Best Baked In Poems
When looking for a quack with spiked rates
Some try the Windowed Office of Bill Gates
Coz right on the spot
He’ll give you a shot
But be prepared to accept his dictates
His business, Microshot, you may know
Needled itself ahead of every foe
With billions of bucks
To create deluxe
Vaccine versions 2, 3, and 4.0
Yet there are many who’ve come to razz him
And treat him with deserved sarcasm
Like those who’ve found
Themselves wheelchair bound
Though Gates claims it’s just a back spasm
Now Gates wants to vaccinate the planet
With help in tow this is how they’ll plan it
By changing genes
With secret means
Which to me sounds more or less satanic
Yet there are those who want to be first in line
To get their shot with a chaser of wine
Well here’s to their health
Or rather Gates’s wealth
Which must be baked in his evil design
But when at Bill’s door you hear the death knell
That is your vaccination alarm bell
For more than malware
Coz once in his lair
You’ll know why they call his shop ‘Gates of Hell’
Hidden past the highway bend,
a bench clings to a shallow cliff
above a beach where banks extend
across the bay in sandy drifts.
When tides are low, the sea withdraws,
to flaunt the treasured ocean floor,
and anyone can walk across
the sand to reach the other shore.
With green paint peeling like old flesh,
the bench is baked in salt and sun.
Remember when the paint was fresh,
and in your arms I came undone?
From here, we watch the water snag
in grooves of sand like buried mirrors.
The sky is pink as sunlight fades.
Come close, my love, I need you nearer.
*This poem is based on the green bench (yes, it really exists!) at Sand Dollar Beach, located in the Rose Bay area of Nova Scotia, Canada
Rancid lemon rope squeeze
around a rotten tomato neck tie,
crooked odor bow hanging out of place
Acid reflux raisin tax bleed;
dripping spoiled, milquetoast lies
out a sour-twisted, prune puckered face
Tart tongue
sulfur speak disorderly,
dirty saliva fingers in the propaganda pie
Such a bowel movement disgrace
Bottom rung
bung opening vault key
Onion groans ... chittering fermented cry
Boot-licking patent leather taste
Smells like government to me,
corrupt as can be
Dung pile of voter promises,
sits atop a pungent idol landfill heap,
swarming with stinking lip flies
Smells just like reeking government gluttony —
O beast behavior ...
swine odor, foul as can be
Swindle spit vapors perfidiously wafting,
kindle the vomit pit
Sewage waste material ash labors fanning,
can you stand the stench of it?
Smells like dead paper figurehead
government to me
Bait-and-switch fishy business ...
close your eyes,
what does your nose see?
Tainted meat polltry speech,
pluck the purse feathers
off the cable perched pigeon bodies
Smells like government
is about to make a putrid, baked-in story
Made up facts ... maggot video feed
Stale, bureaucratic policy hard rolls
warmed over twice
Buttered late with expired date lies
Served with a cloying cup
of steaming sound-byte coffee:
Substitute truth ... false sugary
Toilet swirl coffin cake,
gutter floss the oral cavity
Bad breath vows made,
garbage hope nobody needs
Government smells
like a morgue dog in heat
Very omit cadaver, obit disgusting
Smells like
a pot of burning bones
on a boil
Bottom lip scum
rising to the top
On a truthful breath: Let me tell you,
it stinks an awful lot
Smells like scurvy government to me,
corrupt as base bribery can be
The lobbyist rats are scarfing down
the moldy green government cheese,
so silver spoon tongue greedily
Nothing like some regurgitated split-pea pleas
to hit the decaying belly ballot gastric spot
Can you make a federal case
of this rank-and-foul flatulent republic rot?
I slept beneath bridges, I ate from the trash
I begged outside diners at night and in day
No home to go to, no belongings, no cash
And picked up the leavings that folk threw away
I baked in the heat, I froze in the cold
I weathered long winters and welcomed the spring
Wanting some comfort before I got old
Wanting some care so much more than some thing
Then one day while I lay outside a pub
The swells of the smells coming out strong
In want of a drink or a morsel of grub
Through swinging doors a man came along
My muzzle nuzzled the man and his bag
He ruffled my fur, my tail gave its first wag
Obsession?
Reflection,
Study the image in the pool.
Lotus flower blooming
Wind tearing beauty away,
Petals floating like wishes in the air.
They catch upon the moon,
Two pink petals,
The forming of satin lips.
~
Protection?
Obsession,
Study the cold beauty in the sky.
Indian maize growing,
Breeze blowing away their husk,
Shimmering corn-strands drifting like ribbons of luck.
It catches upon the moon,
Red and gold silk,
The growing of soft hair.
~
Obsession?
Dedication,
Study the light within the dark.
Astral light glimmers,
Withheld from elemental damage,
The hope of lovers sparkling like pure diamonds.
Caught upon the face of the moon,
Brilliant blue-green gems,
Open wide to see the world with shinning eyes.
