Best Baked Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Baked poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of baked poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Baked Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Baked poems are below this new poems list.

BAKED ALASKA by Reeves, Terry
Fresh Baked Revenge by Tones, Raven
Stone Baked by lawless, John
SLASHED AND BAKED in love by SINGH, PARIVARTANA
Home Baked Bread by Pinet, Emile
Bovine Spirits of a Baked Land by Alex, Gokul
Half-baked Ideas by Ward, Julia
Baked Beans -Gastronomy Cyntrain- by Jones, Cynthia
Fresh Baked Poems by hunjeri, njeri
Baked Shepherd's Pie by McLeod, Trevor

View all new Baked Poems

The Best Baked Poems

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Missing Mother

Bits of me are missing mother,
the bits of me which you placed.
Bits of me are missing Mother;
ah,         I see you in my face.

Trying to remember Mother’s days -
wine and roses - Sinatra songs 
beaches, pipe curls and crinolines -
Days, so far gone, so long ago,
replaced by bitter brew: by tears,
by fears, by little pills;
I remember you.

I see you in my face     Mother.
Years gone by and still I try,
no easy thing to do, I try to remember,
just a few   memories of happy days
with you - 

Was it when   I learned to read;
when you baked your pies? Ah, Mother, 
mother memories only come in sighs.

Still, in all, it’s very true, I spend 
each day missing,   missing all of you.



Included in my book The Hurricane by Prolific Press 2015


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012


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Pie In The Sky - Dedicated To Andrea Deitrich

Listen to poem:

guided streams  of bright lights few squeeze through a crystal tight sky 
colours this nature scene brand new a freshly baked pumpkin spiced pie

a random popsicle purple glaze
a toddler's finger painted blaze

the friendliest of all the river trees
dances calmly with a random breeze

the sun dives into his liquid bronze fate
as the wild plants wave back to placate 

daily harmony here come with ease 
while humans struggle just to appease 


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2016


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He Touched Me

Do you know what it is like to be an untouchable?
To be so filthy and disgusting
That people shrink away from you
Do you know how it corrodes your soul
To see how the stench that follows your rotting flesh
Contorts people’s faces in disgust
Even from miles away?
I tell you, you die a thousand deaths
Each time you see them cover their faces
To protect themselves from the putrid air
That surrounds you
And they scurry away
Revolted by your very shadow

It doesn’t help that you have to scream
“Unclean, Unclean” everywhere you go
It doesn’t help that daily you have to find your food
Left behind an agreed upon boulder 
It doesn’t help when you taste the bread
Your wife has baked with loving hands
Knowing that the salt of her tears is mixed in the dough
That nourishes your rotting body
It doesn’t help when visions of her beauty and healthy body
Ravage your mind…for she has become untouchable to you
It doesn’t help when all you remember are the last words 
Your crying son sobs into her apron….
“Why does daddy have to leave?” 
And you quietly slink away…unable even to hold him
One last time

Being a leper
Is the nightmare you can’t easily shed
How unlike your body that easily sheds
Your fingers…one by one

And then you hear of a Healer
A Nazarene
A carpenter turned preacher
Who mingles with prostitutes
With tax collectors 
Society’s untouchables
Outcasts like you and you think…
Maybe…just maybe

I tell you this….
All my yesterdays and all my tomorrows
Were bound in the moment I stood before him
His disciples stepped back
I saw a woman get sick
At the sight of me
And before I knew it, the words tumbled out
“Lord, if you are willing…..you can make me clean.”

I was a crumpled ball on the ground
A discarded piece of human waste
Not daring to look up
My half eaten face covered
Thoughts of my wife, my boy swimming in my head
And pouring out of my eyes in the form of tears
And then for the first time since I was banished to the outskirts of the city
For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime
I felt the touch of another human hand 
His hand was on my shoulder
His hand was on MY shoulder
The refuse of humanity
On ME!
Ah…I had forgotten how good it felt to be touched

It was a gentle touch
A touch of love 
A touch of healing
“I am willing, be clean.”
I heard whispered in my ear
The warmth of the touch
The nearness of the voice
Were enough to heal my soul
What more could I ask for?
And yet….I felt something else
New life coursed through my veins
A wave of energy
Started from the souls of my feet
Revitalizing every cell as it rushed up to my dazed head
Bursting into a clarity of vision I had not known
I looked at my hands
Yes, these were MY hands
The hands that she had loved to hold against her face
The hands that my son had clung to when he was afraid
The hands of a workman
Young, strong capable hands

There was silence
As they all witness my rebirth
Finally, I looked up to see
The most compassionate face
That I had ever seen in my life
I saw tears running down His face
And yet, His smile rivaled the sun
And the next thing I knew
I was in His embrace
Whole…body and soul
Whole
All because
He touched me.

