Please love me in completion
That you have seduced me
into the cuspuss of having
Only then to say that their are
Others
To claim it's natural to be mean
and uncaring, sorts the very dignity
Of Savant people
The ruins of your past relationships
are uncovered
Revealing the architecture of our
demise
Speak me as yours to restore the
decency of saved and never-savaged
Peoples
A nurtured land to bare the fruits
Of our labor
That our togetherness is neither in vain
or unwanted
To each ends and in full supply might
From Phat or Fat
Tricking a man to
Marry
By: Wellknown Writer
we be together
To devalue the terms of being used
and neglected
That we as one might never see suffering
as a means of punishing ones
Preferences and misgivings
Oh love perfectioned in trust
Speak me as yours
Might I sort the fruited plains
For our wines
2 eggs, 1 cup flour, a quarter stick of butter, a table spoon of olive oil, back for 30 minutes
The man who a limerick makes,
Some topic or other he takes.
He drags it around,
Through air and the ground,
Then at a high temperature, bakes.
Hungry rats watched the dumpster fire awaiting a hot meal
Mix maroon heart with amber ambition
Silver start swiftly amethyst affliction
How do you heal when you’re blue broken
Create a poetic meal to eat keep hope and
Stir in sandy sonnets from years in the rain
Sprinkle Senryu, haiku despite peach pain
Let cranberry couplets cream morbid thought
Sift soulful sentiment knitted like amber art
Add a dollop of daylight in your wisest words
And mince moonlight sautéed by wing of bird
Knead the dough of poems soul as it forms
Pour in powdered pan man, woman so warm
Bake to taste by lavender lake full of adjectives
You’ll know when it’s done for it’s like magic is
Transforming minds and making designs of brain
That’s how to bake a poem, green grace stay sane
In a cozy kitchen, I find my bliss
Mixing flour, sugar, butter with a gentle kiss
Rolling out dough with loving care
Filling it with fruit, a treat so rare
The scent of cinnamon fills the air
As I bake my pie with love and flair
Golden crust, bubbling fruit inside
A masterpiece of flavour, my joy and pride
My, oh my
Do I love to bake pie!
My plate is always piled
yet my fork has nothing on it,
beamed up by sensory overload
onto a different culinary planet.
Please don’t think me rude
for leaving most of each meal,
it’s simply an agreement I made
with my devil, a self-imposed deal.
My fridge may look full
though recipes are few,
at least I know how to mix vowels
and consonants into a syllable stew.
This is an empty shame,
a hollow unrisen bun:
I’m male, I’m white, I’m educated,
so surely this cake should be done.
A deprivation tank which I worry
echoes an expected gay cliché;
“No, I’ve already eaten, I’ll snack later.
I’m not feeling well, sorry I can’t stay.”
Twenty years of hunger and binge
now seem to live inside my skin,
the pain a physical invisible
late fee payment for thin.
My bowl is always full, but my spoon has no story to be told.
My body is a restaurant chain business, finally ready to fold.
ATTEMPTED BAKE
Everything prepared the day before
Reading a recipe book for sure
The Flour, Butter and Sugar all added
It’s not the Pillsbury Bake Off
It was a need for dessert
Bake on Bake on
The oven is good and hot
Soon a layer cake to eat, I hope
Better have the Pepto Bismol ready
Just a matter of wait and see
Lord, please help me
The Layer cake was done
It was supposed to be a Layer Cake
Heaven’s sake
The cake turned into a flattened sink
I must have used the Titanic Recipe Approach
This cake came out as a joke
I might could be served as a pancake
My first instinct was to get my tire and pump like a flat tire
Like I said, attempted bake
No give nor take
Simply a mistake
Garbage with no partake.
Who had chicken soup
Simmering in a kettle,
Momma did ...
Letting the flavors mettle
Who baked sugar cookies
Shaped with a cookie cutter,
Momma did ...
And made with real butter
Who made things right
When all else was wrong,
Momma did ...
And it didn't take long
Who didn't give up
Nor ever let me,
Momma did ...