~
Infatuation?
Obsession,
Study pure the moon the image of ones heart.
Clay caked hands,
Groping, folding, molding,
Eager to please, to form the body.
Caught upon the face of the moon,
Baked in heat-less light,
Entering the body of a created maiden.
No longer clay,
white skin, pure as the moon,
who dispersed from the sky.
Mama and Granny
Herded children through the kitchen
Out the screen door, to the yard
Where we wouldn’t be underfoot
Cousins all brown from summer
Sun baking soft skin and erasing
The loneliness of winter from
Hillbilly faces – cotton topped
Tresses white since birth, curled
Mama and Granny
Yelling loudly from the kitchen
“it’s time to eat – come get it”
Little bellies churned eagerly
Fried chicken – a leg I chose
Mashed taters and gravy
Biscuits from soft, white dough
Baked in a wood cookstove
Mama and Granny
Piled plates full of food
For hungry eyes who dove in
Before grace could be voiced
After pie and cake and everything
We could partake of – Sunday dinner
Washed down with sweet tea
And a bottle of love, homegrown
Happy and hopeful - we had no fears
Mama and Granny
Murmured quietly, taking turns
Rubbing plates and pots and pans
With the Joy that was Granny’s detergent
After dinner, we played – screaming
With pleasure that comes from
Sharing hearts and lives
With the ones you call family
The gifts from God’s loving nature
The Pensive Poet Contest sponsor Constance LaFrance written 8/4/26
Turquoise thoughts form
like peach perspiration
Sliding down my feverish face
Baked in a steamy shower of brain fog
Ideas fall in incomplete patterns
Like a red runaway train going no where
I get a little inspiration from fellow poet
Whose words flow fuchsia free with melodic ease
I bake and contemplate black cauldron
As my food of thought bank
Whimsical words are my magic wand
Which I use as a spoon to stir
My muse consuming cranberry daiquiri
Is wasted and no longer helping me
The night is cloaked with onyx vail
Saved by polka dots of silver stars
I reach for them in denim desperation
For what is a poet without a poem
If my wish is granted I too will write
Like the greatest poet upon the clouds
My teal torture will melt into a sea of creativity
Amethyst ideas like a new white wind
Washing away the lost thoughts
Starting a new purple poetic journey
There is a new focus on my path
I’m not the best or the worst but
I can love my heart song and tap into
The melody unique to my sandy soul
I can gather my emotions like a potion
Stirring you and me like a maroon melody
Not all who read will be moved
But for the fantastic few who
Visit me on writer’s block we shall persevere
And in due time writing sublimely
Guiding the runaway train to new destinations
GRANDMA'S APRON
Grandma's apron dabbed my tears and wiped the baby dry.
Carried wood and eggs and fruit when she would work outside.
We'd run and hide behind it when scared or needed warmed.
It smelled just like the bread and pies she baked in early morn.
She waved good-bye and cooled the food her apron like a flag.
It was really torn and tattered. Was a cradle for my dad.
It's uses were so many. Just like another hand.
But now it hangs just resting beside her frying pan......
By :MAFLongfellow
Turnip Pie, why did I purchase you and try to lie?
Never once have you said "Goodbye", now you sit here in this pan to cry.
I ate you once, but not again, now I sit here to scribe 'bout you with this pen,
Turnips I won't try to defend, I like you sauteed with meat at the end,
But baked in a pie I scream "Why even try?" this is something I would never ever again buy,
I've smothered in cream sprinkled with cinnamon, quite a dream, but turnips I say should not be anywhere near me!
Silently bathed in avocado,
you soaked in the fragrance of a blanket
At midday, crunched your teeth
into something sweet and yellow,
no flower still no pretty petal;
I’ll make our evening coffee, I’ll make amoretto.
Why is it you liked amaretto
so much? As if the melted avocados
weren’t enough, to stare at petals
in the dark, stained blanket
etherized beneath a star shine yellow
Stare, as I stare at the white crevice: your teeth
that are your smile, your teeth
that become stained with the last sip of amaretto,
stained with our silence and the color yellow.
Like the silver knife who’s blade slips through the avocado,
and I wish for more minutes in a day to sit on this blanket
And more staples in this life to puncture the heart of a petal
Its mushy translucence conveys innocence, oh petal!
How I’d much like to forget and sink, or clap, my teeth
in rage but here upon this blanket
exists no rage. Here is where we sip our amaretto
And can think of nothing but the next bite of avocado
When, failing words, failing thought, a yellow
taxicab honks distantly, barely distinguishable from the yellow
buzzing bee in my hair. Swiftly landing on a nearby petal
whose delicate arms, the juice of the avocado
gently outpours from gaps between our teeth,
lover. Lover of the sky, lover of chocolate, and amaretto.
