Oh Santa ~
I've been telling you all year
to ease up of the
pies, cheesecake and cookies
But no ~
you had to have your way
and eat through mountains
of sweets and decadent desserts
You couldn't get enough ~
brownies, donuts, croissants
ice cream, gelato, sorbet
puddings, flans and custards
Now look at you ~
think about that
while you wait patiently
for the rescue team
You never listen !
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
she keeps her castle in her head space
it is always there, maintaining a place
she fills it nightly in her vivid dreams
with croissants, donuts, and English creams
In her castle are knights who like to serve
They have no confidence, have lost their nerve
She is their ruler, she makes them cook and clean
She is their nightmare, this dreaming queen.
COFFEE AND CROISSANTS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Coffee's rich scent, a drink at morning’s first light,
its aroma wafting through the air, a sweet delight.
The delicious croissant, flaky, buttery, and fine,
a pastry perfect in its semi-circular design.
Together they unite, such a splendid pair,
coffee's boldness and the croissant's international flair.
So, here's to coffee and the croissant's charm,
a morning ritual best consumed when both are warm.
Our promenade - a streetlamp
shines on cream fog memories,
conjuring crusty croissants,
piquant parmesan pasta,
as tiramisu tarts tease,
sweetly taunting my tongue and
shining cream fog memories
on coffee, black and bitter.
All the French
I can take -
piece of cake.
A baguette
or croissants?
Paris tempts.
Cream inside;
lick my lips.
Morrow’s trip.
I don’t need the sun;
no friends, no car
I don’t need books,
no name, no telephone,
I don’t need Homer,
neither croissants, nor cat,
I don’t need medication
Neither table nor sugar,
I don’t need a watch,
I don’t need a hat,
No coffee
I don’t need to think,
to dance or write,
I do not need to seduce,
but I need to love you
To need all this.
You're all invited to my party.
No, not Jack or Jill or Marty.
I'm inviting apple strudels,
pies and tarts, the whole caboodle,
custards, puddings, buttered scones
(with muffins and bagels, I'm not alone),
cookies, croissants, an eclair,
and my lovely baklava, so dear.
Willy, a wild mammoth lives in my yard
Shedding head all over in clumps
Neighbors come by and collect it in bales
Making comforters, pillows and plush cushions
They bring casseroles, carrots, croissants and canapes
Willy has the best life, and he knows it
Milking it for all it is worth
Bleak winter Melbourne morning,
a cold wind coming in
from across the Bay
and blowing down the street,
past the Esplanade Cafe
with the smell of coffee
and warm air spilling out
from an open door.
I stop, look at the cake
and pastry display through
the window, the basket
of freshly baked croissants,
Danish pastries topped with
strawberries and apricots
and glazed with syrup.
A cloud of steam
from the espresso machine
adds a touch of the surreal.
Anticipation moistens my mouth
on the sight of French vanilla
slices plump with custard
and cream, muffins erupting
from their papery patties,
Portuguese tarts, thick slices
of carrot cake topped
with icing. I savor each
with an imaginative bite
and decide my treat…
then groan. I've left my wallet
at home.
( for Deb M )
Let the moon dream,
In our night sky,
So your sigh,
May caress its stars,
Ballerina, in the rainbow hours,
Your sighs bloom,
Like the roses,
Elegant, sweet, and rugged,
Glowing upon your veranda,
Within the summer,
and autumn shores,
Your sighs,
Gently flow with the waves,
Its maple baskets of honey,
Uncorked like champagne,
I desire you to sigh,
Like the lavendar flower,
I've been hymning for,
The earthy and exotic iris,
of a sublime heaven,
Sigh within the starry nights,
During daydreams,
Sigh for the moon,
Sigh for the nostalgia,
of shores,
Sigh for all that you love,
And sigh for this shy drifter,
Who loves you,
Even more than the moon,
And its shimmering stars,
When your gaze flutters,
And steadies,
With its wings,
and its fountains,
Sigh with the moonlight,
Within its dress,
Within its love,
Sigh for some comfort,
Its waves and croissants,
Sigh with a warm hymn,
And your love,
Within
Reynaldo Casison
A lighthouse,
With its romance,
Stretches,
Into ocean expanse,
Stars dress the night sky,
Where has my love,
Sailed,
For roses,
and croissants,
I miss her,
Gazing at our moon
Reynaldo Casison
The midnight streets,
Are empty,
And the ladies,
Are filled,
With longings,
And croissants,
The moon,
Has lit,
Its candle,
From within,
And the songbirds,
Are filled,
With nostalgia,
And wine,
The autumn trees,
Are shedding,
Their leaves,
And the jazz,
Is shedding its blues,
Some quaint irises,
And exotic roses,
Adorn the lakes,
And the moon,
And their love is yours
Reynaldo Casison
it isn’t all hard,
the world I mean.
there are soft things, too.
it isn’t all
coffee stains, shattered glasses,
dead cats, and broken streetlights
but sometimes it just gets so dark
in the middle of the street
late, on a Tuesday night
that I forget about
fresh baked croissants, my mother,
alive cats, and stars.
There are a lot of those out tonight,
Seated in a coffee-shop
an extra-large with hot milk
and a slice of decadence
await her indulgence
she leans forward
and spontaneously reacts
to her companion’s
whispered observation
rose-red laughter
pours white-water loud
from her joy-filled mouth
her floating hand
gee-jawing above the table-top
enthusiastically conducts
the wheeze-gasp spasms of her mirth
she unloads like rolling thunder
pounding the other patrons
as they de-caff-dunk
their croissants
huge, mesmerising
her sheer abandon
reduces all others
to a whisper
a stolen glance
some harrumph
others smile
I would love to hug her
to chat with her
about dinosaurs and daffodils
carburetors and kittens
to fall asleep
next to her smile.
Mashed potatoes, Mom’s heavenly creation.
Such a gourmet creation, was an alpine white.
Green beans, like a Christmas decoration.
Candles were benevolently, not bright.
I can still inbreahe steaks, sizzling in a pan.
Hot Croissants were nestled on the table
Tinkling glassware in my young girl’s hands.
Angelic youth, ever, tender, soft and stable
Prayers were recited.
Then, our dinner began.
3/27/2023
Dedicated in memory of the the loss of the three children and
adults murdered in Nashville this morning in a Christian school.
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