Long Baking Poems
Long Baking Poems. Below are the most popular long Baking by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Baking poems by poem length and keyword.
I live in an adult lifestyle community
So what exactly does that mean?
It means most residents are old farts like me
Though there's some under sixty it seems
Don't know why they've chosen this place
With us decrepit and mangy old folks
Must be because their marriage seems safe
No competition from us “over the hill” blokes
The “put out to pasture” phrase comes to mind
Our usefulness no longer is obvious
Except for baking cookies for the craft show
The reports of our value are quite dubious
Here's a fact that us old guys will attest to
Seen it all, done it all, there's no doubt
We've got a whole lifetime of experience to offer
One problem may be our bouts with the gout
I live in an adult lifestyle community
So what exactly does that mean?
Means residents can't cut the mustard anymore
Just chillin' before us guys leave the scene
© Jack Ellison 2012
If I could improve the world
one space at a time I'd do it
immediately I'd begin with love
Banners and flags unfurled
shouting out love and peace with it
.
I'd buy some land to build upon
Five acres would do just fine
I'd build a place where love exists
and all hate and troubles are gone
for both the young and old combined
For I've known love and happiness
From my loving and protective parents
Yet far too many live in fear and heartbreak
People get lost and many are homeless
This is something we should prevent.
As they get abused and are neglected
Thrown away and forgotten by others
Left to wander the streets alone or to die
Those lost souls should be protected
By being loved by their father and mother.
Author Notes
I really do want to do this, but all it takes is money and the place. I'd like to have it as a ranch style places set to help people of all walks of life and troubles.
I'd make it a place to teach and learn all kinds of things. Bridging the gap between generations. Since both the younger generations are beaten and neglected and many times despised by those that gave them life.
Then on the opposite genreation. The elderly, The same thing can happen. by their families and more often care givers.
I want to have the place be self sufficient . the elderly people would teach the kids the ways of life when they grew up. sewing, farming, feeding animals. Living off the land. Baking bread and other great meals. Also some crafts. Then the kids could open up the world of technology and internet uses and even some of the games. Finding common ground and then building bonds of love and trust as well as respect for each other. Making a special family for them.
They could even sell their baked goods or homemade items as well as fairs or flea markets etc.
The theme would be loving hearts and helping hands.
© Bonnie J Hollywood-Cutts. All rights reserved, a day ago
I've lost my train of thought again.
Even if on trial, I tend to derail.
Even on track with Maglev intact.
I broke out in front long past bullet speed.
A bat out of hell, quick time villainy.
I recount losing that thought so quickly,
faster than Berry Allen feet velocities.
Cannot catch what's too fast to see.
Some people obviously say, "we are
only humans, that we are helpless to
our biologic afflictions."
Some would go as far to say, "All that
makes you unique, another would
attribute it to a genetic mutation.",
"Our own condition itself is human,
and we are victim to the will of nature."
A precious filtration system weed
out and decides what is best for
the preservation of a species. A
delicate process that isn't fool proof,
falling prone to error. Allowing zealots and
charlatans to artificially inseminate this process.
Removing naturality from the environment.
Entirely re-designing and gene splicing.
Easy baking babies made with test
tube gravy. Modifying the gene-pool
prioritizing Human logrolling,
steamrolling dormant efforts
in favor of biological engineering.
That shouldn't concern the terrain
originate. The soul of a future humanity
is part of the plans of Highest High.
What a sight to see, imagine the view
from the zenith peak? I'd tweak, my electrons
would be firing so fast the high multitudes
increase. The speed would like some ecstasy.
ecstatic till the static no different
from the TV screen. It gets hard to decern
when CERN keeps hadron colliding all of
our memories, effective immediate collectivity.
Against the side fence,
four long planks of wood
ascended like steps supported
on pillars of old red bricks
serving as a stand
for my Grandmother's collection
of potted plants.
Cuttings from exotic species gifted
by friends, passed down family heirlooms
harboring memories of past lives,
feathery ferns and plump bellied cacti
battled South Australian
frosty winters and the baking heat
of a summer sun.
All throughout my childhood
they were sustained by love,
flowering on the cue of seasons
and erupting into green
in a yearly miracle of renewal.
I had this odd notion
that each plant found root and drew
from a medium beyond mere soil,
that a strange symbiosis existed
between plant and a human soul.
Not one succumbed to heat
or cold or fell victim to disease.
They grew as a constant, helping
to hold up a wall that gave
a safe and solid perimeter
to our lives.
When my Grandmother died,
they died too - at first
escaping notice in the shadow
of her passing. It was later
when bare spaces drew attention
to their absence and added
to the list of what was missed.
Time heals grief but memory
excavates the loss.
What I Want For Christmas
By Curtis Johnson
I suppose I could use a new pair of pants, a suit of cloths, a coat, or a light jacket. But that is not what I want. I don’t need new front teeth, but I suppose that I’d be happy with a nice new Volvo. But that’s not what I want. So please don’t ask me about needs and wants, because the media keeps me occupied with such things.
When I consider the plight of the lonely, the wounded, and the poor, I suppose that I would be happy if I received nothing at all. I would not complaint if I were simply blessed to be alive, fed, dry, and warm.
It’s Christmas, and there are always many things that people seek. Christmas is a season to draw near, to be dear, and to show love outside of the box. It’s even more meaningful if we keep it simple, avoid all the fuss, the rush, the stress, and maybe spend a little bit less.
