A red wine stain stays
seared into the wooden grain —
the table keeps watch
how their laughter filled the room
last time they were together
Jellybeans loiter
on the shelf in cookie jar
I wish none remained —
better emptiness than this
waiting for sweet that's hollow
Perfume on pillows,
a scent that's too strong at times
still wafts through the air —
sometimes the scent warms the room
often it dampens the mood
Burn marks scar the trays
where scones were baked lovingly
await scraper's blade —
to erase fond memories
of toppings with jam and cream
Much-loved song lies poised
in the player seldom used
my choice, not hers now —
ready to play her music
to ignite the glow we shared
No flowers drying
only books she left behind —
in the bookcases
that still cups the curve of hands
that held them by candlelight
Mailbox yawns empty
no letters, no messages
no texts, likes on screens —
she deleted her accounts
no one home, got no reply
So much left to clean
to pack, stack, clean and carry
yet I leave it still —
for the mess is a mirror
that keeps her ghost in the room
Nutritious food, how bad can it be?
I stood in the organic section, wanting to pee.
Aren’t you glad you came with me?
This was my healthy cousin, Little Lulu Lee
I will meet you in the park said her brother Gore
I watched him sneak into the bakery next door
Have to potty, I’ll see you in the park too I said.
I stocked up on muffins, scones, bagels and bread.
deep in the underbrush of the ying ying forest
there is a path of posies and a faerie named Norest.
Norest has prettied up her home with window boxes, each with a lily.
Her home has fluffy comforters, warm tapestries, and a parrot who is silly.
Once a year she holds an autumn tea for her favorite people.
They play finger games like “here’s the church, and here’s the steeple."
Norest is a hostess who bakes tasty pies, scones and fruitcakes.
Sometimes she adds banana splits and berry power shakes.
No one wants her smoothies, they are orange and green.
But if we are going to honor a hostess, in Ying Ying she is the queen.
Unfortunately, her parrot can be beyond silly, sometimes he is mean.
Often her guests run out screaming, never again to be cherished or seen.
Howdy friend, I'm new in town.
I think I'll jot a few things down,
which, I hope, might take a frown
and turn it upside down.
OK, now let's play a game,
to see how much we are the same.
These are things that make me smile:
a new bride walks down the aisle
the radio plays my favorite song
a child has a place to belong
fish in a clear mountain stream
being part of a team
I'm weird, I like insects and bugs
but I also like kisses and hugs
a funny, animated cartoon
a cute face on a red balloon
a caring nod, a holding hand
the twanging of a rubber band
a sunny day on the beach
biting a juicy, dripping peach
riding the crest of a wave
climbing into a secret cave
I like to scratch my dog's fur
and the voice of Karen Carpenter
In the morning it is fun
to see a flower meet the sun
a kid on a hot day with a hose
a fly when it lands on his nose
I like to watch a top when it spins
and when the underdog wins
the smell of fresh baked bread
a good story to read in bed
to see the shining happy glow
of a child's face in a talent show
I like munching raisin scones
and wild animals that no one owns
please note, I am also smitten
by a week-old big eared kitten
a generous bouquet
of sumptuous peonies
if you please
gracing the parlour
in all its splendour
it’s tea time
we’ve brought out
the lace cloths
the best china
and warm scones
for our dear friends
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
SIMPLY YEATS
My verse under Yeats’ carved door
he merrily chuckled at white
envelope, sketched butterfly
said he preferred to receive
verses this way rather
than reading them across
post-modern websites
He invited me to tea
we simply savoured small
cheese squares, crumbly
scones watching a squirrel
chomp a cheerful chestnut
lost and found
What word can describe
fleeting images of poets
graduated, yet living on ?
Vacant ….a vacancy
that awaits a word
wandering ethereal
manifesting ____
a lover expecting his
Beloved with cherries
a shadow across
poetic dreams
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.