Eileen Manassian Ghali


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013


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A choice


                  A vulture and owl
                        Solitary and predatory
                        Watch and wait

                 The wastelands
                         Scarred by driving winds
                         Baked hard by an abusive sun
                         Void of life, a deep emptiness
                         The silence of desolation

                 Eyes down, he enters
                       Withering in self-pity
                       Cut-off from intimacy
                       Breath reeking of desperation
                       Bones cleaving to his skin


                            Has A choice
                      w                           b
                     a                               i      
                   s                                  g
                  t                                     c
                 e                                        o
                l                                            u
              a                                               r
             n                                                 a
           d                                                     g
          s                                                        e

Kill the pain                                           Face the pain
Bondage                                                Freedom                        
Bed of piss and vomit                             Bed of hope and redemption
Alone – Death                                        Together – Life



                             What will he do . . . ?



A vulture and owl
      Solitary and predatory
      Watch and wait







To the struggling -- never give up hope!



David Meade
11/21/2014


Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2014


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I Think Of You - But I - 2

The rain outside plays games with the webs that cloud my mind,
I think I hear a tune. A drum solo that heralds memories buried deep
and sealed in concrete. Even the locked safe with five feet deep of steel
can not resist the lightning strike of the Goddess of Thunderstorms...I

...i think of you.

A pain from yesteryears thought dead rises from the ashes...

I think...No! 
No! I will fight this.
Forget when I flew too close to the sun 
my feathered wings singed.

I fight...I do...I try...I do...but I...

i think of you...

You,
your fresh baked sugar cookie scent,
your China Doll moonlight white complexion.

I think of you...and I...I weep

I on the mountain, exposed
as vultures tear at my flesh.
Devour my organs like so much fodder 
and everyday whole again...
the creatures hover to start anew.

In my sorrow,
in my physical pain 
I attempt to resist...but I...

i think of you.

Iodine flows through my veins.
My screams echo.
My blood drenched tears 
flow like a mountain stream
and i pray
and i whisper the word "mercy"

and still...

still...I

i think of you.



March 16 2015
Armand




Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


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D-Day in Malta:::co-write

We met in Valletta city on a fine November day
Introductions...hugs and kisses; we got talking straight away.
All agreed to go sight-seeing – architecture , harbour view
Made a stop to buy an ice-cream where there is a constant queue .
We strolled on and at Cordina’s chose al fresco to sit down
Next to regal Queen Victoria, a stone lady with a crown.
Drinks were ordered and pastizzi, which were followed by some cakes
Freshly baked and appetizing, all adorned with chocolate flakes.
We were served by cherub Fabio busy running out and in
Second time the badge said Mario, then we found that he’s his twin.
Jan and hubby soaked the sunshine, the Calluses hugged the shade
Those around spoke multilingual, a musician plied his trade.
We stayed there and spoke for ages, watched the tourists walking by.
Valentina took our photos; she is young and sweet as pie.

Jan and Bob will be returning in two years on Malta’s shore
Although Maurice has predicted it will be a year before!
They will then be celebrating married bliss with silver ware
All on Soup will be invited; this occasion is to share.
That’s a promise made for keeping – friends will meet for sure once more
We shall have some cake and snickers; sweet surprises lie in store!

