Best Proofing Poems
French Bread
Your index finger
draws figure-eights
in the dusting of flour
on the counter top
where you lean
quite casually,
watching as I make
a loaf of French bread.
Then, laughing a bit,
you insert your powdery finger
into my right ear.
I’m startled...
I was so very focused
on assembling ingredients
that I wasn’t aware
of my surroundings,
at least not enough to see
your finger inching its way
toward me. I laugh too,
realizing the intimacy
of your floured finger.
Somehow,
I don’t believe
your interest is in my baking,
but I proceed on to
proofing the yeast
in warm water,
watching carefully
for the always-shocking
bloom’s suggestion
of the possible,
our palates fine-tuned
to the perfume
of earth and damp places.
Thus begins the slow tango
of dryness becoming wet,
a touch of salt-taste,
elements bound together
by the slippery
until there is inseparable oneness,
deep warmth in the joining,
the inevitable rising,
swelling seeking relief.
But not yet, oh no...
First there must be a pause,
a relaxation of the engorged,
consummation delayed,
then the pressure of my hands,
pressing-on,
pressing and shaping and pressing.
We sip our wine,
talk quietly, anticipating
the inevitable increase,
saying between us,
“We’re ready for the final phase:
the heat that binds,
coalesces the disparate ingredients,
yielding at last to the
inevitable delectable finish.”
Later, cooling as it always must,
we can’t resist
nibbling still-warm bits
dipped in melted butter,
feeding them to each other,
transcending words,
finding new ways of seeing
one another.
Written November 23, 2013
for Charlotte’s Scorchers.
Categories:
proofing, sensual,
Form:
Free verse
Would you crusade to remote regions
in search of that timeless tomb, the one made of seasalt & sandstone,
to towns tempered by the terror of war, windswept with worry,
Do prayer calls of the Jihadist singe the comfort breathing in your books of traditions,
could the Koran summon an instinct of journey in the feet of your hopes,
perhaps the Bardo Thadol a simmering shout from the monastery of one's monsters
suppressed in cells of selfless sorrow, daring repressed in reminiscence of rectitude,
in the Old Testament do you find aged allergies or fertile figments of prophets' pennies,
saviors in the center of gravity cinching the flinching surfacing in proverbs proofing
along the borders of the desserts chilling in the kitchen of your cares,
Maybe in front of the Wailing Wall you'd find dust entreating you to become a martyr
for the charm of morning, on your knees amid the Caaba perhaps sand jinies will jest,
in the midst of the tree grip of Angkor Watt the tongue of first life might muse of miracles
sewn into the sackcloth of parents' aspirations, conceptions wrought from the wanted,
take it to the sky, take it to the soil, take it to the core, let saints keep score,
take it 'till there is no more -
J.A.B. %
Categories:
proofing, faith, prayer,
Form:
Didactic
Extra weight no longer a problem for shallow water,
We bulked up for the next leg of our journey,
Water containers, even some canned goods
An acceptable luxury in our seventeen foot canoe,
A canvas topping lashed everything in securely,
Offered some weather proofing for sensitive gear,
Our sleeping bags, some staples, and clean clothing.
Cameras were kept in waterproof pouches
That stayed within easy reach of paddlers,
Fishing rods and car mounts for the canoe,
In case we burned out, topped the load,
With ice chest and Dr. Peppers easily accessible.
In high spirits we set out on the next leg,
Destination Cass Lake's Boy's Camp Chippewa.
I had traveled this leg before as a twelve year old,
By canoe, but with less luxury, until Bemidji,
Where each of our crew went to a late movie,
And downed a Paul Bunyan Special banana split
One banana and seven scoops of ice cream,
Camp four miles across open water long after dark,
With only a fire on a distant shore to guide us home. (4)
Poet's Notes:
(4) People die pulling stunts like this. In fact strong winds arose forcing us to shore shortly after we started, light rain and lightning flashes high in the sky! We had to pull our canoes wading in the dark along the shore for 3 hours to reach our camp. Our counselors pledged us all to secrecy for they would have been fired had management known the danger they put us all in.
Categories:
proofing, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
No No; that's my name
Name I was given
Given when I started crawling
Crawling and exploring my world
World that I couldn't touch until I was able to crawl
Crawl where my curiosity would take
Take me into a world of excitement
Excitement of a few bumps and bruises
Bruises mommy didn't want to see for my future
Future... mommy baby proofing our home
Our home that my grandma calls me Sweetheart
1/13/2016 by Eve Roper
Categories:
proofing, baby,
Form:
Verse
The rain appeared, arctic
Spattered the duck board
As angry pellets flinched
And recoiled
Boathouse dank, bleak
Galley proofing transpire
Moist and humid
With sense of Frangelico
And bitter almonds
The sord chattered
With new fervor
And feeders sojourned
Past darkled dawn
Composition turned to
Decomposition
Place in basket
Not to collate
Wits and writer’s block
Onset of migraine
Twinge
With visual disturbance
And sorrow
Write of grief
She is not coming back
Time heals
Do not die
Spring frontward
Go home
Sun is aching to flicker
Drop downbeat design
Bloom buds of dreams
Categories:
proofing, lost love
Form:
I am happily teaching my second grade students two bully-proofing strategies earlier today.
These powerful anti-bullying techniques are "the thank you" and the "skip away" both invented by me.
First I explain that the mean bullying types are sad inside, so they want others to be mad and sad too. which is why they choose meanness to do and say.
I need to know who they are, so the children write down the names of any child they have seen being mean, for only the teacher and me to see.
We practice the "thank you" this way. I bring up a student who gets to call me names. All hands shoot up. Everyone wants to bully me, until they get up here.
Today I gave twenty-three examples, and I implored the teacher to come up and call me names after two children tried, but failed me.
The teacher, a personal, great friend of mine,said, "I can't do it! But Cameron can." Cameron ran up as if he was being chased by a bear.
BAM! Five mean and ugly things came out. I was amazed and thanked him profusely for each compliment, even did a two-step and a skip to my Lou.
So don't let them see you're mad. Don't let them see you sad. If your face is giving you away, use the "skip away." Jimmy yells out, "Can't we just run away?"
"If you use the skip away, they wonder why you are so happy. " I tell them as they laugh at my bad skipping. "Skipping indicates happiness too."
The children returned to their seats to write down the names of all children who have said or done something mean that they have seen with their own eyes or heard with their own ears since Easter Day.
I say, "Not since kindergarten or first grade. Not something you have heard someone else say that they said. Only write down names of children whom you SAW or HEARD do meanness. Okay?
I was asked thirty-two times if they were supposed to put their names on their paper, curious since there are only 29 students , and two were absent today.
I made a little tally sheet and gave it to the teacher, only. One teacher asked if she could share it with her class, I said "No, because I promised the children this would only be seen by you and me. I smile at my own clever petard.
That's when things turned.
The teacher got a bit snippy. And I quietly skipped away.
Categories:
proofing, anti bullying, bullying,
Form:
Rhyme
Critical tendencies and agitated mind,
misread beginnings to like all in kind.
Air of the heaven and sensation in prime,
force of life and death at the same time.
Devotion aroused giving all for nothing,
which reality turns perception touching.
Endurance crowns goodness with beauty,
possessor through holiness of duty.
Conscious unity with the ultimate provider,
life’s culmination and transcendent rider.
Natures reach for no conventionality,
proofing in tune thinking ability.
Belief’s conception via faith’s conviction,
political metaphor for egos addiction.
Liberty of faith and only integrity,
impossible current of all mystery.
Categories:
proofing, 12th grade, perspective,
Form:
Ballade
A poem can be left adrift
a deserted, floating wreck
Words wash over rails
on board, a slippery deck
Every poem I've ever written
helps me write the next
A gaggle of "lilliputian critics"
ensure I craft my text
True, I do the proofing
readers do the check
Categories:
proofing, boat, metaphor, ocean, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
Were I a drifter before?
Wandering in a world I haven’t a clue I was from?
Perhaps closer to the truth I saw
How wondering into nights were days gone...
I sat and watch another day going by
Did I earn enough to see another tomorrow?
I sat alone wishing I could die
Only to have yesterday proofing what hope doesn’t follow
I would drift away in my thoughts
I would be lost and unfound
And to be what I am not
Guess the world and me hasn’t come round
Leave me be for now and ever
Simply because I was left wandering and alone
I’ve seen what the world has to offer
Have I not often wonder how my offer was left unknown...
I was a drifter before
To have wandered far from where I once belong
Perhaps my truth is what I finally stood for
Have I not wonder in nights from my days gone...
Categories:
proofing, life,
Form:
Rhyme
An affinity for romance re-kindled
Our autumn walk severed from the rush of people
A different kind of membership
a cool zone
as leaves fall like mellow tones in ballads
weather proofing our path
brittle coins of gold, red, orange
that rattle the ground with color
that brush against the soothing ease of desire.
Leaves bedding to mute the snap of word sharpness
to meld decay and comfort
to filter an air of ghostly tension.
Our fingers entwine as we re-build faith together
push through the crowded disappointments of memory
store ourselves away from past damaged pieces.
