Best Kneaded Poems
I had an IPod problem!
I fixed it, this is how!
I named the thing "Titanic",
by God, it's "syncing" now!
I was wondering where the sun goes?
I stayed up all night to see!
Sure enough, next morning,
it finally "dawned" on me!
I'm an avid reader.
I read anything around.
I read an "anti-gravity" book,
and I couldn't put it "down"!
I know some real bad food jokes,
but let me tell you first!
The one about German sausage,
brother, that's the "wurst"!
There are several types of illness,
that leave you sore and weak!
But, when your bladder is infected,
"urine" trouble, so to speak!
I was sorta down and out!
Times were hard, you know?
So, I got a job in a bakery,
because I "kneaded" dough!
NOTE; I apologize if you wasted your
time reading this! I need to get
a life! Sorry folks.
I’ve watched him whither. He came to me a decade ago, stooped in pain. The fine-boned features of his face and the clarity of his Irish skin still holding on to a genetic predisposition to beauty. He was a small man, but in height only, the oceans filled his heart. For a decade, I held him upright. With the help of God, his shoulders, upon which Atlas stood, released their burden, pulled back from their curl about his core. Touch was a healing balm from the helter-skelter of his life. As my fingertips and palms, the heel of my hand explored his dis-ease; he thawed, not like a snowflake but a glacier. Decades of stuffed down regret, and remorse cajoled to release with no expected outcome but rest.
the clutter
of his life surrounds –
snow falls
Parts once strong: pride that flew, legs that skied, eyes that could take the measure of a man; now, rest every afternoon. There is no need now to mark the time. Still, he wears a watch, a Christmas gift from his love. The office lays footsteps from his backdoor. He feels they still need him.
his sailboat
sits wrapped in canvass –
winter wind’s blow
Liquid Imagination August 2014
On the Potter's wheel
I am clay -
sticky, messy red clay,
being kneaded like bread,
'till pliable.
In firm but gentle hands
the Potter molds and shapes me into
a vessel of honor,
a vessel worthy of a King.
God is not finished with me yet.
A diamond in the rough am I,
A chunk of rock.
But, as the Master Jeweler
chip, chip, chips away my impurities,
bit by bit,
I begin to sparkle, I begin to shine,
'till that final day when I'll be transformed
into a pure exquisite diamond.
A diamond fit for a King.
God is not finished with me yet.
My life is an unfinished tapestry.
Day by day my Creator
carefully, deliberately
weaves a thread here,
snips a thread there.
When my life comes to an end,
the tapestry will be complete.
I will be perfected.
Until then,
God is not finished with me yet.
9/23/12
I remember Grandma's kitchen
When I was a newlywed.
To learn to cook was important
But not as important as what was said.
As she kneaded bread on the counter,
Teaching me how to cook,
I learned so many important things
That didn't come from a book.
Side by side we would stand
Kneading bread as we chatted on.
We talked of life and love
And how sometimes things went wrong.
I was blessed to have a Grandma
Who was always there for me.
I still get teary-eyed
When in my memory I see
The two of us, side by side
In a kitchen, so very small,
Whether baking pies or kneading bread
Or not even cooking at all.
“WE AIN’T FORGOTTEN…”
You cried a smile
shadowing anger
beneath a canopy
of love
Your necks filled nooses
tied with Christian knots
that never failed
Your wombs challenged
the holding holes
of sanctified graveyards
You kneaded gospels
from the dough of pain
and fed starving souls:
You moaned songs
with groans echoing
echoes from the depths
of suffering spirits—
Suffering spirits
whose fortified bent backs
gave rise to a flourishing nation
The fruits of your labors
have now ripened:
dropping pregnant seeds
germinating liberty
upon justice…?
today
the rain fell
steadily;
her tears
reminiscent
of waters
drowning justice
struggling
to survive
tidal waves
of deception—
seeking to douse
the flame of hope
held high
in hand—
an elusive lady
struggling
to stand
her anchored
mooring
Amassed bulging clouds
Dashing enmity fusion,
generously hovering
In jellylike kneaded layaway
Mysterious noir over
Prairies quietly resting
Suddenly trapped under
Vicious wind’s X rated
Yelling zeal.