--------------------------------------------------------------------
Fun poem ~ co-written by Paul-Jan-Valentina  on 2/11/2014


Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014


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Food Inglorious Food

Be it known as convenience food, junk food or munchies; whether spicy, melt-in-your-mouth soft, or crunchy, food, inglorious food, seduces with ease and ensnares with the emptiest of calories. Disguised as a comfort food comes macaroni with creamy Alfredo and kin, Fettucini, To not be outdone, spaghetti entices with large fattening meatballs and sauce rich in spices. “Deep fried” knows our weakness for fat, which gives pleasure and saturates fast foods, it seems, in great measure: KFC (finger-licking), batter-fried fishes and chicken fried steaks -high cholesterol dishes. Even fruits will attack with enjoyment unhealthy as tarts, pies or pastries. That apple is stealthy! Veggies can also be treacherous things in guise of corn fritters and gold onion rings. Too much of a good thing is pizza (so cunning, so meaty, so cheesy), which no one is shunning. The taco, burrito, and big burger too in great numbers descend on us. What can we do? Those delectable luscious desserts that we eat have only to sit there; we cannot retreat! Candies and chocolate, our decadent sin, sweetly defeat us. We simply give in. Ice cream, a smooth foe, knows when we are blue. On a cone or a spoon, it drips, waiting for you. As a milkshake, a frosty, a sundae or float, or between split bananas, it sure floats MY boat! Buttered popcorn is one salty foe, and we love it! The hot dog implores in our mouths that we shove it. Baked bread, so alluring, entraps with its scent, which wafts through the air as if heaven sent! The standards of junk food -America’s pride - crisp bacon and nachos, chips and foods fried, invade our malls’ food courts and lurk high and low. Their smells overwhelm us wherever we go! We might try but we can’t make our junk food desist. for only the health nuts can dare to resist. In the war with inglorious food I adore, I say, Bring it on! Here’s my plate; I want more. For the The Synathroesmic Cat Contest Poetry contest of Suzanne Delaney *So now you can all know why I try to get to the gym a lot. hahaha


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013


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POETRY CAKE

() () A L N I N S YIIIPPPEEEEEE!!! JULY23232323<2 I BAKED THIS POETRY CAKE FOR YOU, I FLEW COLORFUL BALLOONS,TOO NOW THAT YOUR SPECIAL DAY IS HERE ICINGS ARE MY BEST WISHES, HUGS AND CHEERS. LET’S DANCE A CHACHA THEN WE’LL DO A BALLET EVERYBODY WILL SING TO BE HAPPIER AND GAY AND LET MY SIMPLE POEM CELEBRATES IN A SPECIAL WAY FOR THE CELEBRITY IS SO SPECIAL! HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
July 24,2014 10.30pm Note: This is re-posting my simple gift to our very dear Anne Lise on her birthday last Month. I hope you will enjoy.


Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2014


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Birthday Extravaganza: Lovely Roses On Your Special Day

                                                    Lovely Roses

                                                        HHH
                                                     pAAAAp
                                               YYYPP @ PPYYY
                                               YYYYP @ PYYYY
                                                     pAAAAp
                                                       HHH
                                                          Y
                                 @7@                  *
                              @Linda@               B       
                            @P(O@T)D@           I
                              @Linda@  \ \ \      R     
                                 @7@                 T                      
                                                          H              @7@                                        
                                                            D         @Linda@          
                                                            A  /  @P(OCT)D@
                                                           Y /       @Linda@
                                                           *            @7@
                                                            T
                                                            O
                                                          YOU!
                                                pretty birthday roses 
                                 sent with bright smiles,  hugs and kisses
                                to a very special poet  sis and best friend
                                whose birthday is globally celebrated again

                             roses placed atop of the sweetest birthday cake 
                   I lovingly baked for you with my best wishes, will you take
                   I wish you good health and hope your happy times multiply
depression divides,frustration subtracts, then joy and success add up many times

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;                        
                                  May you have a Very Happy Birthday! 

                                     Oct. 8, 2014   9.35 am bkk time


    ON YOUR SPECIAL DAY

Bubbling rainbows mottles on air,
In ebullience, the sky dresses you in flair
Your special day and most glorious time is here
I’ll perform a ballet for you in a very joyful cheer

Let’s swirl our hips and dance in a snappy tap
Like the time when you were born, one’s joy was on top
I sing a song with gratefulness for all these years
You are our great joy, a precious gift---so dear

Sending you my most melodious birthday serenade
You’re a loving celebrity in graceful promenade
Like a frisky petal wafting its scents on air
Forever blooming in an inevitable passing of years

Fragrant flowers sways in the most delightful fun
Larks and wrens choir like no more setting of the sun
Their sweetest songs are my crews for my best wishes
Heading all to your way with my warm hugs and kisses

May all your days be filled with vibrant smiles
May you gather all your stars far lesser than miles
May you be filled with God’s love and care throughout the years
As joys and blessings climb down for you from Heaven’s Stairs


10/7/14         8.27pm BKK time


I lovingly dedicate this poem to our very dear poet friend, my loving poet sis and bff,Linda (PD). Today is her birthday,  OCT. 7 . HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Biggest birthday hugs for you!  And also, to all other beloved fellow Librans!  Best wishes! God bless!










Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2014


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Gypsy Guy

Well, Gypsy Guy would rather die than hunker down in chains,

be ridden south with bit in mouth, or heed the hold of reins.



The ruling lot are in a spot, the boss man he complains:

“The gypsies’ soul, I can’t control, my patience wears and wanes;

they will not cede to common greed, which conquers far domains

and furtive spies and news that lies have barely baked their brains.



“But in the court of last resort the final fix remains:

in boxcar bins with violins we’ll freight them out in trains

(should one ask why, a quick reply: ‘It’s that which God ordains!’),

and in the bogs, they’ll die like dogs, and everybody gains.”


Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012


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The Wind Moves

The wind moves It moves in many ways How it moves Like exotic scents of purple lavender wafting 'neath a harvest sun and the rise of sour yeast inside a fresh baked currant bun It moves like a vernal tea-rose pollinated by wild bees in forging threesome or wood-trush wings rustled through leaves in a symphonic rainfall season It moves like the early breath of a newly hatched cygnet It moves mysteriously like a spinning moon orbiting my little world Like descending mist veiling pearled dawn's birth The wind moves It moves in many ways Like a half -bare shoulder slipping through your embrace Like starlit kisses upon the melanchonic lines of your face The wind moves The wind moves in many ways How it moves Just like us Just like me Just like you


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2015


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All On A Summers Eve

The screen door droops lazily, slightly ajar
Crickets croon lullabies, heard from afar
Kid’s sticky faces, betray ice-cream bars
All on a summers eve

Legs peel off chairs, from the sticky, wet heat
Rocking chairs sway, creaking out restless beats
Mosquitoes, they feast upon my grass-stained feet
All on a summers eve

Young lovers strip down, kissing perchance to swim
As jealous moon watches, and sunset grows dim
The sand dunes heat up, begging for skin on skin
All on a summers eve

Bold daisies flirt, nodding their modest heads,
Ivory faced roses blush, burning them red
Tiny seeds toss, and then shoot from their beds
All on a summers eve

Butterflies tease, as they flit-flutter by
Somewhere a windowsill holds fresh baked pie
Magic is born within jars of fireflies
All on a summers eve

Wild, woodland faeries dance in faerie rings
Children will grin, picking flowers to bring, to
Their surprised mothers, whose thankful hearts sing
All on a summers eve

Fishes gaze warily at worm-hooked poles
Marshmallows roast above fiery coals
Keen mother horses watch boisterous foals
All on a summers eve

Impatient winds blow, making love to the trees
Zephyrs entice; then enrage the calm seas
While lilies and hyacinths bewitch the breeze
All on a summers eve

Love will be found, and remembered, and made
Peace is a book, an old tree and its shade
Summer to me, tastes like cold lemonade
All on a summers eve

So, come with ye, summer; be gone snow and sleet!
I long to feel grass on the soles of my feet
And jump in the river as suns rays retreat
All on a summers eve



Shared 2nd place winner in Karen Neary's Summer Enchantment Rhymed 
poetry contest. Thank you!!!


Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2008


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Sunday Morning

Sunday Morning
I try not to wake him, though he stirs slightly
As I crawl out from the warmth of the covers.
I'm tempted to change my mind, and stay awhile longer,
But a glint of sunlight peeks through the blind and calls to me.
If I burrow down again, and drowse too long, 
This glorious time of day will be gone...until it comes again tomorrow.

I tiptoe quietly and begin the morning ritual.
The splashing of water on my face, of letting the dog out,
Of brewing the dark, hot liquid that will help to
Open my eyes and recharge my reluctant brain.

The inviting aroma finally wakes my senses, and after
The first sip, I begin to feel the desire to join the world again.
I go outside, step onto the weathered porch, down the steps,
Onto the wet grass to retrieve today's bundled news.
Within it comes a page-by-page account of disasters, obituaries and comics...
I decide to forego all that gloom, and lay the paper beside the front door.

Instead, I drink in the morning air.
The new day is slowly coming alive.  There's a slight chill.
This coolness will be baked away later, when the sun is high.
I pull my robe around me tightly, and sit down on the stoop.
Birds are chirping, and soon, I see that neighbors are beginning to embrace the 
day.
House by house, there is evidence that awakening has occurred.

A car is cruising by our  house.  The occupants, wearing their
Sunday best, and on their way to an early service to praise the Lord.
While some are sitting in pews, singing Alleluia,
A man down the street is starting his lawnmower.
Not mindful that the Sabbath is a day of rest,
Or that he may wake a late sleeper.

Inside my house, I hear the sounds of water running and dishes rattling.
Then someone calling my name.  In a moment he appears
Carrying two steaming mugs of black coffee, one for him, and another for me.
He's come to see what this new day has offered, and sits down beside me.

We sit together quietly, and soak up the morning sun.
It wraps its warmth around us, like the bedcovers we had abandoned.
No words are needed to enjoy this moment.
However, toast and jam, and bacon await us.  So we turn and go inside.


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2008


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Place In My Heart

The scent of fresh baked cookies filling the air Sounds of Andrea Bocelli ringing in my ear There's a pep in my step and a feeling unfamiliar My heart pounding, craving one night, one taste one look, one touch Words dancing off your pages speaking to my soul entwined in romance etched in my heart tying me in knots My heart has been opened welcoming you in No longer vacant it longs for your warmth your kindness your presence your whole Mind blown. heart owned bringing fantasy into reality walking hand in hand to the beat of the band For tonight in the stars it has been written there is a place for you in my heart


Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2014


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Mallee Rain

A twisting whirly musters
hard baked leaves and bark.
There’s another red sunset,
just before it’s dark.
The wilting wattles weep,
and plea ‘I can’t live on!’
The strong keep fighting drought.
The weak, soon dead and gone.

Wheat fields and their bounty,
wither in the sun to die.
Red dust leaves forever,
adding color to the sky.
A man who’s living heartache,
is this economic pain.
Prays to the Lord and waits…
Then he can smell the rain.

An inch falls in the Mallee;
the Mallee don’t need much
to fill the pans and lowlands,
that yearn to feel the touch.
In the days that follow,
changing is the scene.
An inch here in the Mallee,
and red soil turns to green.

Lightning dances in the sky
to the beat of thunders drum,
heartbreak storm passes on,
the follow up don’t come.
But drifting from the west,
clouds hide the sun away,
land is cast in shadow…
the sky turns steely gray.

And rain falls in the Mallee;
the Mallee don’t need much
to fill the pans and lowlands,
that yearn to feel its touch.
In the days that follow,
changing is the scene.
Rain here in the Mallee,
and red soil turns to green.


Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015


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A Razor's Edge

It is not often realized
that between two opposite things
lies a razor's edge.
It could be love and hate,
faith and unbelief,
or happiness and sadness.
 
I was sick for a long time
thinking of your departure.
Sadness is a disease,
it leaves a bad taste,
a despair for better things.
A fever that burns the soul.
 
Then I decided to take a different path.
I found myself afar from lands forlorn
into a sunlit sacred valley.
I felt irrational happiness,
don't ask me why
it could have been
the sun coming out suddenly
out of dark rain filled clouds.
Or the smell of freshly baked
Italian lasagne my mother had prepared,
to be wolfed up
with a ruby spring scented wine.
 
In the end who cares why?
I am so happy now.