There really is something that I would like for Christmas, but it’s more to do with giving to others and nothing to do with personal getting. It doesn’t cost a lot of money or a lot of time; and I don’t have to camp out in front of a store or form a long line. It’s like this: I want to see my family get together on Christmas eve, enjoy one another, have a nice meal, and share a gift or two. I want the satisfaction of knowing that two families in Uganda, Africa will eat on Christmas Day, because my wife and I sent money to them on December 3rd.
Christmas doesn’t have to cost much, if we would stop the rush, and cease buying so much of such and such. This blessed Christmas season, I would like to recapture three captivating moments that I experienced as a little boy at Christmas time.
I would like to recapture the aroma of my mama’s fresh baked cakes and pies at Christmas time. I would like to recapture the magnificent fragrance of apples and oranges throughout our house at Christmas time. And I would like to recapture the pleasant look on my daddy’s face after he had done his best to make all 12 of his children happy at Christmas time.
The blessedness of family life, and being able to give a little love outside the box.
Recapturing the aroma of mama’s baking, the fragrance of fruit, and daddy’s face at Christmas time. Some things in life are costly, but what I want most for Christmas is priceless.
Cj121107
Made motherless
in your mid teens,
father removed by grief,
brother and sister
crying out, your youth
was taken by need.
Emotions went subterranean,
kept capped too deep in you
to weep to the surface.
You became a mother.
As a child
I never knew your pain,
I was too busy with my own.
You carried those unhealed
scars under a granite veneer.
Tears were meant to be held
back and arms kept busy
baking and servicing
the myriad of chores
a housewife did back then.
They were not meant
for holding me.
We loved from a distance.
Only in the slow dissolution
of your dying did we see each
other as we were.
We talked for hours
until words were done
and there came a silence
where existed only love
between mother and son
Grandmas are experts at baking cookies and other things,
For their grandkids and the delight to them it brings!
She reads and tells of family lore as they sit upon her lap.
When sleepy heads begin to nod, she rocks them for their nap!
Grandma's house is the place to gather for the holiday seasons.
Her hams, turkey and pumpkin pies are some of many reasons!
In each of her family members she takes so much delight,
Making each feel special - they are the apple of her sight!
Grandkids patiently teach her the mysteries of the computer.
She in turn dispenses counsel for living, as their special tutor.
Grandmas are always there to nurse bruised elbows and knees,
And to help young minds to perceive God, the stars and trees!
Grandmas are notorious for producing grandkids' photos in a trice!
Not once, but many times - really! one time would suffice!
God bless them for establishing solid family foundations,
For their boundless love and mentoring for ensuing generations!
Truth be told, Grandmas are just antique little girls!
(Tho' some may sport tinted blonde or even purple curls!)
Some even collect and coddle porcelain dolls I'm told.
I reckon that is fine if it keeps them from growing old!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Waking up and smelling the aroma off fresh Brewed coffee.
Smelling Warm Artisan bread baking, and preparing to eat.
Biting into perfectly baked Pizza so crusty to taste.
Enjoying your favorite Turkey dinner in a warm baste.
Falling asleep while listening to sounding falling raindrops.
Seeing a surreal scenic view high above a mountain top.
Gifting meals to the Homeless, seeing a smile, from a good deed.
The joy of your first born graduating with Masters degree.
I am sure you can share your life's
Wonderful moments. Please share
in your comments below.
Michael Tor
September Ember Dismembered
Crisp Air, Baking Orb Basks,
Triggers Sorry "G'Bye Summer!" Tasks,
Daring "Where, What Shall We?" Asks...
Belated Yearning, Last Day's Angst,
Related Stirrings of Routine Must Be Yanked,
Or, Halcyon Days Slip Away Into the Tank!
I know! Visit & Trist, With a Loved One Resist!
Conspire Together to Ban the Hum Drum Cyst,
Seize the Light, Rotten Darkness Cease & Desist!
Sensate Focus, Expand Our Staid Locus,
Listen to Each Other, Share Inner Hocus Pocus,
Sparks of Our Views Exchanged Stoke Us!
Perhaps Oases Lie Not Above the Ceiling,
Nor End on Summer Season, Nor Below Our Kneeling,
We Meet the Enemy, for It's Us That's Stealing!
Grasp an Opportunity or Resist a Temptation?
Traipse Obscurely in Condemning Time's Ration,
Buy "Here & Now's" Ticket for the Train's in this Station!
"Hear & Know" Exposes Vain Untrue Fear,
The GPS of Vitality Does Not by Satellite Steer,
I Must Trust Relationships & Look in the Mirror!
For Facing, Listening, Working, Not Being Shy,
Local Thanks Go Global, Removing My Sty,
The World & I Are Not Running on Empty!
I Felt the World Needed Exchanging,
So Also My Neighborhood Could Stand Rearranging,
But When Improving I, All Began Changing!
She strains to find her footing in orthopedic shoes
my grandmother's clop-clop walk to me
unbalanced
steadied by a backbone of faith
She bears a tattered, red carpet bag,
solid wooden handles, worn like her marbled hands
Grandma removes jam tarts and her Bible (smell enticing)
to tutor me for my Sunday School verses,
Psalm 23, that welds to memory
Her diligence that I adhere to the lines
despite my craven pull to tarts (a riveting obsession)
Unfussy delight when I learn the verses
Her glow, free floating,
a small harp ovation
Grandmother's carpet bag, stitched by history
brimming with the sweet lure of baking
upheld by her faith, like a pulse that hums devotion
in a drawn body softly folding into itself
Nothing can be swept aside
when a grandma voices validation
when generosity extends itself
when her walk thaws the ground
when words embroider love
ensuring preservation
Poem revised: April 25, 2021