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Isaac Ward Aug 30
Chilly autumn mornings-
Kitchen tiles cold on my feet,
Baking bread and butter fill the air with laughs,

A recipe my grandma knew by heart,
Measured in pinches and handfuls,
Started before the sun had it's first cup of Joe,

I would sit by the heat vent,
With a blanket she knitted,
And try to warm up,

Gnawing on cinnamon rolls made from extra dough,
Chewy, unglazed, rich and tasty,
She taught me to love the art.
I miss her. She taught me to bake, to enjoy it. Those were the good ol' days. Carefree, fun.
You are no baker
but let me be
raw dough for you
to mold as you please

place floured hands
on my body
and knead
smooth out
all the unevenness
all the tears you see

I want to feel
the tender flattening
see your worn hands
make something new
out of the scraps
of me
Faith Hull Apr 25
It’s funny
When bread I must bake
All I can think of
Is the delightful taste
Of cookies
a real life experience laced with symbolism
Eleanor Apr 10
I had a notebook filled with thoughts
These odd thoughts of mine.
One day I lost my notebook.
I left my thoughts behind.

My thoughts about the pains caused
When cruel things were said.
About my love of music
About wishing I was dead.

About the way my mind works,
The decisions that I make.
The friends I think hate me
The food I want to bake.

Do I want lace lingerie?
Or pretty little knives?
Should I learn to dance a waltz
Or practice how to drive.

Some thoughts were about projects
Some homework on my mind.
Have I worked hard enough?
Have I been kind?

This book was filled with all the things
That others should not know.
And now I cannot find it,
Where did my thoughts go?
If you come across them, please let me know.
RIP notebook
I have accepted my fate;
My inability to move, to speak
The fast-paced switching of scenes
Each time I get to blink.

I do understand the gap—
The pressure of compactibility; claustrophobia
Interferance may set you ablaze–
Or so I told myself.

It has always been like this:
An ever-repeating cycle
The blending and molding
Into what I ought to be.

Time became my comfort
As I warmed and accepted change
Pieces of me were scattered
Now, I am complete.
© Cyrille Octaviano, 2017-2018
melli7 Feb 22
I hate
washing dishes. But I don't
discriminate (pots and
pans and spoons and measuring
cups are also on my *****

when I bake
in a microwave,
in one bowl,
with one mixing fork,
and no measuring tools,
it's sort of kind
of a bit of
a miracle
when the baked thing rises
AND it
Amanda Nov 2019
It is snowing in Alaska
That might sound obvious
Since we're halfway through November
But its only really snowed once
Our state should be covered in flour
Like pie dough or potato bread
Instead we have a light sprinkling
Of dandruff on our northern head
Day 14: write a lousy poem. The suckier the
Tori Schall Nov 2019
A little bit of sugar
a tiny pinch of salt
A couple of spoonfuls of cinnamon.
I single chocolate drop
throw it in some flour
and add a cup of milk
That is how you bake something
I hope that it did help.

Now mix the ingredients, until they blend so well
and you'll have a mixture
that looks as delicious as it smells.
Then put it in the oven
set it to bake
take it out when the timer dings
and you'll have yourself a cake.
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