Best Bun Poems
I was damaged with a heart like ice.
You entered my life and in a trice
had melted my frozen layers
one by one. I've become
hot as a furnace next
your skin, my soul
twin. Let's begin
to live as one,
my dearest
honey
bun.
white milky moon bloom
dazzles eyes of peace questers
oozes odium
August 23, 2020
Note:Haiku - Color With Alliteration Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchen.
How I love my honey bun,
soft and buttery,
warm and swirled with cinnamon,
frosted heavily.
Glaze that stays right on my plate -
watch me drizzle it
over all my sweet dessert –
every little bit!
You can bake one up for me.
You could make a ton!
Then I’d call you happily
my sweet honey bun.
April 14, 2020
for Caren Krutsinger's Write A Rhyming Poem For Fun Poetry Contest
There was once a man from Thomaston
He called his wife honey bun
His knee joint went out
In pain he did shout
Viagra's no longer number one
My son is growing a man bun.
I don’t know how big it’ll be when he’s done.
He’s only sixteen you know and at his age it’s fun.
So I’ll just watch but if it gets too big, I’ll have to run.
My son is growing a man bun.
I don’t know how big it’ll be when he’s done.
He’s only sixteen you know and at his age it’s fun.
So I’ll just watch, but if it gets too big, I’ll have to run.
I told him to grow a man beard, a big bushy one, like mine.
But, he tells me that’s not for him as he’ll look like a bum.
What! Is he saying his dad is a bum and dumb?
Well, he’s a kid; he’ll be different when he grows into a man!
Just the sight of you,
Out of the corner of my eye,
Makes my mouth unbelievably watery.
The way you look back at me,
as a gaze at you,
gives me unbelievable chills.
Chills that provide my imagination with all types of thrills.
Thrills Just awaiting me, awaiting the passionate love we share
With just that simple kiss, touch, and a smile
that once one takes that transpiring bite.
Under the dim light, I can see the faint outline of every curve,
That sweetly outlines your shape that continually keep my eyes in awe so that
I can’t draw my eyes from your Light brown complexion.
Then slowly you persuade me to help you,
Help you take off your sheer layering slowly and carefully.
As I assist in the games that, this beauty has possessed me to play,
I begin to become consumed with the most pleasant and mind easing scent,
The scent of sweet glaze and butter and light cinnamon that drives me wild,
However I regain control and realize the work at hand,
Finally once I have you naked and revealed to my eyes,
I begin to take you into my mouth and take in that wonderful,
Mind blowing sweetness that takes me under every single time
I get the opportunity to place you in my mouth.
And I will wait till next time, until I see you out the corner of my eye,
And invite me to come take all of you into my sense to enjoy that sweetness,
That you always have to offer me and that only you can provide
That I always desire to have.
Oh how I love my honey bun.
It was the night before Christmas, and I couldn't sleep,
I got out of bed without so much as a peep.
And headed to the kitchen for something to eat,
buck naked, except for the slippers on my feet.
I didn't dare turn on the nightlight and wake my wife,
for the last time I did that, she threatened my life.
The house was dead quiet; I could not hear a sound
as I ventured downstairs, feeling my way around.
I got to the living room, stumbling a few times,
then I heard music that sounded like Christmas chimes.
So, I went to the window and pulled back the drapes,
thinking the neighbors were playing some Christmas tapes.
I forgot I was as naked as a jaybird;
till I heard the loudest scream I had ever heard.
The church quire was midnight-caroling on my lawn,
and in plain view, I stood bare-assed, not a stitch on.
Judging by the faces I saw scrambling to leave,
I don't think they'll ever forget this Christmas Eve.
It was never my intent to flash anyone,
I simply wanted a ham and cheese on a bun.
I saw it, I touched it, I bought it
It looked like it, smelled like it, felt like it
But ooh! when I tasted it,
Something was missing.
Was it spice? Was it sugar?
Aahh, I got it!
