Long Bakes Poems
Long Bakes Poems. Below are the most popular long Bakes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bakes poems by poem length and keyword.
As I find myself eating some of Deborah’s fresh bakes chocolate chip cookies….
(please, don’t ask me the amount)
because warm chocolate chip cookies is one snack you need not keep a count!
As I was saying as I was eating a few of her cookies…
(and in their deliciousness as I write this…I continue to partake)
I began thinking about the oven…specifically the fire in which they all were baked.
About how fire has been around since our planets birth…
and how important fire has been to our survival on this Earth.
How fire plays a part in our lives each and every day…
It helps to protect us, keep us warm, cooks our food and light our way…
Beside these everyday fundamentals…something else that I admire…
Is how there is an intimacy a togetherness we feel when gathered round any fire
Whenever we gather ‘round a fire…it doesn’t matter where…
In front of the oven, at the barbecue or seated around a campfire
there’s magic in the air.
Seated around a fire….talking, sharing…laughing, reminiscing
time seems to move a little slow
and the smiles on the faces of the people around you…have a special glow.
And who hasn’t seen entire crowds of people point, ooh and aww and sigh
when standing together on the ground watching fireworks light the sky.
I like that we did not invent fire…in fact I feel elated…
That fire, like the trees, the animals the clouds, the mountains
is a gift nature has created.
It’s nice every now to think about things like fire…and everything about it…
to give thanks there is fire in our life…and to wonder where we’d be without it.
Fire and all of nature are things I like to think about…
trying in my humble way…to understand.
And I can’t there of a better way to think about them
than with a chocolate chip cookie in each hand.
A little brunette girl, told me a tale.
Her big brown eyes,a little teary.
She began and was wringing her dimpled
hands.
The fog was rolling in, that blessed dew,
carried by a cloud-band.
Seems that her Daddy had passed,with
only Mom to raise her.
So, money was short, and thus to her
Mom, she deferred.
Mom said "only one cookie a week."
Those words, oh, they made her drool!
Their life near the sea, was so lovely.
She'd take her pencil and notebook,
Sit on their small roof, and drew the
tops of Eucalyptus trees.
The days of milk and one cookie...
Now etched in her tree-scented memory.
Grown now, with a family of her own.
Her Mother, gone to be with her God..
Resting in peace beneath lush sod..
Today, that girl bakes cookies with much
gusto and joy!
To serve to her son, as he plays with his
cars, dog and other toys!
8/5/2021
The phone rang but there was no-one there,
Her imagination flew like a balloon into the air.
“Who was that?”, she asked herself.” Who was that woman?”, she wondered.
As the sun sank behind a cloud she gathered her ingredients.
“I’ll make his favourite: Lemon Meringue Pie”, she announced.
Now for the pastry I’ll need flour, butter, icing sugar and egg yolk.
I’ll save the egg white for the meringue.
Now some cold water and all into the processor to mix it all up.
“I remember the first time he kissed me.
It was my 19th birthday and he promised me the moon and the stars.”
Now I’ll put a baking sheet in the oven and heat to 200 degrees.
While the pastry bakes I’ll prepare the filling.
Let me see...oh this is such fun...mix cornflour, sugar and lemon zest.
“ It was after a few years I noticed he would stay late at work.
He would come home smelling slightly of perfume. “
Now I must organise that secret ingredient: Ricin made from castor oil beans.
When eaten it affects the body’s immune system.
“I remember our holidays in the Greek Isles.
We loved Thasos and Ikaria the best.”
Soon there was a knock at the door. It was Richard her husband.
“Hello darling look what I have made. Your favourite lemon Meringue Pie”.
With springtime now upon us,
If your town has lots of Jews,
The supermarket has some foods
You might have need to use.
For Passover’s approaching
And the holiday demands
No bread nor pasta be consumed;
Thus, stores have made their plans.
A special section’s filled with
All the substitutes we need
To serve at Seder time, just like
The ancient texts decreed.
There’s matzoh meal, gefilte fish
And macaroons and cakes
And all of the ingredients
For anyone who bakes.
This Passover array depends
On neighborhood and store,
So often pickings might be slim
While other shops have more.
For Jewish folk with markets
With no matzoh, I’d behoove
You to tell the owners how you feel
Or do what I’d do - move!
The Chocolate Baker is a lady of stature so grand,
She bakes the best cookies and cakes over the lands.
Other bakers dishes are tasteless and utterly bland,
Sensationally goodness are the works from her hands.
Miraculous wonders from her oven every day appear,
Close to my palate her talents have become very dear.
Cakes, brownies, fudge, puddings and chocolate pies,
Scrumptious delectable aromas bring tears to my eyes.
As Chocolate is a part of my menu almost every day,
Living near the bakery would be a wise choice I’d say.
So a house I found with a little effort and a bit of labor,
Now the Chocolate Baker, a grand lady is my neighbor.
Author Eileen Clark
I'm livid with my sister Annie
No wonder she's got a huge fanny
My home made cream scone
She took the last one
I'd promised it to our old granny
A cunning plan I start to hatch
I quickly bake another batch
Fill one with shaving foam
For when my sis gets home
She certainly has met her match!
I leave that scone on our side table
Then visit our dear granny Mable
My sis took a huge bite
Her mouth's foaming all night
She'll avoid my bakes when she's able!
the last one poetry Contest
Anthony Biaanco
*scone can be pronounced 'scon' or scone
11/28/20
Born in the mid west, a long time ago
in the sunflower state where the prairie grass grows
she would spend many days, sharing stories and dreams
Tho' my own feet have never been blessed to step near the place
I would watch as she told me, with glistening eyes
I pictured each message, while I quietly listened....
