#bread
This is not, a time to loosen up
Or nine to five job to give up
Just saddle up the power is in you
Five ladies cafe to dine at five and
drove___* the meter is running
(The Canadian Cup) team versus the
Taxi Cup
He swooned you in your
Five dreamy but half heart sugars
Come on Baby bloomers
Let's see some boom!!
In your hips men will be men taking
frequent flyer trips temptation 1 2*345
We need fewer digs one love teo reasons
* World 345 heart flags*
We don't have to cross our hearts
Perhaps tattoo heart legs no more strikes
Jumping Jack flash
What a rope in this isn't the Pope
Somehow we all get broke
To court her like your the lasso
stars cosmos hearts like Lassie
Never a change of subject how it
remains in your heart how it hit hard
to react but changed to five cards
Digging too long lucky 777 like heaven
Heart digs
1-where?
Oh! There
No, I am here
We are always
In-between
numbers_ I only
have 5 minutes
No I phone have a heart
Oh! where is designed for me
Those five plates
Whats in between them
Him
We are opening Live- Five
Strong heart to give the caring
The useful heart is never so daring
My gate* Girls are nail digging*
Hugging*
Or losing add +
Flirty
*****
Our community
Heftier like Jupiter
Heart to build
the gravity
A big kiss hunch
of five roses
Your getting to bloom
but only have
5 extra movie parts
The front dress mermaid tail
Your heart delicate hands
opened up your emails
I think you hit the
Jackpot
Max to the million shot
No heart of gold
Only more leaders
Scrambling and digging
your fork
Mixing those egg beaters
Five men think they know
there women
like ten
commandments
Turn to five wrong
engagements
There it goes the lucky
five arguments
A plot beating
like a hot-shot
The French Baguette
Bread 9 to 5 firecracker
Five-carat baguette
wedding band in her safe
Heart digs to five hands
Heart neck guilty as a giraffe
The cafe house had only
5 cups left they sold you out
Only Five Bed and breakfast
stayers
Do detailed with their Ladyfingers
But need more alone time
Be on time get sweet key lime
What is real-time so sublime
That rose- paper cut- origami
Sorcerer of five he was like the
cold cuts of big Sub Salami
Japanese sword samurai
What a Geronimo Oh! no
Jericho
This wasn't a hot potato
Or Gizmo No-Go
Getting a shot for Polio
The gusto songs to the heart play
Maestro the Cosmo's
The five stars to heart his
afterglow
Like a titanic ship but heroics
Five lunatics wedding horns ******
Five two timer Mario gamers
so demonic
DOMINO'S bed five students wed
We dug deeper get-up sleepy-head
Exposed cries location set
Network U- dig cups
Something lip curved
He misplaced my lips
What did he do in exchange
More stocks and hard stone rocks
Like frying pan egg
scrambled words
Crossed heart Rapper so believing
The Fox five sticking tacky glue
His CD Rose lying pants no clue
Painful pointed shoes need R&R
*Robin's Responsibilities
The Heart On Replay
The deeper you dig to restart
The healthy organically grown brain
Men on Pause I truly believe nature
takes its course
but another beat to go is that so?
And if so heart digs to five
Feel the good vibe in another tribe
Five times I had to wake you up
I am the love cure reminiscing
Giving me five reasons
*Our beautiful change of
heart in season*
Studying the fine art heart
Referencing
Never refusing thats life
five-step to strive nothing
Fancy
Robin shoutbox she getting
her point across
Either you're the worker or loner
The heart pleaser the boss
Your heart looks good
on your dress
Whether we win or deep mess
The good heart can change to
a bad start
Recharge your heart count to five
Venus- beauty moved on like a
pathologist digging over staying alive
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 7:08 AM UTC
This is not where this idea began but it ran and I
missed my mark. Mark sin.
-1 deficit reality quotientcy
currency. Sure.
(Press Sure, to let the bursting pressure equilation expand at will)
Score.
That fine a level of reality
demands more attention than I have to pay.
Patient agent wait and not see or see if/then
you suffer, is there ought that I might do now
for you
that these words are not doing?
All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since
we come in threes, we are some of those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes
better left alone.
Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best.
We've been wadding up proteins,
since God knows when,
time's less twisted than people think it is,
but it is silly to imagine
time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments.