The molasses, where was the molasses?
I think it's for the next batch.
*
(Inspired while driving from Placencia to Belize, from Margery's 70th bash at
Robert's Grove.)
(c) 9/28/15, Poem done by: Iris, Ellie, Sylvia and her sister
Hot Cross Bun
(Now figure out that title)
In poetry will we finally reach a phase
When all of our poems truly amaze
Ourselves and others reading them
In front of fireplace when light is dim.
An old Abe sure you don't happen to be
Back in those days it was hard to see
Things as silence of night was there
So they lit a long candle with care.
As for me I prefer an electric light
And write poems as hard as I might
After in my mind a picture they drew
When I awoke each one came through.
Could be barely in morning or late at night
And any temptation off I refused to fight
Regardless of way my mind might be going
Poems popped out and are all freely flowing.
Some poets say that my poems are repugnant
Due to being weird and rather redundant
I myself find favor with each and everyone
And read them while eating a hot cross bun.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
PS. They don't have a category for sick yet.
HASTY
MATEY
BABY
MAYBE
RAZOR
LABOR
DIMPLY
DOLLY
YOUNG POPS
TONGUE FLOPS
When I have a hamburger on a bun
The toppings for me are different
Forget the lettuce and tomato
That is not my choice
Instead my bun is decorated in my own way
First comes the bun, then the burger
Along with two slabs of cheddar cheese
This is my favourite way to start
It's not always number one with me
Sometimes I will have relish
Makes the burger taste great
They are a good combo together
My taste buds hve now discovered
Another topping I enjoy
It is wine sauerkraut
Second choice to the cheese
I enjoy all of these condiments
Upon my burgerit is a treat
Dressed in several different ways
Oh boy! What a delight
Ok honey bun my shining sun among the loving blaze of fire you run.
Tuns of blazed loving power, in a shining sun.
On a blazing sun of love you run until your time to
sleep.
leap honey bun, leap honey bun, leap to sleep.
Ok honey bun my looming moon,sweep your feet like a broom,
off the sun on the moon,to enjoy a rest in looms cradle .
Ok honey bun my shining sun tomorrow on the sun ill see you run,on flames of loving fire
ill see you run.
sweet,sweet,sweet honey bun never melting on my loving sun.
The bar was dark [bars always are] wouldn’t want to see,
he asked me what I’d drink, I answered back,“Who me?”
Since I didn't have much cash to exchange and less capacity,
I told him I’d have a beer, and "Thanks," but have one with me.
My heart was mush but, hey what’s new [I told him on beer two.]
He said, “Hey sweetie, wha's new? All men want to do is sc*ew..”
Tears ran down my face [as tears will do] as I told him, I had no clue.
Of all the broken hearts he’s seen, he said, mine was the most askew!
“Gave that man everything [I had!] washed his floors and walls.
Painted his G*d damned garage trim, pruned his trees of galls."
Ole Mick he cocked his head and sighed, his expression pitiful.
He said “I’ve been there with ya doll. But, enough of this caterwaul!”
“A mans only concrete attribute on which you may rely,
is the stick between his own two legs, as over you he lies.
If he gives you that my darling doll he’s done..and you can cry
for a man’s, but a man for all of that, and you’re but a bit of pie.
Contest: Confessions to a Bartender
He just wants a son
Tummy rising like a bun…
It can’t be undone
There are no clouds in the night sky.
The flute harmonizes with the zither only for a string to break.
A red bean bun and wine.
Slowly munching on the red bean bun, memories are revisited.
In a dazed mind -
People singing, laughing, dancing and celebrating,
but the person is alone.
A thick sweetness resides, where sour pangs make their way through one's heart.
There are no stars in the night sky.
A sword pierces through the heavens,
Towards extreme tribulation, yet the sky is still so clear.
The earth is grey.
The breeze brings with it the air of reminiscence.
A bright moon twinkles conspicuously in the night...
- Thinking of home