockles, heart to feet save your sweets for pumpkin pie the after-apple of your eye Back to seasonings, see above a quarter teaspoon, more with love I add pepper and take a gander some folks call for coriander heat the whole thing to a boil for me, my crock pot's always loyal crock at high, about four hours or low for six, and bring some flowers! And now I'll play a little game change my words to mean the same if cook is butter and ****** is squash then butter dat ****** and ****** dat gnosh when you're hungry, under the wudder ain't nuttin' better 'en butternut chudder add some cream and squash your mash mash your squash and whip your pash I used a blender to make it creamy cooked it down, so thick and steamy add some butter, parsley's fine butternut bisque with bread and wine! Ahhhh!!!!! *chicken broth
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Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
Steaming Butternut Squash Soup or Bisque
For any time the urge to wring an autumn gourd, this one's the thing Smashing pumpkins, not so nice but Butternut Squash, an honest vice Long and beige, hard and smooth you'd never guess it's power to sooth that underneath the toughest skin is meat like pumpkin, seeds within A steamy bisque for autumn's chill, peel and chop them as you will Dump them into four cups broth* add apple, pear, or applesauce a cup or two will do just fine and while you stand there, have some wine! sautee onions, a cup and a half dump them in and cry or laugh and now to add your seasoning stuff cumin, curry, nutmeg, Fluff hold the Fluff, that ain't the truth best to pull that old sweet tooth Bisque is savory, better than sweet warms the cockles, heart to feet save your sweets for pumpkin pie the after-apple of your eye Back to seasonings, see above a quarter teaspoon, more with love I add pepper and take a gander some folks call for coriander heat the whole thing to a boil for me, my crock pot's always loyal crock at high, about four hours or low for six, and bring some flowers! And now I'll play a little game change my words to mean the same if cook is butter and ****** is squash then butter dat ****** and ****** dat gnosh when you're hungry, under the wudder ain't nuttin' better 'en butternut chudder add some cream and squash your mash mash your squash and whip your pash I used a blender to make it creamy cooked it down, so thick and steamy add some butter, parsley's fine butternut bisque with bread and wine! Ahhhh!!!!! *chicken broth
Continue reading...
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liquid crystal display glimmering salacious self-imagery at you, your lips parted and breath staccatoing along, flitting just behind the beat, like your aunt's first dance at the wedding reception (before she's had enough to drink) or her last (when she's had too much) she was in the passenger seat on our drive homeward, leaning in to the driver's seat conspiratorially, oblivious to your beauty splayed out exhausted in the backseat. "she's my baby niece, and you better not **** with her heart, you hear me missy?" and I assured her I wouldn't as you laughed and laughed, bell peals in the backseat and church bells echoing in my ear, past and possible future, sodium vapor lights slipping away along the highway as your aunt slid back into the passenger seat. "so" "so" "she's quite a character," I say, bemused, and your eyes crinkled at the corners like newspaper redesigned during crumpling as kindling for the fire, blue and blue and blue in the backseat. "that's true" "just like you" "just like me" you agree, crossing your legs, legs that go on for dynasties in thigh highs and your dress riding up too high for my eyes to focus on the taillights ahead of us when paradise is in the rearview: love is cold lobster bisque in a big bowl in bed in the morning, two spoons and a carton of orange juice arrayed on the covers atop our entangled legs.