Is it?
Apophrenia
or mere
Dejavu, you believe,
what if it is your memory lying by ignoring time
attention ratios determining the observations stored in HD?
What if it's just a glitch?
Blue screen of death.
If you suffer, is there ought that I might do now
for you
that these words are not doing?
All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since
we come in threes, we are those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes
better left alone.
Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best.
We've been wadding up proteins,
since God knows when,
time's less twisted than people think it is, but
is it silly to imagine
time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments?
We come and go. To and fro up on the face
messengers bearing news in both directions, watch
the trickster, Jacob, in this story, he sees the messengers from
heaven bearing leaven thither and hither
upon the face of the earth.
the wrinkling mother, smiling now, chuckle head
I ain't no ***** saint.
Jah, I know. Joy is my dance, this is my song.
Is it good Grandmother?
---- on the porch facing my west gate ---
fences don't play exactly, out acted, the role of walls.
The idea that something
there is that does not love a wall,
has frozen my pond
the stillness beyond the sylvan **** crowned head
radiates through the medium of the message to me in time
to you.
Miles to go, you recall the feeling of feeling miles to go
before
I sleep.
That was yesterday, and you know yes ter everything's gone,
roar.
Aslan can pierce the barrier between mere Christians and me,
how would be fun to know, but
knowing why would help us keep the story interesting as life goes on
Who controls my peace?
Am I a mercurial sheen in between chaos and order,
chronus and zeus?
Could be, ya thank so, ye know so, less unlessed as
unlessing means nothing to you,
that means you are visiting here.
Visting whom, vis it ing whom?
Who's in charge, where's the power
short
age, wrinkles in time, rogue waves at the quanta scale,
we were dancing
with the thoughts emanating
from some IDW smart guy proffesing
Critique-technic-magi action, post mode'r'ism
at the point of Dada und Scheizkunst,
the unmass-queque,
the line of lies awaiting unbelief,
idle words lingering,
hoping
to be noticed and added back into the story book of life,
a simple wish.
It could be every child's, should we think that
if we can or may,
sometimes I'm still, and
confusion troubles the water,
it seems,
then another hurt is healed, another lie is gone and life goes on
we won again, this never gets old,
I do love my opposition,
pressure pump
pump pump. De-us-me-can-onbeoffbeyond
five years ago unmasking and rhetoric meant nothing to me
the purpose of learning forever and never
knowing anything beyond all things
our bubble is metastasizing, a mercurial film forms
informing us
in its reflection,
this is the ying yang thang in 3 or 4 d, HD+ chaos one half
order the other,
sharpest imaginable thing
me trick being mag ift just if eye winged show
how beautiful are the feet of them who bring good news,
you see, it flows, sweetwater flows
winged feet
whish through leaving, leavin' leaven…
unleaven that which has been leaved?
Fat chance, all who
eat this bread and don't get gas,
they are our same bread people. Companions.
Vectors of sour dough,
webs of fungal
axions
make a way
bore, pore, poor-with-us, pour
in to it ish, that idea, an opening through,
trickle down good gravity leveling stillness,
gentle rocking earth
roll round and round and round
the pythagorean version
of Euclid's point in his mother's story,
the point of this song? To know the point you must have been
to the point of in-forming the point on which we dance and you recall
we come in threes, and just, we are, just, if it, that idea,
rests in your
back roads, gentle on your mind. We make peace.
Being young is easy from my POV.
I've lived in my future for sometime now
I can't say how, beyond saying aloud, this was never hidden,
in my accounting of idle words I claimed,
upon hearing the stories each contained.
i'da swore i hear that wise *** o'balaam's abrayin'
Braindeem, deemed 'eem. Wham, uptheyhaid. Relig, fool,
or chaos wins and no hero ever lives again!
Drop anchor, wait it out.
let patience blow her nose, gnostic snot caught in the nets,
nonono nothing's wasted in patience work, we make glue
from gnostic snot that patience sneezes
when reality grows cold,
that has happened, you know, temperatures are just now,
oh, wait global warming, bad dam,
Script, bust it,
leveling is essential to eventual temperature
equilibrium.
The heat is on, the bubbles are forming, informing one to another
below the surface
greasy tension, slippery slopes putting pressure on chaos
to conform to the curve
Ying yang, mercury film upon the sea of time and the scene of chaos
in this bubble of all you can imagine real.