That's where her heart be
Who loved me always
Just the way I was,
Momma did ...
Simply ... because.
#Pie
Up down turn around pick a pan a bowl or two
turn a pock
turn a plum
spin baked in
Swirl the spoon, mix a pie batter to make a treat for you
Even though you may not be looking, always believe that love is cooking.Quote - Poet’s own
Bake love each day the whole of your life
Mixed with fervour and all kinds of spice
Everything you've ever hungered for
Hopes, dreams, wishes and all you adore.
Stir in measureless ardent passion
Sprinkle on top some sweet compassion
Simmer slowly on the lowest heat
‘Til your heartbeats are on the increase.
Then turn the temperature way up
Whilst drinking wine from the loving cup
Prepare the aura ready to eat
Soft music, dim lights during the feast.
Tempt palates with a special delight
Of afters that please the appetite
Just as we need food so we may live
We’re all in need of love to exist.
I hope you will test my recipe
It truly has done wonders for me.
It’s the Great British Bake Off
And I’ve got to week six
But I think it’s all over since
They’ve dissed my bread mix.
They said it was rubbish
When I baked my plum duff
And Mary said my cake
Was sandy, coarse and rough.
There’s a slinky little blonde
Who’s giving Paul the eye
And I think it must be working
Cos she’s more than getting by.
Her bagels were quite dodgy
Her bottom soggy and wet
Yet he said they were delicious
Definitely teacher’s pet
They’re going to push me out
Deep down this I know
But I’ll take the b’s with me
If and when I go
I’ve planned my revenge
With my Kamikaze pudding dish
With TNT and dynamite
And petrol, just a splish.
I’ve made my own shrapnel
With glass and tacks and nails
To ensure there’s a back up
If my pudding mixture fails,
So, when they tell me that
It’s time that I went
I’ll push the detonator
And blow up the bloody tent.
There’ll be weeping and wailing
And lots and lots of tears
But that’s one Bake off episode
They’ll not forget for years.
I’m the Kamikaze chef
Divine Wind of the Aga Range
Apres Moi le deluge
After me things will change
Passover’s only one short week away
Though we have yet to start cleaning, oy vey!
Smiley faces wear no frowns
We’ll turn our house upside down
Shake and bake matzo in boxes ~ Ole!
I sprinkled dry yeast in warm water
And watched it bubble up,
Then cracked open a fresh laid egg
On the edge of a measuring cup.
I dumped in a helping of all-purpose flour,
A little oil, a pinch of salt.
Then I stiffened it up in a mixing bowl
Like a mugger committing assault.
I rolled it all out on a cutting board
Well-dusted with whole grain unbleached.
My hands went to work massaging the mass
As appropriate texture was reached.
I then let it sit till it doubled in size,
Set the oven to furnace degrees.
Then I fashioned a riddle and baked it inside,
Left the kitten to do as she please.
Twenty minutes later…
I opened the oven with fireproof mitts,
And fetched out my fresh staff of life.
I brushed it with butter, then set it aside,
Left to cool, while I sharpened my knife.
Ten minutes later…
The time finally came,
I was hot on my game,
And I cut me a taste-tempting slice.
But it was only half-baked,
Insufficiently toasted.
It had to go back in the oven.
I surveyed the scene,
Took a couple more tokes,
And baked up a morning worth lovin’.
I watched the lake slowly freeze,
As if a wizard deliberately used his magic,
Enchanting a cooling breeze;
A spell concocted to deliver crystallized fabric,
Spread out just like a Yeti's sneeze.
Why have I been here so long,
Shivering in this Arctic cold?
Am I seeking where I belong,
As I am slowly growing old,
Or need I just move along?
I see ice appearing on the trees.
My clothing is getting wet,
As I pray upon my knees,
But I will not fret,
Demons will need to do more than tease!
Let a dragon come and melt this lake!
I summon you from your darkened cave!
If magic what's at stake,
Let it be the steadfast rave,
I beg of you to this place... bake!
26-September-2021
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