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Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
in the backseat
For any time the urge to wring an autumn gourd, this one's the thing Smashing pumpkins, not so nice but Butternut Squash, an honest vice Long and beige, hard and smooth you'd never guess it's power to sooth that underneath the toughest skin is meat like pumpkin, seeds within A steamy bisque for autumn's chill, peel and chop them as you will Dump them into four cups broth* add apple, pear, or applesauce a cup or two will do just fine and while you stand there, have some wine! sautee onions, a cup and a half dump them in and cry or laugh and now to add your seasoning stuff cumin, curry, nutmeg, Fluff hold the Fluff, that ain't the truth best to pull that old sweet tooth Bisque is savory, better than sweet warms the cockles, heart to feet save your sweets for pumpkin pie the after-apple of your eye Back to seasonings, see above a quarter teaspoon, more with love I add pepper and take a gander some folks call for coriander heat the whole thing to a boil for me, my crock pot's always loyal crock at high, about four hours or low for six, and bring some flowers! And now I'll play a little game change my words to mean the same if cook is butter and ****** is squash then butter dat ****** and ****** dat gnosh when you're hungry, under the wudder ain't nuttin' better 'en butternut chudder add some cream and squash your mash mash your squash and whip your pash I used a blender to make it creamy cooked it down, so thick and steamy add some butter, parsley's fine butternut bisque with bread and wine! Ahhhh!!!!! *chicken broth
0
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
Steaming Butternut Squash Bisque
For any time the urge to wring an autumn gourd, this one's the thing Smashing pumpkins, not so nice but Butternut Squash, an honest vice Long and beige, hard and smooth you'd never guess it's power to sooth that underneath the toughest skin is meat like pumpkin, seeds within A steamy bisque for autumn's chill, peel and chop them as you will Dump them into four cups broth* add apple, pear, or applesauce a cup or two will do just fine and while you stand there, have some wine! sautee onions, a cup and a half dump them in and cry or laugh and now to add your seasoning stuff cumin, curry, nutmeg, Fluff hold the Fluff, that ain't the truth best to pull that old sweet tooth Bisque is savory, better than sweet warms the cockles, heart to feet save your sweets for pumpkin pie the after-apple of your eye Back to seasonings, see above a quarter teaspoon, more with love I add pepper and take a gander some folks call for coriander heat the whole thing to a boil for me, my crock pot's always loyal crock at high, about four hours or low for six, and bring some flowers! And now I'll play a little game change my words to mean the same if cook is butter and ****** is squash then butter dat ****** and ****** dat gnosh when you're hungry, under the wudder ain't nuttin' better 'en butternut chudder add some cream and squash your mash mash your squash and whip your pash I used a blender to make it creamy cooked it down, so thick and steamy add some butter, parsley's fine butternut bisque with bread and wine! Ahhhh!!!!! *chicken broth
Continue reading...
46
A lost soul, swept up in a bisque of one's inner thoughts, feelings of sorrow fill your heart, thoughts of woe filling your head. A lost soul, in a sea of loneliness, driven to despair, all dreams fading away. A lost soul, falling from the sky, waiting for the inevitable, a future yet to come. A lost soul, with pain in their heart, and brokenness in their eyes, complete loss of joy from their once bright smile. A lost soul... A soul forever gone. ~Corrie Anne~
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Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 9:56 AM UTC
Lost soul
I can hear the world around me I can see what's going on I just cannot voice my anger You see, my muscle strength is gone "I'M IN HERE....CAN'T YOU SEE ME?" "I JUST CANNOT MOVE MYSELF' "PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE ME" "DON'T PUT ME ON A SHELF" I'm not a fragile bisque doll In a chair for all to see I'm a prisioner of my body But, the body still is me 'I'M NOT DYING WITHOUT FIGHTING" "I STILL THINK AS CLEAR AS YOU" "I CAN'T RUN OR WALK LIKE YOU CAN" "BUT, THERE'S LOTS THAT I CAN DO" I am a man held captive My cell is muscles, flesh and bone I don't know how to describe it I'm not stuck in here alone "I NEED SOMEONE TO HEAR ME" "PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE I WAS HERE' 'I KNOW IT'S NOT THE LIFE I WANTED" "I NOW KNOW DEATH I DO NOT FEAR" ALS has killed my body But it has not killed my mind I am in here, same as always Still full of thoughts, some harsh, some kind "I AM IN HERE AND I HEAR YOU" 'I TREASURE ALL THAT LIFE IS WORTH" "LIKE LOU GHERIG SAID BEFORE ME" "I AM THE LUCKIEST MAN ON EARTH!"
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Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
Held Captive By My Body
Anthropogenic artefacts Heart attacks hearts attacked Dead calm gyre Tide line debris You and me and I Beach combing the detritus of us and them and they Invasive spaces hidden faces aroma of decay Kicking over seaweed mounds Lost and founds Seeking out sun sparkled jewels the aroma of decay the plastic looks like ruby the netting gossamer light life moves amongst the mass massing moving living and dying I save one shell to liberate the memory To fix it in the opalescent bisque pocketed treasured that tide line left behind remains from us all of us Everyone tries amongst the stinking tangle of uselessness of spoil to see the value to seek and love the life appreciating interpreting beauty in our tideline Personal life left overs the things we leave behind left behind beached beyond doubt dried beyond quenching Those hours objects people and places those cruel elements took away Stripped from us only to dispose of them because they could because we could not stop them Tide line physical metaphorical epitomized by those eyes that shell the reason why walking on beaches makes us feel better
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Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 9:23 AM UTC
Tide lines
In my small town supermarket they have a soup bar. It's self-serve and they allow free samples. But, Free sample means samples as in before you buy soup so you can try a little sip to see if you like the clam chowder, beef and barley which has too much green pepper, or squash bisque before you fill the paper cup or the larger one with hot delicious soup. It doesn't mean "free soup" to eat while walking through the store and not buying any soup after the sample is gone and then as if to add insult to injury, leave the empty ramekin with your sample tailings on a random shelf, sometimes even with a little plastic spoon and a used napkin, tucked behind a roll of paper towels or toilet paper or catfood on your way out of the store to stand in the parking lot and complain to other petty soup thieves about how "some people" get stuff for free.
