Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
#simmer
I bake my words, served to you with love Until they've simmered through and through And although they may seem meaningless I still recommend you slowly chew There is a flavor to my words The ingredients, I myself grew Each morsel hand picked to be used For the stew made for just us two A dash of this and a dash of that All while conscious not to include trans fat A healthy meal of friendly chat That's where I see us, that's where we're at The stove acts as the interpreter That transcends consumption into fact And it's the essence of a home cooked meal Which allows for opposites to attract I put my soul in to my soul food I stir up the fun in my fondue Just as I do with my advice to you To be washed down with a frothy brew I speak with good intentions I'll use my past experience as proof You'll see.... I'll have you dancing beside your tastebuds Before this evening's through With song in heart and stomach full
0
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
Soul Food
Jesus tried and was nailed to a cross for it
0
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 1:50 AM UTC
Why you can't please everyone (10w)
I want to focus on the good with you I want to simmer all of what is us, and wait for the excess to evaporate with all it gone I can see the basics you make me smile making you laugh makes me feel warm the sound of your voice is one of the best sounds on earth my world feels aligned when I’m with you you make me happy these are the basics the bare essentials of what makes up you and I And it’s all I need
0
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 4:09 AM UTC
I never learn I guess
Oh these lack of easily spun words Sticky caramel masses in the back of my mind. Stuck, stuck, stuck Messy to boot And stuck To worry it, or stick it back on simmer?
0
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 11:46 PM UTC
Sugar Coated Words
I will write a poem, because my lips are cracked, and drool pools on my bed. I will write a poem, because my back blips signals, blasting emails to my brain, because yeah, it hurts. I want to write a poem, because people blink too much when I talk, and I feel my prose maintains my moxy more than my throat. I should write a poem. Surely, if I don’t, surely no one will remember that I’d spoke.
0
Nov 1, 2025
Nov 1, 2025 at 2:23 AM UTC
If I Dont, Surely