1/3/2018


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2018


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Ghosts of the Sun Dance-Part 2

8. Transformation

Yielding to those who have mastered the art
Of grasping one's place in existence's grand scheme
Life’s constant challenges never depart
But humble diligence will grow the dream

In passing from childhood to adulthood
Innocence to responsibility
Firm new role can be grasped and understood
In life, pain’s inevitability

A mother birthing new life through the pain
Dad slowly works his fingers to the bone
Soldiers trudging all night though frigid rain
Bearing remarkable burdens alone

Accomplishing in life what must be done
In this day’s heat or ere the morning run

9. Volta: Race Day

In the day’s heat or ere the morning run
Resolve has hardened in preparation
For this sacred journey under the sun
Through the land of the Navajo nation

Race morning is upon us, we prepare
Patient dawn waits below sharp horizon
Last meals and supplies, shoes and garb we wear
Gather together, our spirits rising

A convocation and tribal blessing
In the solemn shadows of the mesas
Final rituals, tying and dressing
Spirit warriors in garb of racers

The starter’s gun sends our bodies lurching
Footfalls queuing the inward eye’s searching

10. Inward Journey Begins

Footfalls queuing the inward eye’s searching
A harmonious quest will not fail
Meeting the spirit hawk inside perching
Melding feet to the undulating trail

Smooth hand circles driving arms swinging free,
Shoulders relaxed, rotate forward and back,
Trace three-dimensional infinity.
Every sinew not involved, loose and slack.

Countertwist rotation, thrust straight behind 
Muscle springs compress, explode, power grows
Whipcrack diamondback wriggles down my spine
Through my circling legs, last snap through the toes.

With focus on moment in longest run 
Our life’s greatest challenges can be won

11. Meditation

Our life’s greatest challenges will be won
With the spirit and not by the sinews
At times next to you the Dance’s ghosts run
Other times they can be found within you

Smooth, rolling strides become my rhythm and rhymes
Subtly pick open my heart and mind’s locks
At peace, I'm inured to passage of time 
A slack-jawed Buddha floats between the rocks

Sun-baked vermillion cliff, eternity 
Spirit of the wild, you are the portal 
Stretching out to you, encompassing me 
Melt, intertwine, these moments immortal 

Fallen angels, my soul is expurging
When the body, mind, and soul are merging

12. Crucible

When the body, mind, and soul are merging 
Million drops of agony are the test
Pail overflows, vitality purging
Time spans both horizons, forgotten rest

Flesh hooks of my own Sun Dance dig deeper
Through muscle and bone, draining resistance
Standing face to face with soul’s gatekeeper
Grasping the barest threads of existence

Inside, my withering heart starts to burn
Black crucible over the white-hot flame
Ethereal hands grant me their return
By my side, shadows dance, whisper my name

Body aflame, yet not longer burning
Through sacred quests, our spirits returning

13. Resolution

Through sacred quests, our spirits returning
Wan smile as I reach the final milestone
The line is crossed, strangely without yearning
From the summit, we always return home

The Spirits have won, silently rejoice
Spasming leg muscles announce their first clue
Weary soul may have found its deepest voice
But penitent’s flesh will yet have its due

Dusty column of exhausted racers
Shuffling past hallowed final marker
Sun Dancers’ ghosts fade into the mesas
To echoed drumbeats our spirits harken

Our guides to the Spirit World returning
This modern Sun Dance, an ancient yearning

14. Aftermath

This modern Sun Dance, an ancient yearning
With Spirits’ help, my soul has passed this test
Feet caressed the trail while muscles burning
My abiding need, this challenging quest

This long day ends without ceremony
Racers festooned in laurels internal
The trail run’s own spirituality
Modern Sun Dancers’ reward eternal

While the roads to the summit are many
One means up the mountain for those who seek
Life’s spiritual rigors aplenty
A runner’s path may also find the peak

Deep within us, we need this victory
A quest dating back through our history

15. Ghosts of the Sun Dance

A quest dating back through our history
Transcendence, to shed our skin and transform
Beyond mundane, to sacred mystery
Through painful trials, seeker’s soul is reborn

Our modern world lacks initiations
With substance to satisfy questing hearts
Life’s road of genuine tribulations
Yielding to those who have mastered the art

In this day’s heat or ere the morning run
Footfalls queuing the inward eye’s searching
Our life’s greatest challenges can be won
When the body, mind, and soul are merging

Through sacred quests, our spirits returning
This modern Sun Dance, an ancient yearning

5/19/16
Copyright by Author
For contest: Heroic Crown of Sonnets
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Syllables confirmed by howmanysyllables.com


Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016


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Half Baked Sinner

(my lyrics for a country song, but with no music yet.)