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Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC
Free Soup
#*Lingering coastal fog   climbed up the seaside cliff head     The windward crest-edge        sprawling  out         the rolling waves         misty breathe,        shapeless as an ocean       sigh betides;     cloyingly crawling   through the lush hillside meadow verdure The clinging mist dissipates    like teardrops soon forgotten:       the Dawning of the day           caressing the evanescent dew;              an ebbing tide                remembered for a while...                Dawn awakening                newly sun kissed Daffodils             animated with felicity and mirth;            lilting ballerinas      gracefully swaying,    contagious with the leavening     serendipity of the westerly       sea breeze ~         Velvet bisque painted             daybreak constellations,               embossed by sunrise                splendor ~               each root bound bouquet,             kismet choreographed ballerinas          in Spring's  Rustic  Ballet                         Jesse*#
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Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 8:24 PM UTC
Spring's Rustic Ballet
In this light, bisque white cup lit right, shadow left, two-fingers+thumb loop loop south, mug chamber, shadow side inside right, top edge, defined to the eye, as a light gray oval trace with refection highlights at 10 and 5, unseen bottom, one gulp left of cold black coffee.
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Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 8:01 AM UTC
Cup
~ Fortress Stone by weathered cobble I build, calloused hands ache in sweet surrender Mortar’d affection of a coalesced consistency, mixed and blended, bound by love’s tether Stacking to heights of protective design Patterned on roaming hillsides, serpentine wanderings, Lush green fields crawl, blue sky diversions, as song birds whistle to the day And I sweat, my brow now drenched, muscles pushed to horizonary boundaries, tattered clothes sway in late afternoon breezes Still I push on, fitting, finding, filling this need Something so precious as glistening morning dreams, crystalline musings, fragile bisque castings Destined for my world, beyond battlefield dawns, sifting serene country settings…quite peace The long day ends, I marvel at my accomplishment steadfast and suited to defend in sunset flames, turrets of observative reachings soar above timber and heavy iron chain…gated sanctuary Now my love you may rest… beneath starry heavens and comet renderings, upon your bed of satin feathered sighs… For I have built this fortress…around your heart
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Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 7:33 AM UTC
Fortress
Hair as dark as newly turned earth and the sass of an alligator. Barefoot she stands stirring a *** of Craw dad bisque. Working up a sweat making a meal for her man, she could charms the hiss out of a snake. Creole in her nature, with a touch of hot peppers, she has a flare for making a bow fiddle sing. She loves to dance from sunset to nearly dawn, give her a little moonshine and watch her spread her wings. All southern woman, a true swamp land child. A flame of Cajun fire that can only be loved but never tamed.
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Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
Cajun Fire
The picture of perfection bisque, fired and annealed a picture perfect complexion heart and soul, revealed Eyes, there comes a light girded in leather mail ever ready for the fight a balancing, of scale Her minute cracks, are her scars her words flow upon the screen emotions, clearer than brightest stars gleaning rhyme, sincere and so serene
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Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 9:59 AM UTC
Tis a Porcelain Warrior Doll
Everyone in the city knows me, I’m the man who plays with Dolls. Made of Bisque and pretty china, I will play them all. No one knows me any better, Than my doll Marice, For when it came that time, She knew I had no peace. So in the end, I sit alone In front an iron chest. The lock is jingling, Yet my hand lay stiff, The screams inside a gentle kiss, That makes me wish, A new porcelain doll
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Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 2:13 AM UTC
Porcelain Dolls
You have to stay home all day to make bread While it rises three times before it gets cooked Punch it down twice Then its ready for the heat Think of something else to do Pay bills and balance the checkbook? Write letters or poems? Read the last 100 pages of "Look Homeward Angel"? Stay in the kitchen and make soup? Simulate the restaurant's baked bisque one small pie pumpkin, cut and steamed one sliced leek one fat carrot two **** chopped apples Cumin, spike, olive oil. Bake and let it rest
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Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
Bread Time
The triad of writer, lover and the loved, she in the night of raptors. Gone the ability for thought, the skin for touch, the heart like unpainted bisque. Her clammy hands, the drip rivers ****** lacerations born in the saunalike cataract before, it seemed time became the stranglehold of Now. Decades even later, years uncover the silt of pain. Together was not possible. The rant began. The cataract consumed her. She unbreathed goodbye. Sphinx still riddled. She sat for me clothed in sand and waited saecula saecularem Amen, Gentleman. Last call. Time gentleman. Caroline Shank
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Apr 10, 2023
Apr 10, 2023 at 2:19 AM UTC
Muse