The bullying
In 1945, yes, I know it is; a long time ago
in fact, 80 years ago, a war had ended
and many children went to school without
breakfast that consisted of scones
with brown goat cheese and a small bottle
of milk, there was no restriction on how
many scones we could eat
a family didn't want their children eating
at the school, as they proudly pointed out
they could feed their own brood
the children were bullied because
their family was different from us
The whole working-class neighborhood
had gone communist at the time. it was
something about freedom and quality
no one had the right to dare to be different
The story of the adults, how rich
that family was endless, it should no one
should allowed; all we children know they
had a big garden with fruit trees, the first apple
I tasted was stolen in their garden that
according to my brother had an angry dog
Suddenly, no one was communist there
was work for all, although poorly paid
People's pride had returned; politically
this was now called a social- democracy
In oil-rich Norway, few remember the country
was saved by the Marshall plan
here we careen through the scheme
riding the vortex of the american dream
seen behind the blind scenes in hiding
keep fighting the design on the frontlines.
the career of a degenerative peer
is not measured by how they appear
or adhere the commandeer of said steer,
as long as they down beer and disappear.
clear as this fixates the mistake of the states
we would augmentate and drown hound fears
sheer will could astound the nouns quo
leaving them in tow with woe as one said so.
illuminate the sewn, find a darker home alone,
brash and beating the bone into the stone,
not grown eating scones of the blindly shown
that well-known handmade status throne.
grenade low tossed at the cost of some human loss
for fuel that is obsolete and crude at high-spreading moss
green fabric the waxen-elitism roster head boss
with a thumb gangrene, the color of his blood pulse.
down a flask of mezcal with a spliff of mary jane,
we aim to numb the pain from their dumb games -
switching lanes through the lazy river zaftig maze,
eyes glaze over, middle fingers raise at their gaze
New Orleans French quarter bakeries
feature luxurious flavorsome bene’s
palatable pumpkin pies, exquisitely decorated cookies
aromatic meaty soups, nectarous scones, rich dipping sauces
appetizing cobblers, and cream puffs larger than clouds.
My nose lead the way after I found the brochure
I was not disappointed
June is here.
Give a big cheer.
Sweet are days of summer.
At a fair, eat scones.
Lick ice cream cones.
June is here.
Take a vacation.
Relax and show your elation.
Give a big cheer.
Hold someone’s hand.
Walk on warm sand.
Sweet are days of summer.
Twin giraffes are we
each day at five we take tea
Lots of folk watch us each day
eat scones&cream on a tray
With our tongues we lick clean our face
some consider such etiquette a disgrace
A young newlywed colleen from Clones*
Surprised her husband with freshly baked scones.
Said the hubby, named Keith,
"Dear, I don't mean to beef,
But my teeth are more suited to biscuits than stones."
*A small town in Western County Monaghan, Ireland.
!!!Happy Saint Patrick's Day, P S!!!
Buttery Corn Puffs are made up in heaven
Delicious and such melt in your mouth fun
I'm not really addicted I can stop any time
If I'm held back at the point of a gun
Each night I bolt out of my bed screaming
“Where did you hide my Buttery Corn Puffs”
It's one of the few pleasures I have left in life
They'll soon have to take me away in cuffs
I dream of floating way up high on a cloud
Looking down on a soft yellow landscape
Corn Puffs stretching from horizon to horizon
With fairies and me wearing lampshades
Such a happy scenario of joy and frivolity
Those yellow Buttery Corn Puffs do evoke
To feel the great joy and total contentment
Before that final sad moment when I croak
If Buttery Corn Puffs are made up in heaven
I'll cross over to that great unknown
Totally surrounded from horizon to horizon
Much better than a land of buttered scones
It's January and the cold winds blows
the frosty weather beckons snow
Stay inside within the warmth of hearth
preheat the oven for it's time to start
Bake those cakes and them some pies
a peach cobbler and muffins rising high
Biscuits and scones and homemade bread
cookies galore keep that sweet tooth fed
Jailhouse chili recipe from good old dad
hot homemade soup like as a child you had
Hot coffee and tea and apple cider to brew
don't forget a favorite mom's great beef stew
In the warm kitchen with yummy smells
hot tasty food chases away the chills
If outside the temperature drops fifty below
inside the house winter cooking makes the kitchen glow
Family and food on a cold winter's day can't be beat
because the more you make the more you eat.
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