Short Buttering Poems

Yellow butterfly
Uses buttercup flight pad.
Mingles cups and wings...

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bread
yeasty delicious
mixing rising baking
soft loaf hard sliced
toasting browning buttering
tasty warm
toast...

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Jack's Somber Notes

jack fiddles life away on his thumbs
the little digits beating like drums
over loaf he brow
buttering skid row
from his jam he's awaits for crumbs

connie pachecho

2/7/2018...

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My heart was fluttering
My words were stuttering
My buns needed buttering
Had a lump in my throat
lost a button on my coat
and both feet were afloat
on that steamy saucy night
with my sexy Dreamboat!...

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What is a word
That is one two
Wait shouldn't that be too
i want to get bitter
sweet turns to better
sorry just buttering you up
a wasp came before four bees
making mistakes at the back of the ship aft errors
said no to the un
Auuu to the glimmer of gold...

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Ritual

It is not the position,
not the money, 
not the opportunity.
It is breakfast
with my steaming tea,
my rolls,
my periodicals,
my wife pouring, buttering, keeping quiet,
my shower, towel, shirt and tie,
my selection of that tie and
that tie’s winding,
my good-bye.


Donal Mahoney...

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Each Morning

It is not the position,
not the money, 
not the opportunity.
It is breakfast
with my steaming tea,
my rolls,
my periodicals,
my wife pouring, buttering, keeping quiet,
my shower, towel, shirt and tie,
my selection of that tie and
that tie’s winding,
my good-bye.

Donal Mahoney...

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Croissant making
Bread baking
Yeast slaking
Crust caking
Bread

Potato
Pumpernickel
Whole wheat
Enriched white
Bread

The smell of it
You will have a fit
Fresh from the oven
Your Grandma’s apron
Your mother’s way of buttering it
There is nothing more heavenly-tasting in the world.
Bread!...

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too long i have longed 

for the feeling of belonging

each day i struggle 

to merely get up in the morning 

boiling the kettle 

buttering the bread 

oh how i wish 

i was somewhere else instead 

one day i may give up 

trying to please everyone else 

but for now, here i sit 

ashamed of myself...

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Over breakfast, pouring coffee,
buttering toast,
the phone rings -
I answer.
Her sister,
she's weeping --- father dead.
Looking across the table at her,
I recall last night, her restless words.
This morning they seem to have been
clouds taking shape before a storm,
a darkness learning to speak,
elemental spells
cast against the coming of the light...

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i just 
want to be
a sweet talking 
teddy bear
inside golden
honey drops
in dripping feelings
upon the softest
of emotions

buttering you up
so we can
sandwich together
sweetly tickling
the taste buds
sparkling roses
blooming beautiful
crowned queen
of the deep ocean

softly rainbow colouring
one's soul
as waves 
unfold out
whispering in winds 
a tune 
played upon 
the deepest organ...

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/em>Over breakfast, pouring coffee, buttering toast,
the phone rings, I answer. It is her sister,
she's weeping --- father dead.
Looking across the table at her,
I recall last night, restless words,
words spoken as she slept.
This morning those dreams seem to have been
clouds taking shape before a storm,
a Greek chorus reciting elemental spells,
cast against the coming of the day./em>...

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stars still shine 
a wonderful labor 
unnoticed 
especially in winter 
when cold folds us 

old trees still grow 
though moss mutilates 
and branches bend 
squirrels leap 
for the joy of leaping 

ants still scurry 
delighted by summer fare 
soda spills 
melted marshmallows 
and watermelon skeletons 

an old poet still needs to write 
it's his plight 
precious pen 
buttering words 
for hungry readers...

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One great thing - is essentially -
like any other great thing.

They all fly from the same center,
not an anatomical space,
not a specific thingness,
but one revealed goldmine
overpouring.

What did I see,
what do I see?

Butter,
you buttering toast,
your hair all muzzy from sleep.

Yellow sunlight on the kitchen counter.
The blue plate
that has no ready words,

yet speaks for the billions,
that shine from
the one yellow yoke,
in its broken eggshell.

...

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