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Karijinbba Aug 6
Love me like you do.
Like a needle in a haystack
is true love me and you.
Trustworthy friend also you.
An hp's haystack found, miracle.
A loving soul, treasure icecle.
In the law of attraction, true love
attracts like, and in a notch of good fortune opposites must intimately attract true lovez entanglement
Is an intricate weave,
of LOVEz for two in one loop.
I found a twin matching soul.
A magnet in both our midst,
receptiveness open mind exist.
Intellectual genius in heart.
its gist, portal and bridge.
Uncovering vast blessings
his needle in my haystack,
just came to me, as bee
to pollen in essence,
his needle found me.
Now retaining such find and
price takes sculpture in mind.
Keeping it requires an equal
enterprise a twin needle's vise
Or my fire and ice!
In love and war it's wise,
To tingle our rhyme with rice.
To never part, it takes more pie
than luck, poem, or needle in eye.
I once was blind, but now I see
Through our fire in ice.

BY: Karijinbba.
All Rights Reserved - revised
Karijinbba Jul 10
Oh beloved Ruler RD,
Since I fell
into thy honey ***
I am some honey bee
stuck on thee.!
I can't stop writing poetry!

Gosh I think I am
becoming thee!
Sweet Honey hindi bee.
Yee art stuck on me!
enjel cheree paee raaj
I wrote another ice on fire
cherry pie getting yee higher
Deeped in cold ice  
with cream on fire.

Served piping hot inked
In buttery poem deeped
sweet pie honey bee
for me and thee!
I love so many virtual poets for their poetry but only two,
Manifested genuine intention
Apple cinnamon, ice cream pie
tasty pastries land on my thighs;

Tell me, which side will you like? crumbling crust out layer
Or cinnamon squeezed with nutmeg apple inner?

Secret sour flavour waves off  ice-cream. Sweet tasty apples,
Hot pie with
Cold ice cream
Fresh and yum yum..

~~@ Magda and family
Many thanks to share with us
A homemade Apple Pie 🥧😋
Enjoy a homemade  Appel Pie with friend and her family
Edward Clyde Aug 2020
The lavender pie he swiped from the tables
gave way to many creating tall fables

they ran down the corridor, looking for more
giggling and romping until they were sore

running through the library and lush gardens proper
leaving behind nothing but messes to topper

he and his friends saw no end in sight
until one of the staff gave them a terrible fright

"you'll leave The Gem Hotel with nothing but haste
before I send for the constable to come and lambaste"

it seems peering eyes had thrown things awry
when the dishwasher had seen him pilfer the pie

they hid in a room, large and ornate
so large in fact, they could not berate
as the echoes of the mob could be heard from their gait
their fates to be held by a simple-something they ate

the friction was taught, so tight it could tear
until one of them noticed a phone behind a chair

"quickly, I have a plan" he said and rung the front desk
"we bewail our actions, were nothing but pests"
"meet us out front and we'll put this to rest"
"How will we know this isn't a test to best?"
"I'll be in the window with no other guests"

So he stood in the 2nd story window with defiant disruption
as the crowd who had gathered went into full bore eruption

cheers and wails a mixed bag of admiration
as rumors of the scamps had swirled from the situation

his friends slipped outside as he looked up at the sky
"All of this over a little purple pie?"

This is a poem built from a book I'm writing called lavender. The story takes place in a grand hotel and follows the misadventures of a motley crew.
ebh Jun 2020
yeah, the strawberries probably weren’t fresh enough for this.
and yeah, the crust was a little tougher than i meant it to be because i just. kept. kneading it.
can you blame me? i needed it to be uniform. smooth.
and yeah, maybe i used too much flour in the dough. Maybe it was a little too dry and crackly for your taste and maybe mine too.
but you ate it, right?
you ate it even though it was sour and dry and tough.
you ate it even though you would have done it differently.
you ate it even though i know you don’t even like strawberries.
or pie.
Àŧùl Jun 2020
Where were you all this while?
Enough of this unending search,
Am in dear need of your love,
Rising is our sun with every sunset.

May you always stay happy,
Your youth is contagious.

How young I feel with you,
As a teenager boy in love,
Not so mature or secure,
Dancing on the floor of your dreams,
Systemic diplomacy we must practise.

At long last, you have walked out
So elegantly as an angel of the East.

Cusp of my affection awaits
Unto eternity for meeting you,
Poverty of heart now disappears,
"Softly," you say, holding my hands.

Forever trusting who I shall be,
Of uncertainties it's a bet so risky,
Risks of heartbreak and depression.

Yeah, baby, I'm here with you,
Of course, I'm here for you,
Unless death does us apart,
Richness it imparts to me.

Awesome emotions in our hearts,
Speaking them out with simplicity,
Speaking them out with truth,
Effing our steps towards each other,
That is how we can be happier,
Sweetie Pie, oh my dear Mitali.
My HP Poem #1855
©Atul Kaushal
Vespa Woman Jan 2020
Is it wrong?
To be so sad
About something so happy?
Why can't I understand?
That things end
That I'm less and she's more
Welp oof I wish I wasn't such an emotional ***** geuss I'll die than
Poetic T Dec 2019
Our words may age,

                  but the pie of meaningful thought

                                      is always fresh..
Antino Art Dec 2019
It's all about timing.
Or loosing
track of it all
while waiting
until the sepia-tinted end of
an autumn day together.
It's the time we poured
into an otherwise empty shell
made of crust:
sugar and flour falling into place like
minutes savored in sweet company,
like aftertaste.
It's the sound those ingredients
make when spun,
when licked off of fingers
as our handmade batter
takes on the color of a setting sun.
And unlike bean burritos from Taco Bell,
what's hidden inside is real and won't let us down.
It lifts us up like steam
from an open window,
the kind we create from within
as our excuse
to gather around a table
before winter arrives.
It has our voices baked inside,
because one does not eat
the whole thing in silence
by themselves.
No, the recipe calls for people:
not their likes of its picture
on a social media feed, hashtag foodporn.
I'm talking about
the delicacy of human presence
divided among kindred spirits.
It's the air from childhood
that we breathe back in
when we're home at last,
with only so many slices to go around
before the timer on the oven
and it's gone.

It's us, still hungry after
the feast ends in the absence of
Mark Toney Nov 2019
My kitchen time ending, dishes drying in stacks
My family is telling me it’s time to relax
In the background are voices urging me to stay
So I pause, wait and listen for one more lovely thing
That my friends and family might say...

My kitchen is filled, with the smell of fresh pie
Made year after year, from old and new recipes
The air fills my lungs, with the smell of fresh pie
My mouth wants to eat every pie it sees

My mouth wants to eat like the child
Who experiences pie the first time in their life
My mouth wants to savor fresh aroma of pie
From the oven before cut by the knife
To boldly eat pie like the person who won't let calories get in their way
To eat, through the night, like an inmate released the next day

I go to my kitchen when I’m good and hungry
I know I will eat, like I’ve eaten before
My kitchen is blessed with the smell of fresh pie
And I’ll eat one more
12/8/2018 - Poetry form: Lyric - Inspired by "Prelude/The Sound of Music" sung by Julie Andrews and written by Oscar II Hammerstein / Richard Rodgers - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
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