Warring kiddies hiss like snakes and stick out forked tongues;
They disagree on who started the fight first; both y e l l i n g..."Liar!"
Parents fish for the truth, sandwiched between the crosstalk.
I am but a mortal man,
Unable to fathom the depths of a buns honey.
Its glaze runs deep,
Like oceans uncharted and unknown.
But I long for its taste,
To immerse myself in the mysteries of its sensual desire.
To taste the sweet of its icing,
To bask in the glow of its pure white glaze.
For a bun is like that of a temple,
A sacred and holy place.
And to be welcomed into it,
Is a gift I am eager to embrace.
So I stand at the edge,
And I take a deep breath.
I close my eyes as I begin to chew,
Into the depths of its sensual yet passionate taste,
Where I am lost,
But yet now found.
The Cinnamon Bazooka Bun is an ardent dough
a pound of sticky heat that dissolves
the tongue in an ****** of butter.
There is an uncertain pantless fervor here
in the parked Impala, a craven pursuit of the
spiral core, winding mounds of sacchariferous frit
A cop drives by--and we shrink in our non-chalance
our frosted, reunion-phased glaze betrays no chance
that something untoward is not happening here.
I watched 'Buns of Steel'
'cos I wanted the real deal
Did all the exercises
Brooked no compromises
But when I sneaked a little feel
My hot cross buns began to peel
i remember
the taste of
your br east's
milk but didn't
want to
drink
black
coffee
coffee
straight
makes
me
wince but
since you
we're there
i utterly
wanted
to use
you
and
kneaded to
because
your
yeast
was rising
to being
ready to
bake
but i
suppose i
just like to
loaf
The bees swarmed to dripping honey,
and love's illusion is not so funny
when the rabbit in the hutch
backs away from your very touch.
Today he is afraid
that you chose him for your maid
and the reproductive status hump
is lost in desperations malice lumps.
With no offspring to take his place
the embarrassment is on your face
and the honey bunny you had chased
became hassenfeffer sent to inner space.
Impatient Awaiting his return, the doe
displayed herself to all the farmyard beaus
and the buck was found out of luck
when all the kits were downy ducks.
Come out of there, you silly rabbit!
BUNNY JUMP and Caren Krutsinger 12/19/18
The scent of cinnamon buns and childhood,
big, fluffy, soft, a tad sweet- oh delight;
mother made the best so ooey-gooey and good,
warm from the oven topped with icing white;
I could have eaten the whole pan in one bite.
Mother made exactly six buns for each,
there was one for me, my two sisters and brother;
she would set them down and we would reach,
quickly she picked up the best one for father;
and in short order there was one left for mother.
So delicious, cinnamon, brown sugar and icing,
but it is not just the buns but it takes me back;
turns back time for me to a place in my life enticing,
before life and sadness made our happiness crack;
mother's prized recipe is still my favorite special snack.
___________________________
February 21, 2018
Poetry/English Quintain/The Scent of Cinnamon Buns
Copyright Protected, ID 18-9962-37-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, The scent of baking bread . . .
sponsor, Sara Kendrick
First Place
Anxiety will be alright, just believe in Christ, because he win always save, don't let those angry spirits drag you to your grave
birth is so beautiful, as a gift from heaven, every baby grows up, and way later goes to heaven
cities are so awesome, cities are so fun, where else could you get a ginormous hotdog bun
dreams, my dream are to win the lotto, good luck, to anyone, cuz that's everybody's motto
endurance is everything, needed for everyone, that way we are able to beat the heat of the sun, or was that a giant hot dog bun
fire burned bright, basking in the light, nothing better than e beautiful starry night, am I right? sleep tight, don't let the flying bananas bite.
god will always save you, he is here for you, and I also do, so that means 2.
Guns Knife Cinnamon Buns
Keep guns out of the hands of children
Keep children out of the hands of guns
Use a knife
To butter cinnamon buns
Cinnamon buns taste better baked
Are not useful for robbing banks
Guns don't kill people
Cinnamon buns don't either
Use a knife
With butter to do it right
Grandad says that Easter isn’t funny
You won’t find him at parties
Dressed up as the Easter bunny
He’ll not be scoffing chocolate eggs
Or anything like that
He’ll be putting on his Sunday best
And dusting off his hat
For Grandad is an Anglican
Of serious intent
Does bible study when he can
And gave up cake for Lent
He says that Jesus died for me
And I’d best not forget it
But seeing as I’m only three
I’m sorry, I don’t get it
My Granny, now my Granny, mind
She has a different view
She leaves me little eggs to find
In places like my shoe
The smell of Granny’s hot cross buns
Is paradise and bliss
She makes me little special ones
Topped with a tiny kiss
Granny says God loves me
As she makes my Easter bonnet
With a smile as she carefully
Sews flowers and bees upon it
Let Grandad do religious stuff
The crucifixion thing
I’m only really old enough
For Granny, and the Spring
Grandad’s back from church now
Saying ‘Jesus rose for you’
‘Well, bless us all’ my Granny says
‘The buns are risen too’
by Gail
I should have tattoos
I should have a woman
instead I carry a purse full of empty.
Thats right-return me back to the womb
away from Bad tv
Bad people
cheap food
cheap women
cheap love
I should blame this on bad liquor
but I don't drink
I should blame this on drugs but
I don't take'm.
angels pay a price for there halo,
there peaceful garden.
maybe I'm better off pondering Picasso
or figuring out Beowulf instead of sucking
the blood off of my cracked lips.
white sugared buns
parted buttered await the knife
lick the wayward blade
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