Well, my momma -bless her soul - she brought me up good.
She taught me all she knew and she taught me what she should,
She took me to a church and she made me knock on wood.
Still, Honey, I’m a half-baked sinner.

‘Cause I’m sittin’ here and thinkin’ that you’re look’in mighty fine.
You set my heart to pound’in and I’d like to make you mine.
But I’m such a careful gal though I walk a thin line,
Yeah,  Honey, I’m a half-baked sinner.

 Chorus:
Oh, a half-baked sinner; that’s all I am.
Stuck here in the middle of “Nowhere Land.”
A half-baked sinner, I’m God’s little joke,
but I still have my spirit ‘cause I’m only half-broke!

Well, I’m contemplatin’ things with you I’m not supposed to do.
If I’m halfway to Hell, they’ll put me all the way through!
But I’m only HALF-stupid - unlucky for you!
Yes, Honey, I’m a half-baked sinner.

Yes, I know you’ve got your pride,  but listen,  so do I.
I might not tell the truth, but I sure don’t tell no lie!
And I never will give in, for if you ask me why,
It’s because I’m just a half-baked sinner.

Repeat Chorus:
Oh, a half-baked sinner; that’s all I am.
Stuck here in the middle of “Nowhere Land.”
A half-baked sinner, I’m God’s little joke
but I still have my spirit ‘cause I’m only half-broke!




Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011


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A country walk

A babbling stream, a peaceful lane
These are the things that I enjoy
As I walk on a summers day
With a warm gentle breeze upon my face

A cottage in a field, with swirling smoke
A family sitting round ready to eat
Rich chicken soup and freshly baked bread
Then five little children all snug in their bed

A flitting bird upon the nest
Protecting her brood from unknown harm
A cow chewing cud all gentle and calm
Then sheep and one dog in one accord

Oh what a beautiful land we have
If we would take the time to see
Instead of rushing through the day
Let’s sit for a while and take it all in



Copyright © julie clark | Year Posted 2014


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THERE IS A PLACE CALLED BEAUTIFUL

There is a place called beautiful nestled deep in my mind's eye
Gingham curtains crisply pressed frame periwinkle summer sky
Brass kettle on the old gas stove reflects cast iron pans
And always at the kitchen sink, I see busy, wrinkled hands.

There is a place called beautiful, I'm transported with a whiff
Of coffee brewing, dark and strong, I long to take a sip.
And in the air a trace of Tollhouse cookies baked this morn
And some perfume that only in this special spot is worn.

There is a place called beautiful I hear in perfect dreams
As Frankie croons and Louis wails all whilst the kettle steams
And as she works, she never tires as she hums and sings along
But the harmony of her lilting laugh is by far my favorite song.

There is a place called beautiful, it tastes like sweetest creams
Made in a bucket with a crank til her arms wore out, it seems
And topped with juicy berries that would burst upon each bite
And juices stained my mouth and clothes most every summer night.

There is a place called beautiful, I long to feel again
The naive sense that everywhere was as safe and free of sin
Where love and peace were daily served with a kiss upon the cheek
And grandma's kitchen always felt like you just found what you seek.


Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2016


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Heavenly Meat Pies

Heavenly Meat Pies
Nostalgic memories - An awesome aroma And an unforgettable flavor of Freshly-baked, hot-out-of-the-oven, Magnificent, “melt-in-your-mouth,” Homemade mini meat pies.
Flaky, golden brown pastry crusts, Filled with lots of love and stuffed with Savory bite-size bits of tender beef, Cubed potatoes, green peas, bell peppers, Pungent garlic, garden carrots, celery, cilantro, Madras Curry and other fragrant aromatic spices.
Popping one delectable meat pie into my mouth, I tucked away another in my pocket for later. Every magical mouth-watering morsel, A taste of heavenly culinary delight… In my great-grand auntie’s rustic kitchen.
10-10-2014 Contest: Plenitude of Pies Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper Placement: 10th


Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014


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No Roundabout- Its A Straight Road

