#baker
My name is ########
My business is my bakery
You look like you need a job
Why don't you come work for me?
I sweep the streets to keep them safe
I keep heat in my oven to make bread
Working for me will pay you very well
And give you tons of street cred
I make bread to feed the streets
I always lift up my community
I'll always serve on a clean plate
But you can't bake a cake without ***** dishes
I make holes in doughnuts
I fill cracks in the pavement and potholes
I uproot the weeds and replace them with seeds
And help you achieve your life goals
Nov 28, 2025
Nov 28, 2025 at 8:01 AM UTC
the baker drank through the sinking—
three hours in the Atlantic,
body gone elsewhere,
whiskey where his blood should be.
the cold couldn't find him.
sober men died in twenty minutes.
he floated,
mistaking drowning for baptism.
last call on the Titanic—
god saves drunks.
to wake in the lifeboat, thirsting.
Oct 25, 2025
Oct 25, 2025 at 9:00 AM UTC
Her words of inspiration she speaks with her pen
My heart worries of her absence and Longs to see her amongst us again
The friend I found in her is so very special and rare
I Pray that she knows how much we all care.
It’s been five long months since she has reached out to me
I miss her advise and encouragement you see
This woman my eyes have never seen or voice I’ve never heard, became one of my dearest most cherished friends
Kim Johanna Baker, I pray that you know how much you are loved before you time on this earth ends
If you can read this but are to Ill to respond
I thank you for all your words that have touched my soul and for a sister like bond
I know your spirits were darkened by so many things out of your control
There is not nor will there ever be a more loving, caring woman with an angelic soul.
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC
A cookie and a brownie
Two very different things
But put them together
Its a bakers dream
They are one in there own
Together a mystery
Combining them together
A bakers victory.
The smell wafts from the oven
The love at first bite
This is the bakers
best delight
She will share with her freinds
And watch them smile
Then they will talk
Talk for a while
This is a bakers dream
This is the bakers delight
Its the light that guides them
Throughout the night.
Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 3:31 AM UTC
How can it be that my heart aches for someone I’ve never met yet feel as if I’ve known forever.
It’s as if our souls are attached through words typed and traveled all the way across the sea .
What is this, is it real, can it even be?
My friend lays in her bed only to await her journey to end.
As these thoughts race me to tears of the thought of her gone yet we have never even met
What is this, is it real, can it even be
A gut wrenching sadness that won’t go away, it’s as if I see her eyes I’ve never even seen and can feel her pain and her sadness as she lay in her bed to meet her fate,
What of such a force that is between us could allow this bond of two lives yet my eyes have never met her existence nor hers have met mine
What is this, is it real, can it even be,
Is this woman from across the sea my angel or am I to be hers, for we share so much likeness in our lives and things of our past and agree of things of this world most know nothing about,
Whatever it is or how it was meant to be I feel her in my heart and know she feels me
Whatever it may be it is more than real until we meet one day, I will always love you my friend across the sea.
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 8:15 PM UTC
in a damp room
with red puddles.
she found what she wanted.
a big smile that never
appeared on her face.
happy wrinkles near her lips
and her round eyes are shrinking due to happiness.
she saw that all
with something bright
in front of her,
as her eyes slowly closed.
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:19 PM UTC
A baker on our street could not bake,
He could only fish in the nearby rivers and lake,
Mum bought his bakery,
He bought our old fish factory,
Both are happy for God's sake.
28/4/2019
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 7:53 AM UTC
As her words grab my heart with each and every message or poem I read,
It truly saddens me to be so far in distance, I can't offer her what she may need.
Never have I layed my eyes upon her, I can only Invision her beauty by her poems and words of wisdom.
Her soul sweet as the blooming flowers and heart as pure as gold.
It's as if her soul is that no less than angelic as she has touched many on this site and more.
What saddens me is soon she will no longer be with us as her illness is growing worse day by day,
My Dearest Kim Johanna Baker, there will be a sadness and void on this site and in my heart the day the Lord takes you away.
I hope that she may see this before it's her time to go, for when the other angels come for her I want for her to know.
The impact her sweet soul has left for all of us here on HP, some more than others , some of you like me.