Hows' that feel? Why?
You want that? What are you standing under? Does chaos win?
You are, as we say, cognisic magi we-ified,
practical magic at
the moment
the point
is made, then the creation begins fractalling outward
and not before or is this all
unrolling ex nihilo, no magi ever knew…
come, let us reason together,
why am I empowered? To live, first thought wise, that's good but
evil forces me to think again and I see the pattern
life goes on, John Molenkamp, Sam, soldier 4,
(as the credits role by, the name catches my eye)
never in a thousand years,
'cept unbelievable is one of those lies I came to **** by strangling
on bile while
rescuing every idle word ever involved in the infection
from the point in the absolute center of the bubble,
objectively, you see everything
that is
seeable
but would good prevail if evil had no hope?
I know that one, yes. why?
evil has no mind, soul, some think--
same same medium message spoken spelled chanted danced
who care's?
*** 'er done. Life has a chaotic side, the churning creates
number one from none, the cult of one divides itself
go do be
we three we three we three a wavy song ding ****
Aware? Awaken? Avowed-wowed-wit-wise,
fullcomp, retired
Peacemaker. Me.
All my hero's imagined or real, were Peacemakers.
Just now, peaceful now, mindful now
we remain
the same blessing promised in the package of yeses
stolen from Cain by his older sister, his
bride,
keep that quiet, eh?
Secrets made sacred, always
those are lies, no lie is of the truth,
all lies are about the truth.
What empowers you, poet or poetry? Right, you know,
God, good god knows, resentment lives in lies
the rotting idle words deemed curses at best, secret at worst,
those idle corrupting thoughts sparking as if absolute annihilation were thinkable by rational minds
of ---wait, there's arub, a sore
ex nihilo, the homeless wanderer screams,
"May the whole world perish, may you all go to hell,"
the mad man wept his hell, and imagined his curse,
not mine,
I don't have one. I did, but I went back so often to find pieces of my heart that now I have an Elysian network woven through All-hell, the big idea that broke loose infecting the mind as wisdom's leaven builds her womb
inhabitation
placenta
stem cell informing builders empowered, pressure empowered, what must be, but is not verse, versus
us, the we that be
we must
choose,
let this be, come and see,
life goes on.
Agree, or empower us as we bubble by and
takenallwecan expanding gobbling bubbles,
good
by ye.
Once we flushed the Dada poison and let mito mom
instill the patience gene with
epigenetic peace we can pass on with a touch or a word,
we've never woven lies for no reason,
if a rung breaks
and they can, last straw and all that weight,
you know,
Jacob's ladder is an escalaltor-ladder, wittily invented,
with knots and twisted fibers electricked,
there are automated steps, algoryhmes of reasons to repair the broken rung
with a reason to believe the rung has been repaired,
only believe, take a step,
re
paired again with the idea of meaninglessness masked in create-if-ity
good enough. okeh. don't believe lies.
Don't pass undigested lies to see if farts burn.
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
Yogurt.
"I begin the day buying yogurt in a small favorite grocery store."
Not pizza, nor gatorade.
Bananas
although they are imported from afar and grown in monocultures.
Attract fruit flies in August.
Peaches
locally grown with rainwater. I ate all the farmer's peaches alone
stacking them by the railroad tracks.
Water --
rainwater, tap water, distilled water, carbonated water, spring water --
deep gulps, infinite sips.
Nuts
in moderation, or not, unsalted, raw, replacing chips. His bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts quiet weekday mornings.
Edible plant parts --
roots, leaves, stems, flowers, fruit, buds. In olive oil
or butter.
Potatoes --
look online how best to prepare. Baked or fried. With a little
fish or meat.
Tea and honey,
play and prayer. Swimming and running,
talking quietly.
Bread?
Bread's possible as the Bible. Each is liable
to bloat us.
Wine and dandelions.
Dandelion wine's Ray Bradbury's story. Cans in a pantry, books on a
shelf
to the end of time.
Pasta
we used to call spaghetti, never noodles. I wonder if I can remember
how to make
grandma's sauce.
Tomatoes --
cherry, grape. Grab God's eye
going by.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
Sweeter* than* wait I am starting
to melt like a____________?
*Royal Jam
Scarlet Movie Oh! I don't give a
****
The Milkman versus My Breadman
How can I decide I feel I am
going to faint
Such a quaint picnic was "Hot Epic"
My biggest fan is my
Mother
Going public like a stand up comic
**All stereotypes happiness
is a warm bread**
Any way you slice it love it
Even going out of our head
The war going on
Hello Vietnam
Be my Grand Slam
Have difficulty with everything
Melting our hearts those
"Good Eat" the luckiest people
But it's us the ordinary people
No time to brag or boost
who believes
everything is extraordinary
take a bow
Feeling tired give me a bat and ball
My big hit built me a buttercup bed
I love the sweet warm toast
With my butter spread that
dash of sea salt the most
What was truly said in
your opinion no one's fault
Justice For All so stop
feeling guilty
Or in the presence of someone, you
didn't love at all
End of the reign beginning of
Melted candle dripping softly
like I apple butter he texted me
His ears were full of wax
Moms and
their daughters play
dressed up Dads and sons
kickball having a meltdown
Of timeless bills no bread lines
Kings and Queens love their crowns
Love those quilts of corals
Soft as butter what morals
It's time for Hellman's
mayonnaise sandwich
What a dilemma
Every morning she is eating
Cream of wheat like a blob
Of farina
Kansas City here she comes
She loves her buttered popcorn
Poppy seed bagel was
near her acorns
We used to be human now
An Army of Robots
Keep your enemies closer
If you truly love her
Robin Hood of the thieves
She got Gingersnapped
Melted finger-mapped
Crusty Baguette's French lip
lemon creme
Those marionettes caused
a scene
Butterscotch candy sugar cookies
cleaning up your
computer meet "Ms." Butterworth"
movie
The worst shes ever has seen
She is sitting in the country
southern style
the dining room
Doing banana splits boiling
egg yolks Mcdonalds pancake
with Old folks
And cartwheels Moms always
wearing her buttercream heels
More room buttercream paint
And so toxic she zooms
What a silly goose with hens
He is hiding his eyes like
a fugitive he was blind getting
melted by so many lovers
Buttery slippery hearts
Jumping like Jack Rabbits melting a
white picket fence no nonsense
This bread and butter hold me closer*
Everyone is looking
like a stranger
Almost every morning new
improved bread love pusher
Fresh taste and another lover
Uptown girl left her catcher of
the rye bread on used up counter
Seeing too many piano players
of Billies, she was getting a
Bread hot fever
Take me to Panera Bread
Cyborgs the pig and whistle
beer and nuts melted butter pretzels
The Alien like a damsel in distress
Like a heart of the shamrock
What a lucky piece Irish bread
The Queen red wine and
breadcrumbs
On her musical chair
Milk and honey not your
Unicorn Pony quick kick
then melt me in my sleep
Ancient rocks up her castle
Sipping her hot spell word
puzzle
Secrets of all tattle tales
In her coffee, he smiles with
French croissant like a sergeant
Bread melted her butter lips
The very first time she
ever saw his face
There were more excursions
but no excuses to
butter up my Prince
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
The scent of fresh bread
breathed me home for Christmas
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
The handbook of my heart
Is one
For the birds,
As I am
Because I do
When there simply aren’t words.
So Sunday’s swan song
These little loaves
of love—
A bread of pray
For a safe journey home
My sweet turtle dove.
Oct 11, 2022
Oct 11, 2022 at 3:43 PM UTC
So many years,
These hands, now old,
Have worked at the table,
kneading and rolling dough,
Testing texture,
Adding raisins,
Walnuts,
Sugar,
Sprinkling cinnamon.
Warming the oven,
Waiting for the dough
To rise,
Sliding trays onto hot racks,
Marking time....
She sits on her walker's chair
Looks up into the camera
"Oh, don't take my picture!"
But how can we not?
Adding these images
To the memories,
To the moment.
The scent of baking bread,
Cinnamon,
Raisins,
Fills the room,
With 40 years' remembering...
Time stops,
Time reverses.
The ones who stopped in...
Dad,
Brother,
Sister,
Gram,
Hired Men,
Grandchildren,
Neighbors passing by...
Some now long gone...
After all, they were
Only stopping in...