Some might have seen it, in much different hues
but the Kansas I've seen, was from Grandmother's view
It awakens in spring with new sprouting grain
After brittle white frost, or slush under the rain
I have seen just how golden a wheat field might grow
I shall know how a wagon, dark-framed, work at rest
Waits by a shed, and how two horses will stand
Waiting and grazing where the fence-line might bend
I can see quivering trees, and stiff shocks of corn
The amber of the noon, and the warm sun-cured hay
Milking cow barn, and the old chicken shed
And a barn filled with pigs wait to be fed
A lone, white farm house, with a big front porch
And how a bible rests...on the nightstand, next to a bed
How harsh the weather, how the Chinook wind shakes the roof
And how fast a family gathers, into a cellar when tornados are due
And the sound of a meadowlark, and a hot wood stove and coal black soot
The kindness of folks, and the loss and heartaches
And the smell of roasted chicken, and bread as it bakes
In this place of her birth..... is the scent of the earth...
I see the brown and green
I see what she has seen.......yet only through her eyes
As I stand by her side...under a Kansas prairie sky....
Woman, woman that I loved uncommonly
Several springs ago
When the weather was good and callow
When the wind whistled swiftly, low and slow
Oh! Woman, you were young, strong and sparkling
Darling, now you're deceased
Lying down and sleeping comatose on your back
Calm and motionless like the water
Of the paralyzed pond, staring at the sky
Eyes hermetically and conveniently closed
Where everything seems supernatural and artificial
I wonder and ponder where I'm diving
If it's an illusion, a nightmare or a dream
I don't feel good: I'm unbalanced and demented
I’m disappearing into the shadows
Where everything is dark and gloomy
Like my blood. I feel that my everything
Is gone and swept away by sadness
I'm drowning in a mercurial lake of inebriety
My God! Yes, I’m in pain indeed
I’ve lost the most beautiful mermaid.
Woman, woman, you were genial and lovely
The voluptuous gal that I loved so much
Do you remember? I frittered a lot of time
Revering you. I found myself on the slippery slope
I, too, will die like you
Woman, woman, heavy and ghastly is the cross
Where I am exposed today
The cold freezes me and the sun bakes me
I'm sad and devastated like wilted flowers
And you, apoplectic, silent and enshrined
I am suffering, weeping and dying too
I don't want to stay here anymore
My heart is weary, sorrowful and besieged
I am crying and suffering. My strength has left me
I am drowning in pain in the lake of boozing
I'm perishing too. I don't want to live anymore.
Woman, woman that I loved so much
We are no longer in springtime
But almost at the infancy of autumn
The bells are ringing and the children are banging
There is no rainbow in the sky
I am alone, in tears and very sorry
In the labyrinth of the necropolis
May the earth be infinitely light to you!
P.S. Translation of ‘Ode À Yseult’ by Hébert Logerie.
Copyright © September 2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
When people don't understand you
Most tend to misbehave
May be not as will
It just happened
Be it a play
Or reality
In their
World
Laugh ?? Cry ?? Smile ?? Frown ??; be true
Enjoy each of the Phases thoroughly
But never mind how they manage
Don't be shy to watch closely
When it comes gradually
On Off Beeping its light
To draw near "cool thou"
As hits whisper afar
The clock of eyes
Tick and tack
Holding tongue
Out of thy mouth
Watching
In awe
When the time is right ?? or left??
The moment may be now or then
To turn the memory sweet or sour
Creamy or thick ??, just be handy
For rage is happiness own theft
And regrets messenger out of den
Timing hour for whom to devour
Without necessarily been bandy
Laugh till lips go dry
Cry all you can not brief
Smile the pale face; be not shy
Frown the cruel mind on face cum relief
Be choosy even though tears try
Be mad even at the best motif
Mood may be right what eyes bely
Much fun is left to get anew being interleaf
When tears roll for real on the rock
It washes away the dirts of its face
Rent young look to the ancient block
Rough touches then enjoy new grace
With light- sun would visit again on it
And make the half hard go hard a bit
Until the last segment feel the impact
Then it wonders how sun duly extract
That is how time heals
All fears far fun fly the hills
Heart now ride on rollercoaster
Where jolly bliss be the toaster
Oven bakes on mind's peace
And the head laughs the face tease
Till such pleasure is made known
For art to be pure and cool on its own
Yet another year
To bake spring cookies;
Time now to endear
Gourmet treats you see.
Just the way you plan,
These three days you squeeze;
Recipe and trends
In a steady breeze.
A mini workshop
Of processing steps;
Each working non-stop
In a brisk mind map.
Crafting fond delights,
Each moment makes more;
From dawn to late night,
A harvest galore.
Each man to a stage,
To muster and make;
Cookie cutter gauge,
Flavours on a take.
One by one attend,
Cookie on parade;
Mix and match the span,
Freshly baked charades.
Oh the sheer delight
Of hand-made cookies;
See tasty treats bright
Made for you and me.
Heaven is on earth
As cookies come forth;
Taste finds grand re-birth
As our work goes north!
I can hear the spring
Sing in tasty bakes;
Tea and cookies bring
Warm moments we make.
Ann now flings surprise,
Serene can add form;
Chong works the reprise,
Leon sets free the norm.
Three full days to bake,
Zest sets the bar high;
Lots and lots to stake,
Feast comes when time flies.
Leon Enriquez
08 February 2015
Singapore