Cradled walking
amid leaves, bone weary
that fall as footprints
re-imagined
as hurt unraveling
Poem revised late September 2020
Categories:
proofing, appreciation, autumn, desire, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
I hate the business of writing
the commerce of word craft
the tedium of publishing
the deadlines imposed
I hate the word count
the editing and proofing
the book signing travel
and agents exposed
I hate the promotion
each workshop and fair
the reviews and the podcasts
the bookstores that sell
But I love the writing
when the words come together
releasing my spirit
—my fortune to tell
(The New Room: January, 2022)
Categories:
proofing, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
we knew capitalism had turned ugly
after the first lemonade stand drive by
children denounced their parents
when their eyes were opened
to supply side economics
and demand side criminal enterprise
plunging on in a premeditated stupor
they floated between the tables
a jackpot here a jackhammer there
a cartesian Bingo bonanza elsewhere
going on but the scantiest of gossip
it's a fill in the blank world
where a suitcase full of dead mockingbirds
found on the late bus idling at the terminal
against the smell of urine nightmares
constituted a reunion of the ever faithful
filling the night with interrogation
we had some exceptional men in our unit
dropped into trouble spots too hot to touch
setting up sensors and detectors and bait
scholars statesmen jurists bishops
and a bent maggoty reeking poet
a sleight of hand magnum opus abuser
surrounded by the burning bodies
of everyone he ever knew
yet all is not a ham bone up the ass
I had just cleaned up my syntax and grammar
with maple syrup and golden dairy butter
so I'll put off proofing this mess for another day
too old to dig up reliable proof anyhow
my brain's already in a specimen jar
it lived a mythical fairy tale life
worth a transfer to the end of the line
to the ancient carnival of phantoms
so I sent in my manicurist security guard
from the tropical hammock islands
their scissors going snip snip snip
rattling the bones of the dead
if this is just a make believe universe
I'd hate to see the real one
but I'm pretty sure space is continuous
and spewing rhyme out of the hearts of stars
hell what do I know
it all sounds so fresh and snowy
assuring me that people of greater densities
goof and bobble real stupid just like we do
forgive me but my thoughts have all been stolen
the end point is eluding me as a point
as an area we'll eventually get there
Categories:
proofing, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
Aw shucks, I did sustain
moderately serious injury
series of unfortunate events
ludicrous and quite insane,
yours truly did previously explain
while crouching (think
Tony as papier mâché Tiger),
aye fell backward, where sharp
desktop corner didst train
ground zero right side rib cage domain
punched thru L.L. Bean Autumn jacket
zapped, tattooed, lacerated... bloodstain
proof positive bow tocks sing
arrowing, fletching, notching,
piercing, searing targeting ... pain
prestidigitation went awry
courtesy "fake" legerdemain,
yours truly incapacitated plain
vanilla and simple
found me mortally slain,
more tortuous than spelunking thru
eye of needle size tunnel,
no bigger than sand grain,
and/or trumpeted by suzerain
arrogant, boastful, contemptuous...
arid, barren, cerebrally desolate brain,
a definitive liability,
(not just from Ukraine
stormy din yelled brouhaha), profane
but..., I wholeheartedly ascertain,
the commander in chief
an absolute zero inane
purpose twittering acrimonious, disdain
calamitous, egregious, gangrenous..., arcane
rumbustious, venomous,
zealous... carte blanche
bigoted, misogynistic, racist..., inhumane
blathering, excoriating, insulting...
seeding, planting, muckraking... dogbane
demanding obeisance till
henchmen verstehen
unwittingly declaring himself
jejune bloodhound August huss
preening, primping, proofing
orange-blond mane
more attentive to applying
gray matter to strain
Midas coated self
important fiery propane
verbal quid pro quo
explosions inevitably spray'n,
nothing but antisemitism, barbarism,
demagoguery, hatred...
diatribes roiling the masses
til rabid rantings attain
intolerant decibel threshold
usurping totalitarian refrain.
Categories:
proofing, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Political Verse
Hungering, thirsting, my stammering lips burst
With words floundering at the bridge of need
I stagger each lonely time away from the curst
The broken wings of long lament, the dry weed
Of discontent, the abused bitter penitent. And I
In circles return each time to voids where I cry.
I am the seeker of the Golden Fleece fated still
To suffer in the thrill of desire, I am voyager
For Holy Grail, proofing substance of that hill
Where hung the Creator and the good great giver
Bringing my bareness to be filled, and to know
What is this desire in me that must glow and glow?
There before you I know I am incomplete, rift
Of dominion and indwelling to the full extreme
I am the latent wonder, the bloom of broken gift
The child tossed about inside a wide sea of dream
And when I unite with her, beyond passion, we
As one receiving you, give us, Lord, thy eternity.
Categories:
proofing, faithtime,
Form:
Verse
Our caps flew like confetti.
Thank god I customized mine.
I'll keep it as a memento of all-nighters,
friendships formed in the academic trenches,
dismissive professors and group-project-tortures.
This isn’t another ‘drunk girl’ holiday, despite obvious similarities.
Our parents, sisters, brothers, and grandmothers are here.
We came in doe-eyed, holding overpriced planners,
and enough provisions for two year Mars missions.
We hoped to discover friends, decent Wi-Fi signals
and perhaps our adult selves.
Now we're holding diplomas, those future-proofing talismans.
Mine’s in molecular biophysics and biochemistry.
Which is wry, because when I was in high school,
my sister accused me of not knowing how to boil water.
I've been asked "What’s next?" a thousand times In the last month.
I have plans—but I was dying to shrug and say, “that’s tomorrow’s problem,” like I’ve spent major duckets, degree wise, but remain a ditzy blonde.
The standard graduate answer, I’ve heard, is "I dunno."
(though honestly, it’s a great answer).
Congratulations, all of you graduating overachievers out there—everywhere.
Go forth, be fabulous and find that next big dream.
Can you believe we actually did this?
Argh! I gotta go, someone wants another picture.
.
.
Songs for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Summer Wind by Robert Mosci
Tomorrow by Wings
Categories:
proofing, cinderella, dream, feelings, good
Form:
Free verse