"To grab a bite"
On their way to the barn,
On their way by the farm,
On their way to fields,
On their way to the phone,
On their way to town...,
But really to stop
For cinnamon, raisins, walnuts
Twisted into fresh, hot bread,
And a cool glass of milk.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
A breadcrumb I am - the morsel of my old dough,
a piece of chewed bread rotten, missed near a toe,
shredded by the sons of righteousness and “normality”,
entombed I am under the carpet to fulfil “morality”.
Mum added the yeast for me to grow, as well as flour,
Hoping my crust would golden as a vivid live flower,
She sprinkled little salt into me, to know the grimes,
Sugar too, for life brings out the salt to eyes, at times.
Dad poured the water, to soften toughness uncalled,
For man is kind too, not merely clay masked, walled -
And above all, they added affection and compassion,
They wanted me to satisfy mineself, not one’s ration.
Into the oven, 9 minutes, under fire: I show colors,
The warmth turned the heart warm for all others;
I am left to rest, to harden the shell and eternal body,
To be perfect as ma and pa wish: not adverse, shoddy.
But the stale, unpuffed, unfresh bread of this world,
covets but loathes what is good and not yet twirled,
It wishes for me to inhibit mold and evict dignity,
Mais allez, étrange moi, expose me not to malignity.
The least of their gurgling sounds puncture heads,
And the weakest of their advice the spirit dreads;
The making of me is the capacity of mine flexes,
Your ingredients suit not me, mortals and sexes.
Days yearn for you, not this battle of complexes:
You, mine old dough who suddenly “complex” is,
My parents baked me on low heat nice and gentle,
And they sear me with words not for me, mental!
Know you: Pita, Kmajj, Brioche, Shrak, or Baguette,
Bread is bread, could be different, but it is no threat.
Jan 18, 2023
Jan 18, 2023 at 9:27 AM UTC
They reached behind my sternum,
wrapped their hands around my heart,
and attempted to strangle it.
I pried their aching hands away,
and I tore my bleeding heart in half.
One half shaped itself into bread,
and the other half fermented into wine.
My eyelids slowly came together
as I let the holy water wash over me.
My words consecrate the communion,
and I bless it for people to consume
so we remember that we're not alone.
Apr 9, 2022
Apr 9, 2022 at 9:32 PM UTC
pale sickness
you're white as a sheet
draining illness
your clammy white skin
rots
deathly light
the diseased white sun will bleach your bones
after the doves pick them clean
sickly white
your cracked teeth clatter out of your skull
dominos in a dead white jar
trembling hands the color of spoiling milk
carefully cradle an almost translucent infant
mother and child
both far too weak to feed
the only thing that grows here is decay
white mold thrives on your hoarded white bread
while outside the safety of the white picket fence
there is not a single soul who does not
recognize the white of an unburied skeleton
under a full moon
Jan 29, 2022
Jan 29, 2022 at 6:44 PM UTC
you may think you are as insignificant as
*the first slice of bread*
but to me, you are as desirable as
*the first slice of pizza*
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 7:48 PM UTC
the glass spice jar of rosemary sits in the corner,
bait to prying fingers and
warm dough rising.
a set of hands banish her from her home,
open her up to greedy senses
and hearty-moans.
and then suddenly,
her graceful throat tips,
grinds of rosemary fall into buttered flour,
and she settles around moles of dried cranberries,
specks of shimmering sea salt,
and passionate, cherry pink fingertips.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 6:07 PM UTC
As
I dip a piece of broken bread
into grape juice
in a cheap styrofoam cup
My mind races
to
clips from movies,
scripture read so many times
Your body
hanging from
a bloodied cross
The King of Kings,
Pierced
by nail, thorn and spear
A phrase whispers through
my mind,
"This
changes everything"
Pierced
for our sins
Crushed
for our iniquities
The Lord of Lords,
Son of God,
battered, bruised and hanging
from a bloodied tree
Beaten and torn,
"This is My body"
Poured out,
"This is my blood"
Broken for me broken
for you
This,
this changes everything
And I dip a piece of broken bread
into grape juice
in a cheap styrofoam cup
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
Everything draws me to you:
The pulse of a new dawn,
The laughter of the sun,
The aroma of baked bread,
The song of a bird,
The fragrance of a flower,
The magnificent beauty of nature,
The miracle of a baby's birth,
The whisper of hope and humanity.