CarolineCecile - 10.15.12
Around the corner and half a block away, the flavor would grab me, tie me up to some irresistible force, then drag my nose to the source of its home. The aroma that wafted in the air and up my whiffer was sweet and warm - rich with orchards of deliciousness and cascading with the buttery peachy-ness of what was to come. It knocked all other thoughts out of my realm and led me down a path of complete submission - surrendering like the energy of cold water on a hot skillet. With each step bringing me closer, my musing would swirl with the anticipation of that first ultra-luscious, gratifying juicy bite - the one that ever so longingly and lovingly would delightfully roll around on every palate of my watering mouth and lingering tongue only to succumb to gulping down the first chunk.
From the flour and water and salt
Her timeworn hands kneaded magic
A mystical mixture of love and fruit to concoct-
A pinch of this and that, nothing formally systematic.
This masterpiece was an untold legend that "rocked"
The socks off anyone and even rival the "Titanic"!
Her ritual was simple and deep rooted
As uncomplicated as a baby's grin.
"Easy as Pie" she mooted
And laughed while she hummed all the while.
Layering the rich sheets of goodness in a pan
From pie dough to peaches to butter and sugar
There was nothing in this world so simple or better than
My Aunt Grace's Peach Cobbler!
Dough kneaded and leavened,
Designed in circular shape.
Dent in the middle
Deep fried or baked
Dipped in sugar syrup and glazed.
Dutch immigrants’ popular sweet.
Delectable snack, favorite of kids.
Gossamer, gently cool,
brushed against flushed hot face,
like water pooled in desert land;
softness kneaded with much
glad wearing, not unlike
the feel of mother's wrinkled hand.
November 9, 2017
Knit Your Fabric Contest
Sponsor, Nette Onclaud
Verse Form
For forty weeks I kneaded a promise,
introducing myself
to an enigmatic stranger
that resided within
stretching boundaries
until he overflowed into my soul.
While his lungs searched the air
for breaths of inspiration
my hands, for the first time,
reached for a warmth
greater than faith or flesh
without hesistation
and without the familiar fear
of rejection.
I’d never before expected so much
from someone so small
or trusted myself so much
to have the courage
to die a little, bury one child
to nurture another
but I did.
Fifteen years
of rough waters and sea monsters
and my tides still rise and fall
by the ebb and flood
of his negotiating moons;
sometimes I feel
as if I’ll be washed away
while garnishing his heart and mind
with vigilant shepherds
but I shine on,
sewing bright buoys to sea foam
so that when someday my lamp has been doused
my son will still know his way home.
Deep in the briars of doubt
within the muck of the mind
dust devils like to tease
weaving petals to the lye.
Knead the mind with prayer and reflection.
No need to introduce outside deflections.
God placed gold leaf atop gray canyons.
I never spoke for him to leave, to follow and take my hand,
But I fear I may have, with something more powerful,
Than the sounds slipping off my tongue and through my teeth.
It may have been the way my teeth bit down on my lips,
-coloring them crimpson
Or the husky sighs that called his name through the hours of night.
It may have been the way he looked into my eyes,
- half down lids, smoldering in his gaze,
Those honey warmth a were looking into the skies and found,
-the universe instead.
The galaxy was now his to love, he had found the looking glass to heavens gardens.
I never used my words - but it may have been the way my hips swayed,
My curbs like temples to be conquered by his hands.
Oh and how I loved the way he roamed over my land,
He loved my valleys and my mountains, my river was the fountain of his youth.
I loved the way his voice purred and called me to the bedroom.
It may have been The way my fingers ran through his hair,
Teaching him that he could enjoy the things he never had,
Smooth legs curled up in his lap, soft lips drawing over his skin.
It could have been my smoothness or the smell I let drift and waft over his senses,
Or perhaps the color of my hair, it's soft curls wrapped around his finger,
Maybe it was the way my fingers kneaded the rocks from his shoulders,
-till his tension turned to sand.
Nails caressing his back, crawling to his chest to draw circles in his silk.
