Plum tuckered from the Polar Express,
off the rails and despairing of goody-
goody gumdrops and sweet words
that impresses many a poetic treat.
Preparation of Victorian sweets, via PC,
dreaded, droll, glorious and interminable.
I’m laughing at you, if you try, Sugar Plum.
You’ll turn colors as a longsuffering victim.
The SP Fairy, flew through the season
of peace and joy, only her tippy toes caring.
Not a fruitcake, herself, to be busy for days,
nor fuss and layer a dobosh torte for hours.
raspberry cobbler
chocolate chip cookies
almond torte with cream
lemon meringue pie
blueberry muffin
banana split
chocolate cake
butterscotch pie
almond blizzard
key lime pie
baklava
pudding
donuts
pie
Strains of chamber music fill the air
Invited guests have come to share,
Cozied pots filled with steeping teas
For the Kitties, Collie, Bear and me.
A table filled with a sumptuous fare,
Cakes, scones with cream, and a torte with pears
Served on plates edged in filigree
A perfect afternoon, a jubilee.
For Eve Ropers Contest: Rhyming Me a Poem Poetry Contest
11/12/21
Photo#4
Placed 1st in contest
red rice risotto
roasted ripe rutabaga
raised raisin roll-up
saucy soup saucer
sloppy spaghetti supper
sweet summer sipper
tempting twisted tea
tomato tossed tamale
turtle topped torte
7/22/2020
Contest: Let the Pens Flow - Alliteration
Sponsor: Jenish Somadas
Articulated words
From your lips...
Soothes more than
Smooth creamed cookie.
Melanin skin tone,
You are...
Makes this cookie green.
Your sapience, very distinct
Making a library curse
Your existence.
Resistence, I sucked
From your crispy nipples
Forming ripples
Down my infant tummy.
Oreo, might be yummy,
Crunchie and sweet;
That mama, can't
Contend with
Your rarebreed
Baked ennead months from your oven.
I became your best torte;
Sweeter than the sweetest,
Your end product.
Kind hearted you are,
Your heart larger
Than Philadelphia city...
Accomodates all with pity.
Like a tulip in the tropical forest
Your warmth beckon one to rest.
Your life, very admirable
Than the sight of a phillerya.
Before you depart,
Record an audio
To soak in while I crunch my Oreo.
©? Rarebreed «2020
I’ve crossed many rivers so cold
am known to be stout and bold
the likes of cheese and crackers
makes me lips go smackers.
The flavor kicks up me nose
like cat nip makes me doze
keeping a stiff upper lip
I’m careful not to slip
I keep some in me pocket
a back up in a gold locket
some for me and some for me cat
she goes lickety split at that.
Only one cheese is called Pastone
Can’t find elsewhere, so I make me own
Vapors of melting cheese I snort
Then smooth over a toasted torte
No recipe to follow on just a trial
poured into jugs to hold for awhile
some pimentos squeezed out to hang
gives it a ting adding a nice tang
across the vast greens of Killarney
I spill out some words of blarney
when I sell me bakeries of fame
quite delicious though just the same.
Sales are rising, which are not surprising
tasty and appealing and quite appetizing,
wrapped in blocks, not yet in slices
mild or sharp taste at the best prices.
Have built a small shop in Kitteny square
wagons coming in from most anywhere
the flavors are labeled and mostly known
buy the best, ask for Pastone
Sinner Who Is A Beginner
Liar, sinner both
And him to tell truth was loath
Also under oath.
Democrats want promoted
Truth serum around be toted,
Daily done devoted.
Repeat and repeat
Sending out a stupid tweet;
Brains of moron's meet.
Answer to our prayers
Knowing less Trump ever cares;
Morons come in pairs.
Each other support
When they have their day in court
Should have been a torte.
Was rhetorical
Question also historical;
Had he lost his mind?
Almond cookies and French Roast,
a superb treat for a king or Queen;
a glass of Andre' to make a toast,
a torte soaked in Baccardi...cin, cin!*
Sue baked a huge cake, but it looked like coal;
it supposed to be lemon, not chocolate, lol!
Vanilla pudding
done in a few whipping strokes:
chill it, then eat it!
* Italian: onomatopoeic for clinking of glasses
Rough footsteps sifting through the crisp, torte leave's,
a grey matter of cloud's over head,
the crisp, crunch of the fresh fallen leave's,
it stills my beating heart,
that noise,
that simple sound,
I aghast.
The array of colors,
falling at their masses,
I want to skip, to run,
and hear the vital sounds beneath,
a laugh, a smile, a grin,
of what might have and could of been.
Think of May as a wonderful month, never rude,
bringing beautiful days with warm showers...
to make beach goers wrap themselves in towels,
then the hottest sun will break through!
Why do we love this month that makes everyone fantasize?
Is it the new flowers, or Mother's Day itself?
We agree, its the last one I mentioned with great surprise...
wanting to honor the one we all love to death!
And as I am talking about this special event, which is of a specific sort,
you wouldn't forget to give her a little sweet something
that she likes: from a single flower, or paper heart to a chocolate torte;
many more you can find: like puppets that dance and sing!
Think of May as a wonderful month when imagination is wild and free to err,
and the desire to escape is not limited to sea, sky or a far-away friend;
it can reach, quicker than any whispered prayer, the loneliest heart so afraid,
but ready to embrace mom's heart despite the love one has denied her!
Entered in Carol Brown's contest,
" Memories Of May "
Written by Andrew Crisci
Oh majestic peaks,
standing so tall,
the points never meager,
uplifting like the beautiful dowager.
~*~
The greenery covers,
like a flock of plovers,
and a blanket of fibrous wicker,
near the rocky slopes that flicker.
~*~
The sunlight is poking through,
and a wall of clouds of suspended dew,
a stand of conifers abridged,
growing across the green mountain ridge.
~*~
Oh Green Mountain, so rich in seeds and nuts,
like the early bakers torte,
your cool mountain streams,
cleanse thy body and make me gleam.
I do not have a favorite sport.
Folks near me cheering laughing, snort.
At times I sit in bleachers,
And watch the gaming creatures.
I much prefer a tasty torte.
© January 20, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
The media steers our attention
since truth is one thing they won’t mention.
That velvet cherry torte
holds mandates to report,
so she flirts to pull our perception.
At times I have felt as a cowardly sort,
Who is unwilling to stand on any a torte,
And just simply goes with whatever the flow,
When the reapers reap, and when the sowers sow,
I go,
But in truth I must tell you,
I must honestly say,
That evertime I chose to pay,
The price of principles I choose,
Most often afterwards I loose,
The surety that I was right,
On and in the positions I chose to fight,
So call me a coward if that is your wish,
I think that I'll just stick to this,
Before I stand and before I dismiss,
I shall try and open my fist,
And love with abandon no matter the trist.
A warm comforting home environment environment adorned with
paintings, cushions,flowers, soft couches, afternoon sunlight
Streaming through laced windows breathing out cooking aromas
of chicken soup and incense fragrance of musk and lavender.
Smiles and Grandmas hugs with milk , cookies and fresh linen.
Dainty flower prints on cotton fabrics, blue and white china teapot.
Gentle crackling of a warm fireplace curled puppy fast asleep on a rug.
Whistling kettle punctured with gentle laughter around a card table.
"Last Card!" A guest makes a call ...until he is handed a three
"Ohhh?" He picks up three cards and everybody laughs.
Vanilla ,Chocolate and coconut wafts in from the kitchen.
Grandma is making her famous three-tiered chocolate torte.
Strains of Fleetwood Mac filter through from another room.
Mum has just arrived with the shopping the pup rushes exitedly.
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