Lover asleep on cushioned soul of the yellow blanket
baked in brilliance from the sun, yellow blanket
under our footsteps, under our yellow
bodies painted in the sensuous scents of amaretto
with gum like innocence floating over any petal.
Don’t get me started that I need to brush my teeth
When yours are green with Avocado
and leaf, like the print on the blanket, yellow like yonder petal
whose strong scent reaches the taste of my teeth, stained coffee yellow
from the over-indulgence, avocado, amaretto.
SONG OF ANALOG MAN
Don't blog.
Sing in analog.
Log-off in space.
Wasted time!
In machine rhyme.
Holding data in your face.
Past, heart shaped locket.
Present, gear and shinny sprocket.
Pendulum stops in place.
Time machine,speaks tick-tock.
Strings and loops, in quantum flick-flock.
Trying to save the human race.
What's the pattern,
what's the fear?
To everything that
we hold dear.
Endless stream of
one and zip.
Baked in a Pi
of Delta whip.
Here today and gone tomorrow.
Cry into your programed sorrow.
You are not, Computer Ace.
Find the F key, find the trouble.
Hit a key, and now it's double.
All else fails, report your case.
Don't throw ExBasic fits here!
Count the gigs to megabits dear.
Do your Loop in nested trace.
Forgot to multiply
the chain.
Did this really cook
your brain?
The functions solved for X and Y,
thrown a curve you won't embrace.
What's the pattern,
what's the fear?
To everything that
we hold dear.
Endless stream
of one and zip.
Baked in a Pi
of Delta whip.
A swirl of chips and funny numbers.
Formulas, our life encumbers.
Are we truly lost in place?
Can we backtrack and count our fingers?
Toes and noes, the feeling lingers.
Of pendulums, and golden lockets,
and crystals used for mama's vase.
He wants a song, to strum guitar strings.
Don't complicate, the how to live things.
Digital, can we erase?
Analog he really savors.
No prologue to quantum favors.
Do away and please efface!
What's the pattern,
what's the fear?
To everything that
we hold dear.
Endless stream
of one and zip.
Baked in a Pi
of Delta whip.
By Edlynn Nau
I've got a dish of killifish
I wish to eat that silly fish
Baked, or fried in peanut oil
Roasted, dried, or let to boil.
Make me a star-gazy pie
Take me to the Catfish Fry
Lead me to the China Sea
Feed me hermit crabs and brie.
Help me out with rainbow trout
Salt and thyme and wedge of lime
Filet of sole, or snapper red,
Served up whole, or just the head.
Meals of eels caught on reels
You're the star with caviar
Butter clams served with yams
Can't say no to salmon roe.
Tuna eyes baked in pies
Oh so daring pickled herring
In the lurch for snails and perch
Ring the bells for cockle shells.
Canned sardines on toast with greens
Sturgeon, sprat, and stuff like that
Grouper, pike, that's what I like
Smelt and bream that make me dream.
Cajun shrimp for my new pimp
Lutefisk and lobster bisque
Flying squid and yellowfin
Silver carp and capelin.
Give to me a plate of oyster
Eat them raw, that way they're moister
Tilapia and tiger prawn
Eat them 'til my hunger's gone.
Hake or krill would be a thrill
Bass and shad will make me glad
Tasty crappie makes happy
Give a nod to Greenland cod
Oo! I'd like a northern pike
Barramundi served on Sunday
Grouper, alligator gar,
Halibut or no cigar.
Amberjack atop hardtack
Pan-fried kipper for the skipper
Mackerel, tasty as hell,
Lox and mullet down the gullet.
Kokanee or marlin blue
Arowana, bowfin too
Bring to me your soups and stews
Sing for me the dogfish blues.
As an era of rage and power surged forth;
there were Nam warriors crossing the line...
did they have fate, did they have a choice
but crown a homeland's need for supreme win?
Dressed in fatigues, soldiers baked in hot sun
booby traps and minefields nailed on minds,
as wet noon blazed around their acidic voices,
morphine and death kicking dim walls of night.
From 1965- to 75, this lost war ended...
the comedy of politics gone wrong,
although a homecoming of men’s brigade
lost a victory... screams of peace reigned.
Promote peace not war
Sponsor: Silent One
10/27/2015
Two chubby pigeons sitting on a wall
One called Peter one called Paul
Reach for the rifle before they fly
Two juicy birds baked in a pie
I am only a kid
But I ask where is the bust
For the man who created the pizza crust.
I must admit this is one terrific meal.
All made out of wheat,
Baked in to a thick or thin crust,
With tomato sauce red,
White Gooey cheese,
Vegetables, and of course meats.
This is one food that can be eaten hot or cold
So I have been told.
Boy, am I glad that pizza's are sold.
Go ahead smell.
Isn"t that swell?
It goes through my nose in to my head.
Now lifting the box lid.
We will see what kind of surprise was hid
Inside this box. So all over the world I can tell
To pizza men every where sell! Sell!