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Zach Schuller Jun 2019
the stove stopped turning on
it always acts up but after a few
swift blows from my swift blow maker
some well placed percussive maintenance
heat flows like normal. now however
my repeated beatings only anger the thing
each shuddering creak of the underlying
machinations i google
why won't my oven work
but they want me to be specific How
when all i really know is That.

each comment on related issues calling for replacement
that won't do they reply; can you even get a new oven?
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
Feel the lull of sleep
On a roll that will rise up
In the oven's womb
I'm lazy as hell, I swear lol
But I'm glad I remembered the basics!
Lyn ***
(ah...a flickr of nostalgia washes over my psyche for those days of yore, when going to the local playground ranked as a big deal to offspring well prepared for young adulthood).

Paradise visage and eyes a bulge with dollar signs
   whets imagination with PowerBall ticket bought
expect the usual outcome after next drawing
   to yield monetary naught
temptation for instant millions

   human foible to reach for elusive *** of gold
   streak of universal desire
   for potential wealth overtakes rational self
   with delusions of grandeur caught

allow, enable and provide flirtation
   with fate to experience rich draught
envision emancipation from penury
   a distant battle fought
and tacked hard scrapple existence wrought.
 
at the core
legal tender in such precious chronically
   in short supply within this family of four
though times eye desire at least

   another son or daughter more
at such urge (long silenced of this
   ram by ewe to who) did vehemently roar

boot budding young girls
   I whole-heartedly love and adore
who rush into my arms whenever back
   from trivial pursuits

   nearly squeezing out digested gore
when casually and nonchalantly
   turn the key to open the front door
akin to the finest crafted clock work

   to sound the time of day
   they still dance and frolic like kittens or puppies
   bring newspaper and slippers

   sharing silly concocted faux pa lore
inviting me to play make believe games on the floor
enjoying revelry without keeping score
yet…creating memories I will forever store.
 
Financial straits
   make our existence hand to mouth
all grandiose aspirations to succeed
   in life frequently head south.
 
Creative endeavors find excitement
   and linguistic pleasure
   thru the attempt to pry
   poem or prose from mind

deliberate semblance to communicate
   and extract idea from cranial rind
words that synchronize suitably
   in poetic third eye bind

readers may espy hidden puns
   within this rhyme lined
with challenges or commiserate
   and complement via words of positive kind

although large sum of money would be  a dog send
   delivered by one blessed angel in disguise
   redemption and salvation considered thankful find.
 
Much rather be cursed with excess wealth
Deliverance to life, liberty and mental health
Depravity foreign concept never to rue by stealth.
Henry Koskoff Nov 2017
sally says summer
looks like a quiche
buoyant
adjacent to the toaster oven
her breath releases
when the summer days are fresh
and the summer nights are safe
Äŧül Oct 2016
The heart is a warm brazier,
When full of love & happiness.
The heart is a cold freezer,
When full of hatred & sadness.

The heart is a happy place,
When full of loyalty & trust.
The heart is a sadder place,
When full of deceit & mistrust.

The heart is a hotter oven,
When full of hottest feelings.
The heart is a colder pole,
When full of negative emotions.
HP Poem #1174
©Atul Kaushal
The Heat, and not the sports team
Has come here for a while
It's enough to set some records
And to **** the farmers smiles

Humidity and high temperatures
Add to make our life like hell
It's drying up our creeks and streams
There's no water in our wells

We do not use our ovens
To cook our meals, not now at least
We just leave meat on the counter
The outside heat will cook the beast

Our lawns are brown and dormant
But the weeds are growing strong
There is chickweed and crabgrass where once
Green grass did once belong

The splash pads are on overtime
To help keep people cool
We've cooling centers everywhere
They're in all of the schools

In order to cool down at home
I have my a/c set to freeze
And if at times this doesn't work
I watch Christmas DVD's

Remember hats and sunscreen
to keep the heat off of your head
In fact it is so god ****** hot
I tan while I'm in bed

I remember as a child
Summer never got as hot as this
Compared to recent temperatures
Is like a ******* to a kiss

We pray for heat in winter
And in the summer, the reverse
I know I would like the snow
The heat is much, much, worse

Instead of just complaining
I should just take it, brave the heat
But for now, I'll watch my movies
Sing my carols, cool my feet

I know that come this winter
I'll be crying for the heat
Just remind me of this little poem
And I'll shut up, and take my seat.
We are experiencing record temps here in London right now, with humidex readings of betwen 48 and  50 Celsius today. For those using the Fahrenheit scale, that's between about 118 and 122 degrees in some places.
Julie Grenness Mar 2016
My mother, Sylvia Plath,
These days, I might laugh,
Electric oven, you know,
I was too young to know,
One way to go--
It was an electric stove!
I was too young to know,
I used to live in dread,
I learnt what blackmail meant,
She got cremated, you know,
I was too young to know,
These days, I might laugh,
My mother, Sylvia Plath.
A tribute to emotional blackmail. Feedback welcome.
mandy rigby Oct 2014
I'm in the gutter, skinny and pale
God bless me with a poetry sale
got lots of words but got no food
somethin to eat would improve my mood
words could be my bread and butter
i can type them all , without a st stutter
someone send a cheque to me
and put my poetry on tv
21st century pam eyres
I really hope that someone cares
let the poetry spill from my lips
as I'm dreamin oven chips

(c) p skez and ms rigs 07/10/2014
I find comfort in the news
Be it typhoons or drones
I feel like a 100 year old Camus
For he was a miserable little raccoon
Or should I say Morrissey?
But the bipolar king is lost at sea!
I think of Sylvia Plath and her oven
Incinerated in a jar or in a coffin?

I will mention roses in a second
But first, wear your veil
May I eat your cheeks?
I’m your psychopath with style

We bathed in herbs together
The pale ******* that shone
A reoccurring dream of two moons
I believe in reincarnation
bosoms, as the lunar eyes of an owl

Stars, rain, coffee, cigarettes and music
Few clichés, I forgot about your roses
One day I’ll strike the balance
between rhymes and passion

— The End —