The way my hands smoothed over his body, easing his thoughts,
Erasing his worries, drawing the breath from his lips.
I welcomed him home with arms wrapped around his body and dancing eyes,
-my smile sparkled in the twilight.
I stroked his soul and made it quiver, showed it how to dance,
I lit a fire blazing deep inside him, halting time with my gaze,
And I could feel the crystal constellations threatening to fill the oceans with stars,
Maybe it was the way I rubbed my face against his skin,
Nuzzling his tender spots with affection, building his strength,
He read me like his favorite book, falling in love with my lines,
My letters dripping sweet from his lips, his fingers caressing down my spine.
I didn't speak the words, but my body bid him to come home.
One would think that the feeling of being a slave would create understanding
One would think that racism would die off and cease to overtake our surrounding
Equality has become but a faint memory buried with a man Africa once so greatly looked up to
Labels still floating around, separation amongst people. All subject to the race or ethnic group they belong to
Don’t you think there was a little furry passed with a law?
Just a little vengeance kneaded in, tables turned, no longer holding the short end of the straw?
So arose the system with a pretty name “Affirmative action”.
5-1 the number of bullets in the gun gradually making a subtraction
Acquiring our positions based on our skin colour instead of based upon or level of education
Supressing the “Suppressors” with lethal repercussions and lack of evaluation
So carry on placing the one colour above the other, turning us against each other until the streets run red with anarchy
Then hypocritically teach your kids about equality, living one foot in and one foot out of controversy.
One would think we as a nation would learn from a neighbouring sunken country. Stay united and grow far beyond expectation
One can only hope for these lines to be erased, for skin colour, gender and religion factors to be cancelled out and do away with exaggeration
The world is the way it is and shall remain as such, the universe will be the way it should be keeping the balance as top priority
So even if I cannot change the world. With my words I keep spreading the love! One of the minority.
enjoy the reed
now displayed as a satisfactory deed.
* * * * * *
A Senior Moment - written months ago commemorating
the graduation from a vaunted charter school
in Bend, Oregon of thy lovely youngest,
this papa could not attend -
geographical distance constituting the primary determinant.
* * * * * *
Valedictorian treads across makeshift platform
i.e. most likely auditorium stage marked
by hushed audience inhaling, notating,
and regaling gleeful lightness of buoyant feat
(but me Yeats heavy of heart) feted for 2017 Redmond
Enrichment Academy graduates, who attained,
a milestone vis a vis earning their
high school diploma, and ready to launch
bountiful daunting challenges, yet sure
footed each young gal and/or guy
will exude joy and sorrow upon grasping their
high school diploma aware a sound education
sent each on their own future path
while pomp and circumstances issues forth
by adroit musically talented underclass
* * * * * *
man, which emotional celebrated achievement
evoked by keynote student speaker,
but also underscored via that well worn mortar
board, linkedin, kickstarter, Joyus
tune (composed by Sir Edward Elgar –
subtitled March Number 1) acknowledging
cheers, eliciting grownups immense Kleenex
moistening overpowering quintessentially
simmering ululating wrenching yowling
as tassels flipped (maybe in conjunction with
a non twittering uber bird) to the left side
of the caparisoned newly anointed future
Dharma Bums, professionals and/or trades
persons momentarily stung with sadness
to depart favorite classmates and teachers
who voluntarily cosseted, ferried, and
* * * * * *
capitalone did flickr imperceptibly, kneaded
and leavened LivingSocial, and massaged MineCraft
outlook plenti full confidence, faith, and inherent
lettered oblations serve as snap chatting,
The early morning sunshine peeks
Over the majestic mountain peaks
The mother louse , would quietly knit
A butterfly sweater for her newborn nit
Twenty pounds of dough has been kneaded
For eighty-one cheery pies the VFW needed
On a beautiful , brilliant, Blue Moon night
A fair maiden :Rescued by Sir Valiant knight
My Heartbeats life again : it has found someone New
My Dearest Barbeeg, Barbara Jean : I LOVE YOU
“ I Thought YOU Knew “
In Dedication to Barbara Jean Gorelick