Love is ultimate, but with you it was fatal. I had lots of laughter not until I said “I love you too!”. Number two was my certified location b’cos I’ve always reverenced you so high at the topmost of priorities. Your gladness was much more than my enjoyment, it germinated into compulsory duties I had to perform. My pride became your belt and my shame, your underpants. The definition of me translated to the adoration of you. I worry to give us a balance but you hurry to topple the equilibrium. My life, a spreadsheet of your errands, subjecting my feelings into a standby to suit your taste and exhausting comfort. But one day! The slightest of contact with an acid will change the litmus colour and a continuous debt by a tenant will abruptly render him homeless. Your oil is used up, the engine is knocked and the lamp has gone dark. A heart so tender, you deserve not. Arms once warm have been frozen to rigor motes. My back is turned towards you and that beauty, you’ll never see again. Go and taste the seedlings of the city’s daughters and the well sauced soups of its young maidens. I’m no longer yours even if nature advocates for mercy. Consider my sweetness and calm now as stones mixed in dough, baked and served with vinegar. You proclaim “I’m now a completely changed man”, I believe you, but for the next girl. Know this Mr. Irresistible guy, even if you’re the last birth of all men I’ll never again present my affections for your selfish trade. Goodbye my past lover, I sincerely wish you well.


Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015


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Middle School Nicknames Part 2

And yet, you are the charming one, with charisma bursting at the seams of your creme grey sweatshirt.. and the tender strands of your ash blonde hair...
And your gaping eyes of blue, 
that take me into an undertow of enigma
and daydreams. In which I can never escape- from those tides of blue that pour from the irises of your eyes.

You, I call “Brownie.” not only because of your soft brown hair, 
that reminds me of softened chocolate chips baked into the heart shaped cookies I gave you. But to emphasize your sweetness-
 that comes from your tone; 
Your soft syllables they make me melt… melt slowly like a marshmallow caressed by embers of a smoldering campfire.

There is much we give, to one another- I give you my eyes, the sea green swirls 
that make you step lightly into bliss- even though you trip over your own feet.. when preening yourself as I walk by.

And you…
You give me your deep blue eyes, and your long, slow motion winks; 
you share with me the palms of your hands- so soft.. when you touch me.. or stroke the back of my neck, accidentally.

For you are the portrait of Soothing.
and I am your Admirer..
As am I your gallery- and the one painting of gentle colors that you brush with your palms..

The painting:

the dark blue of wildflowers etched- compared to 
my polka dotted dress, that I curtsy in.

The ivory clouds, alike the lace of my tank top...
when you gaze at me, and all the heat flushes back into me.. 
that melts the tips of my fingers… and awakens the seed of  romanticism inside of me.

This Silly little Attraction, where our friends nudge us to touch,
to bare fruit upon the Acacia Tree in our minds… that maybe…

Just maybe we should date, and 
that “Mad Dog,” and “Brownie,” 
should once and for all, share each other's sweet offerings,
Of blissful love.


Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2017


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Who Am I

Born in the mountains in the Cumberland Gap
But raised a bit deeper in the red-mud South.
I came into the world with a layer of insecurity
Masked with a thin cover of masculinity.
Sun-baked and hardened like a piece of tar-heel pottery
I’m smooth to the touch, and easily shattered if dropped.
My imperfections are hidden under the shiny glaze of
Southern hospitality and well-cultivated manners--
I survive, day-to-day in a white collar world
Callused hands are hidden by the perfect double Windsor.
My mother named James but called me Jaime 
After the bruised little boy from the trailer next door.
And now, in a starched shirt and shiny leather shoes
I see my reflection in the window
But the face looking back is still dirty.


Copyright © James Andersen | Year Posted 2016


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The Gingerbread Family's Ordeal

I received a beautiful Christmas gift the other day,
it was so quaint and pretty but ate it anyway,
was a gingerbread house with a gingerbread family,
consumed the whole house while the family looked away,

Then they looked up at me with sorrowful icing eyes,
I felt so bad they're now being homeless I started to cry,
so I ended up buying a gingerbread log cabin kit,
made it last night so they wouldn't retaliate and have a fit,

Now Mom, Pop son and daughter are in their new home,
I didn't want them homeless on the street's all alone,
I even baked and gave them a gingerbread dog,
but the temptation was too great and started eating the logs,

Now once again because of me they are homeless,
my gingerbread appetite like an overwhelming furnace,
so I'm asking somebody to please take them all in,
or they too might disappear along with their next of kin.




12-14-16


Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2016