Everywhere I gaze, I see your beautiful face.
Anywhere I go, I feel the touch of your love.
You are the compass of the hearts
And the Infinite light of the whole universe!
Hussein Dekmak
Dec 26, 2021
Dec 26, 2021 at 9:33 AM UTC
i don't wanna hear her name
i don't wanna hear her name
you and me
you and me
just
impossible
utterly, impossible,
cannot i wish?
she doesn't know
nor you
only i
and i will never tell
but nevertheless,
you and her
bound to find
and me
me in the gutter
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC
the yearling roasted on the spit
its drippings crackled the fire
huddled in a smoky closed space
family with a neighbour, or two
bags packed, shoes on, ready to go
the meat carefully carved
its skeleton intact, unbroken
with endives rolled in flatbread
unleavened as we had no time
meal's remains destroyed in the fire
we're ready to leave at any moment
from where we're born and always lived
to a place known only from ancient tales
outside, shrieks and wails, of horror and utter terror
inside, goosebumped, hair standing, we waited, in silence
Mar 21, 2021
Mar 21, 2021 at 9:02 AM UTC
This is tyranny,
this is malicious,
this is undeniably done out of contempt.
The ire of this man cannot be expressed.
This is gluttony,
this is sinful,
take your coins and feed on the poor.
Sleep at night.
In the peaceful hours of dawn,
don’t blink and eye,
for I have ****** of my mind.
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 9:12 PM UTC
Get that **** out
don't let it stay in
building up, soiling
inside and rotting
like the mold on a loaf of bread
ignored on the shelf
for two weeks
too long.
Get that **** out
for what seems to come out
of your ******* to you
may just be that
lost, buried treasure
another has finally found,
and oh how they might worship it
your magnificent ****
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
the big easy
is hard lives,
what gives
this rainy city
so sublime,
it's almost a pity
that streets are lined with ****
pests and rats in the alleyways
how did things get so ******
or have they always been?
overpasses with people
lying underneath
so many homeless
it staggers the mind to think
bread bags and coffees
floating in the wake of the ferries
outnumbering 10 to 1
the loads that they carry
all the old growth
coming down
all the gold of their headpieces
tinfoil hats fashioned from crowns
no jazz or blues can save them
from the fate that waits
an engraving reading,
here lies what once was a haven
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 10:07 AM UTC
Her fingers cracked and bleeding,
Lead glued under brow, under hum,
And below the sweet Tian He smog,
So rests my grandmother.
She’s gently handing out hope,
Even more, stale and day old bread,
Hidden ‘neath twitch, ‘twixt grief;
Abandoned were the meals, the bed,
And bath, so that the others may eat.
It’s in the shadows I shuffle, dependent,
With a paper-bag to my left and
Other, my better, to the right,
Whilst we wish the silent skeleton,
Pale and fervent, my grandmother,
Some peace, some bread, two smiles,
And but one star, if only one
For her to wish upon, and one more,
If only to grant her ample and every desire.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC
I hear a motor
In my head,
Cranking, moaning,
Turning, turning...
Nearly dead.
I have an onion
In my head;
Has it a seed
I can embed.
So I keep
Peeling, peeling...
I have a pencil
In my head,
An HB2
With blunted lead,
Scratching on
A blank cortex,
Itching to put
Thought to text.
Scratching, scratching...
I have dough
Inside my head,
Needing kneading
Just like bread.
When it's baked
Sliced and spread,
I'll serve it up
Outside my head.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
The restaurant
We ate at
The last time I saw you
Is now closed
I didn’t know that would be the last time I would see you
I didn’t know that would be the last time I
would eat there
You looked into my eyes for the first time since I picked you up to say “this is the best garlic bread I have had in my entire life”
It took us 47 minutes to get there
It took us 61 minutes to get home
Because we sat in the parking lot of a gas station I’d only been to once before, but liked a lot
I haven’t been there since we were
Either
We listened to that song
Not the one you quoted at “lunch”
Not the one about what you want and don’t
The one that asks why
I took you back
To his house
I parked a block away
I cried
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 4:45 PM UTC
“***What does baking require of us?
It requires patience, thoughtfulness, an eye to your surroundings, otherwise known as
simply paying attention and responding accordingly.***”
more gourmand than gourmet,
who believes like the firmament above
that the transportation of
the human soul is enlightened,
enlivened
by the aroma of scent of
an endless freshly baked loaf of bread
need to confess,
never held
a rolling pin,
nor had a mustache white
made of flour
upon my face,
and if ere the toaster oven
had not been
installed invested or even invented
in a kitchen,
the only thing
I would ever have
preheated is the body
of a woman who truly
was loved
complete and insane
daily for
sixteen
years
but the perfume of a
newly baked brioche
can bring me to
tears
just as a newly unearthed,
the child of a poem
writhing within me
emerging, even surging
from the soiled placenta
of my
souled~soiled mind&heart,
borne and born
yeah,
even
bre(a)d
so I read an article about
a baker from France,
reading the words above
and wonder
what did I miss,
forfeit,
after a lifetime liftoff of
a badly chosen careered life
that i did trust love
or so I thot!
“***wondering why bakers are the way
they are. There is a quietness, and a kindness, to their lives that veers into almost monastic behavior. Perhaps it is simply the ancientness of being a fire maker — tending a hearth really brings something out in a person.***”
how I glowed and flowed
with recognition of the
esprit de corps
(borrowed identically
from French to our
Anglais lexicon)
in all acts of creation,
a fabulous trade,
a new conception
eye spied on the streets of
My Manhattan
understood the mesmerizing
heat of a crackling fire
for children of all ages
and the why~when
the birth canal opens,
I must be alone with
the quietude that
tries and fails
to hold the raging
heated hot juices inside,
kept nope, not in check,
so formatting them into
a disc shape,
lest they spill unseeded floored,
a pour of ooze,
crisping the lost flesh
of flames eradicating
from
the plenitude distractions of
short term, this modern life
<>
Sunday,
in my America is a holy day,
a sabbatical
marked by rituals sacred,
brunch, football games
or maschostically
even two on a
Josephian
coat of
many colored channels
all this followed by
with a desert tray of
patisserie,
PBS (1) ****** mystery tv shows
of British origin
for a somewhat lessened
yet still violent contested cultural
amuse bouche
In between,
the ladies squeeze in
a Great British Baking Show,
which says when suggested
you’ve been bested
and
‘Yo Boy,
time to **** Nat
them deserts make you fatter,
by mere visual osmosis’
and contemptible contemplation
and that contested kitchened
atmosphere
antithetical to introspective
inspection
which life ingested in you
overly oveyly
aplenty
in placed,
so now I wonder
if this,
a career chosen
by youthful me,
the maledom masculine shouting of the
traditional trading room,
where ego was nourished
within a veneer of analytics,
rationed rationales reasoned,
was down to the nearest $ sign,
was it
the right place for me,
and how it sponsored within me,
a need ultimately
to sit
in ancien worn
by fig & vine
in uncomfortable Adirondack thrones,
a bright need
to sit by the
saluting salutation waves of
a constant lapping bay,
and the conversation of
a current thrusting empowered
tidal basin rivers
waters both
lightly salted fresh water
in piety poetic
combination,
all fed by genteel
small mountain streams,
all flowing, by gravity sent,
to assemble ingredients
of
verbs, noun words in
an adjectival temple,
unkempt kept simple,
in different voices
well hid **** deep
beneath his skin, his bone,
for to simply order up;
a bake off up,
a meringue of
poems
and to better understand what
our well definable,
oh so human
l i f e
***requires,
even demands
without surcease,
of us***?
all the while
we
twogether
areexpelling the rap we
breathe
and the scented heaven
of holy wine and
unlimited
loaves of
yup,
b r e a d
nmlipstadt
Oct 15, 2024
Oct 15, 2024 at 1:01 PM UTC
Swallow it.
My ****
full of yeast
spewing bread
Swallow that!
Just like you asked me to.
De-Lish-Ous?
Well... That's what you said when
you asked me to give you a *******
Get down there...Pig!
and feed at my trough
Full of ****** yummy
wholesome goodness.
Ya know, ten out of ten men prefer
Bread made with yeast
What a feast!
Aug 16, 2025
Aug 16, 2025 at 4:46 PM UTC