So if you would or care to join me in my dedication to a very loving soul that makes this site so pleasurable, feel free to leave a comment below.
We love you our dear friend , our dear friend Kim!
Please feel free to repost this for the ones I don't know
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
I am cosmic limbo
words cannot express.
I am a lap dog drowning in a pool of cat's milk
wearing nothing but sun burns.
I cut the lines when Merry goes round
below the grief you cannot digest.
Anxiety has nightmares about me
it is rumored.
My tears fall on surfaces
and explode like snap & pops.
Mini ignitions in an instant,
turn to ash.
I am a bleak reposit in your memory bank.
Thirty years of wasted land.
There are no more homes for me.
Catch you up Ricky Baker
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
The complexity of notes
Chet Baker hits
a rainy morning downtown with
match the rise and fall
of rooftops,
the streams created by gutters
He traces the city's architecture
against the grey sky
with the wind from his trumpet-
there, outside a corner cafe on Hargett and Wilmington,
trumpet case open,
playing for passerby.
I take my morning coffee
studying Chet,
him putting notes in my head
through wired earphones,
Me writing them all down.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC
Aduring profane, Love,
Lite unto Thee,
Whose brightness details
Fathomless Heart,
Brilliance, dispelling
Bricks of illusion,
Walls of delusion,
A mind's cell,
Awakening One,
Adhering sacred, mundane,
Neither here nor there,
Am I?
reality
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 9:27 PM UTC
Black
Little
Anomalies
Now
Known
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 1:52 AM UTC
The town of Bakewell is under siege, gingerbread men are running free.
The bakers scream. Oh please, oh please save us our brave king, but the brave king is at a loss, for no one in the court has a thought.
When in the back of the court a small voice did say, I will save the town my way.
My boy, my boy what will you do. I will eat my way through, I love gingerbread and so do you.
The gingerbread men screamed and yelled, oh please, oh please don't eat us our brave king.
But it was too late, the boy and king had gobbled their fill! Oh my brave boy you have saved Bakewell!
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 1:52 AM UTC
dear . . . sweetie,
the projections of your essence is the type
to cook up a future of you;
of the home you call your heart,
or how you let it spill across the metal table,
just to knead it back together to construct wholesome smiles.
yours is the form of communication i've never known,
a presence that haunts me -
as the scent of your perfume lingers at the back of my tongue
as i taste a sweet fruit,
or how your stories speak to me
as my eyes trickle such mundane appliances around me.
you have taken not my heart, nor my soul.
you have extracted from me fragments of my time;
where i find myself caught in the air, mystically
hearing the songs that were stuck in my head when i first met you.
you are the soundtrack to my little death.
you are always right in the corner of my mind, just as i want to see you:
half-baked, smirking, and vulnerable.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
Steamy and hot,
The lady shouts two cents, no! three!
For the loaf of bread
People bustling everywhere
Where they are going, no one knows.
The air smells of baked goods and ashy smoke
Vendors call and cry
An old woman covered in a scarlet shawl
Examines a basket of fresh dates
20 cents a pound
Two people are bent over an old tattered rug for sale
With the design of a fiery dragon on the side.
Only 10 dollars.
Letters and fliers blow across the cobbled street
And the sun beats down
Upon ripe grapefruits
And shining sugar coated buns
The Baker Square;
Where I grew up
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
The Things I Wish I Could Be
I wish I could be
one of all instruments;
the singer whose voice
transforms his audience into a choir;
the writer who drops his reader's guard
making a beautiful decimation of every self-made fantasy;
the actor ripe with nominations
whose prestigious Oscar breaks him open before the world;
the photographer who captures moments worth infinite words
while instilling that perfect piercing silence;
the painter of elegant simplicity
or ponderous complexity in every brush and stroke;
the icon strangers seek for reason
looking upon for inspiration;
the husband who gives and comforts
appreciating the angel he's been bestowed;
the father wise and guiding
with enough laughs and smiles to last their whole lives;
the chef and the baker serving only the best
scrumptious entrees and desserts;
the encyclopedia of experience
answering questions obscured from the web;
yet beyond all things
I wish to greet death with a smile
knowing my life, however lived
was worth those years.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC