"brownie" poems
Since age 5 I was taught
to wear loose clothing
and not talk about eating.
"No, you can't have that shirt
with the Hershey's logo across the front.
You're already overweight,
let's just slap a label on it."
My mother doesn't know that
every day I still hear her voice
telling me to tilt my head up
in pictures and to go outside already.
I remember age 9 as my dad
telling me I was smart and my mom
telling me I couldn't buy that shirt
because it clung to my stomach.
I was taught to never talk about food
because it would always be met with
"of course".
Mother dearest, I know you meant well
but your coaching lead your little girl
to value the size of her thighs over
what she learned at school today.
You wanted to protect me from
the world, but didn't protect me
from myself.
Teaching is not telling me that
I had no willpower at age 8
and you forced me to accept myself
because nobody else would.
But trust me, mother,
you were never consciously hurtful
so I need to let you know:
the next time there is a little girl
that looks up to you, do not tell her
that she has to watch what she eats
or she will never get respect.
Do not tell her that "It's your body,"
when she asks for just one more brownie.
Just make sure that you love her numerically more
than that number on the scale.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
Brownies,
more brownies,
never can have enough.
Dont you dare ruin my brownies
with peacans or walnuts.
Chocolate goodness in handheld bites.
A brownie filled brownie,
sounds so right.
No icing, no extras,
Just chocolate times ten!
If you have had a today brownies,
then your day is a win.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 3:25 AM UTC
The two collieries where I was employed,
Houses now stand winders destroyed.
From a window where I controlled the flow,
I could see the horizon far and low.
I can also see sunrise and set,
Pictures past I won’t forget.
Through the shifts seasons would go,
From summer sun to winter snow.
To wake one morning already too late,
Decisions were made to close the gate.
Work was gone and mates were lost,
Ripped apart at great cost.
Left us with a grey slurry beach,
The nanny goat path we walked to reach.
Down to the coast a ***** line,
Carried shale from the mine.
Through our town they ran so fast,
To tip more waste upon the blast.
Now I sit where I want to be,
Looking out at the great North Sea.
From chemical beach to clean east shore,
The north east pits are no more.
From brownie box in old dark room,
To Digital with super zoom.
Memories fade but photos show,
All we really need to know.
St Marys church to Hawthorn hive,
These scenes of Seaham will survive.
Apr 21, 2010
Apr 21, 2010 at 7:48 AM UTC
Deep brown color, messy as it’s eaten.
Like something that failed to crunch.
Brittle yet soft, rough and delicate.
It can be fudgy, chewy or cake-like, topped with walnuts or apricot glaze.
A heavy horse failing to hike the high mountain of crisp.
Hard on the outside, but not as taut as chocolate-chip cookies, or M&M;’s,
A fragile strength that breaks with subtle touch.
Smooth and moist inside, melted chocolate held together.
Created solely for a royal’s mouth to taste,
Slowly dissolving, sea foam ****** by the damp sand,
A guilty pleasure I cannot live without.
The brownie becoming a beautiful bouquet blossoming
In my chocolate tinted mouth.
It cures whatever ails you,
The flavor empowering any mist of dullness or bitterness.
Forgetting about everything, as he mixed the batter
Creating the perfect combination of smoothness, sweetness,
And the creamy after-taste.
Our favorite thing to bake together.
Friday evening we scurried to the kitchen, creating our own baking contest.
His hazel eyes, swirling with the batter poured in circles,
His lips, whistling to the beautiful sight of brownies, plumping as they bake.
Days later, we would come back to that kitchen,
With the scent of freshly baked brownies still lingering in the air.
We would look at each other’s deep brown eyes
Like the brownies we baked and enjoyed together.
His lips, a wallop of sweetness.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
there was a girl
who loved me so
named me bestie
gifted me with seashells
and sometimes,
baked brownie
to unfrown me
there was a girl
who taught me braids
loved poking my cheeks
and took photos of me
secretly
there was a girl
who got her heart
into pieces by bestie
and all she did is
to give her love
but only to get
none in return
she was a bird flying above
the sky all alone for no one
loved her anymore
she flew so far away
that i never saw her
ever again
she was gone;
no more brownie
no more grins
and the seashells
turned navy
oddly
twenty-nine-june,
i sat in the coffee shop
with my warm white coffee
and a copy of
stephen chbosky
she flew back home and
she descried me there
came up to me with
a beauteous grin
i last seen in
december '11
we talked
we laughed
we cried
we story-telled
(i remember, she once said,
back when i still
have the name bestie,
that she loved when
we used the term story-tell
for it made the sun and moon
collide together)
i was told that
this lovely girl's wrist
was named demon
and she **** it every time
he tries to drown her
in a sea of darkness
this time,
i got my heart into pieces
told her the same
and pinky promise was made
(like they always said,
promises are meant to be
b/r/o/k/e/n
and it did)
there is a girl
who i love so
named her bestie
and i will hold her
when she is
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
apart
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
Sometimes I get the munchies so bad after smoking **** that I pick something I normally wouldn't.
Tonight before work I stopped at the gas station and my eyes skated across an Oreo cookie brownie.
I have had one before so I already knew it was exactly what I needed.
As I was driving I took bite after bite until finally, because it is so dense and sugary, I had to take a drink.
I ate nearly all of it in the 5 minutes it takes to get to work, but now I have just a little bit left that will probably go to waste because the munchies wore off and like I said,
I don't normally go for that kind of snack.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
People show love in many ways
A note on the bathroom door
An extra brownie in your lunch box
Starting the car on a cold morning
For her it was in her food
She cooked her emotions the way most chefs add salt
You could taste them clearly in every bite connecting your tastebuds to your heart,
If she was happy the steak melted on your tongue
If she was sad the soup made a tear glisten in your eye
But when she was in love with me
Every Bite sang in my mouth
She made my favorites every night
Life was good
But one day the bread wasn’t so fluffy
It held a melancholy note i’ve never tasted before
I asked what was wrong but she didn’t have the words to explain what she as feeling,
So I let it go
That was my mistake
Day by day, she started to crumble
So did her pies
She went from a wonder dancing in the kitchen and licking the spoon
To a hollow shell serving you lukewarm pasta that left you unsettled
I excused her behavior
I was busy she was stressed
The food was only cold because I was so late to the table
I didn’t realize it wasn’t dinner I was neglecting
It was her
If i could change one moment in my life, i’d be that night
The one where she finally felt up to baking again
We had some time together, she hummed a bit as she stirred the batter
But then she stumbled and dropped a glass measuring cup of milk she was holding
It was bitter irony seeing the woman i loved,
The light of my life,
Crying over spilled milk
That’d be the moment i’d change
I’d catch her wrist and hold her up
Just Like I promised I would
I wouldn’t fail her if I had another chance
Our kitchen is quiet these days
There's a thick layer of dust everywhere except the microwave
And around the edges of the room are tiny bits of glass
Glistening like diamonds
Or unshed tears,
Abandoned like me
But I can’t complain
After all, I abandoned her first
I should have read the recipe
I should have realized she was breaking
I didn’t see it at first
But every bite held a piece of her suicide note
If i’d only tasted it before it was too late
Now she’s gone
My hearts as broken as that measuring cup
And I’m the one crying over spilled milk
By Aknier ~this is fictional~
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC
my torment is one of clouds and flowers
freckles upon sun-kissed oranges
like roses through honey
& vivid eyes like the abstraction of Renaissance pieces
oh butterfly how you make my heart melt
chocolate brownie wonders with giggles on top
your effervescence brighter than a summer's day
entrapping my purity within your oppressive interior
our silences are filled with images of my creation
a cornucopia of passion for even the loneliest of wordsmiths
I leap into our pool of nostalgia for old time's sake
only to find your words transform into serpents.
whirlwinds of emotion now whispered into the ears of another
burning adorations into scarred remains
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 8:23 PM UTC
109
So ******* lucky
To be the person I am
Be as you are
90
Flying in the air
Notes ebb and flow
So sweetly
124
In her arms
She gently caresses
My beating heart
125
Listen carefully
The universe whispers
Through wind, rain, and heart
126
Frantic I am
Inpatient, frustrated
Reason? Unknown
127
The thoughts, words
Trickle slowly from above
Below and within
119
Unfolding slowly
My buds reach for the sky
And gasp for water
120
Delicate, open
Seeking the next level
My roots deepen
106
Tremendously
Shy, empathic, bold
Beautiful brownie
115
Accepting, gentle
Shrewd, candid, brilliant
Little ‘ol me
116
I’ve come to
Expect; unexpected
Events always
107
I am spring
Shining, bright, lucid
Ready to blossom
112
I accept you
Exactly as you are
Perfect, flawless, you
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
Restless hungry, found a tiny scrap of a brownie in the back of the refrigerator, wrapped in plastic about the size of a large 35 cent quarter.
Gobbled up and gone.
Eye had purchased it a week ago, maybe more.
Actually it was more like eye was held up at gunpoint by a sad young face for a large and green single dollar Bill.
In return, was bequeathed said brownie eye dropper-ful.
The apartment I live in a big city, many apartments were recession empty for a long time. But in the last few years, the empty apartments in the building were almost all sold to foreigners.
Now the bldg is an amulet melted of the lucky overseas fortunate, those overseers overseas seizers, who come to reside in the most fabulous site in these United States...and buy a piece of the dream away from the be-headers, secret police or governments that decide you are now an enemy of the state, as of this morning. No judgement.
anyway, this doe eyed child of estimated six or eight years of age accosts me in our large lobby, proffers me the brownie scrap for a Bill.
me a sucker of a salesman myself, and an eye affician-doe, well those doefuls, those eyes, no one could resist!
so eye asked her name,
but all she could say in
Anglais was...
"Brownie One Dollar?"
laughing out loud for no apparent cause,
the hanging about lobbyists looked at me staring...
Why was eye laughing?
laughing cause eye realized
this elfin child had become
fitfully but fully Americanized.
and I loved her eyes in mine, and when I see her periodically, I say:
"Hey! Brownie One Dollar, How are ya!"
and everyone snicker smiles at the old man with the even stupider grin upon his eyes.
That would be eye.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC
O how the scent smells
It smells like my mothers shampoo
It feels like heaven
Not like hell
O how I love brownies
I just want to kiss you Brownie
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
"In our old attic
I saw a basket made of batik
It was covered with dust
But inside it reminded me the past
I saw our old Polaroid photos
It is our couple mementos
Some pictures' ink already faded
But for me our memories never ended
And I miss you, your warm hugs
Baking you brownie in a mug
I miss seeing your funny sinister smile
And now I can't even see it for awhile
It was hard to describe what I have been through the years,
Every day I was in tears
From you, I wanted to hear
That "I love you, my dear."
This Polaroid photos, I will keep
In my heart, very deep.
'Till we meet again, my dear'
Maybe not today nor in a year.
But please promise me you'll always be here."
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
it's not me
pushing you
away except
it actually is me
it's the kind of
morning that the
wind is blowing
just right so that
the open flag
flutters in front
of the window
where i can see it
the kind of morning
i don't need coffee
and i try not to
think about
it too
much
*(i just wanted to
be the girl in
an owl city song)*
pacing back and
forth in straight
lines and gritting
my teeth against
an onslaught of
small town gunfire
*(i'll bet annmarie
never had scars
or scratches
brielle didn't cry
and shake for
hours thinking
how to end it all
it turned out
okay for anna
and vienna probably
knew how to dance
between the snowflakes
and underneath her regret)*
i've never been good at
drowning out thoughts
they just get louder the
longer time rolls on
good at rolling out
cookie dough and
good at drowning
in dishwater when
the brownie batter's
baking and the bowl
needs washing when
nobody's looking
*(i've had moments
here and there in golden
sneakers and navy blue
lace covered dresses
but i'm not the girl
in an owl city song
not something worth
writing dreamy poems
about not so lovestruck you
replace your words with dada)*
girls like me wear flannel
khaki too much day old
eyeliner too many day old
scones have half heads of weird
colored hair and spend valentines
day alone watching tv
so maybe why i'm bitter
as the inside of a lemon is
that i'll never be able to change
to someone drenched in verbena
spinning through the sunny
skies between your fingers
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC
Coffee
Heath
Bar
Crunch
Will sabotage those taste buds,
Like Dublin and its Mudslides.
So blast off with that,
Fossil Fuel,
And don’t let me
Catch you.
‘Cause I’ll keep you,
My Maple Blondie.
I’ll capture you,
And hold onto,
Those Cinnamon Buns.
You’re the Crème Brulee,
Of Chocolate Macadamia,
And the Cherry Garcia,
In my every breath.
You’re the Chunky Monkey,
To this Chubby Hubby;
The Dulce Delish,
for this Americone Dream.
Can’t you see I’ve just got,
A sweet tooth for you,
And your Phish Food?
Your Chocolate hair,
Key Lime Pie eyes,
Strawberry Cheesecake lips,
And your skin is a delight,
Much like Vanilla Caramel Fudge.
Did Ben and Jerry create you?
Please tell me they did!
So I can eat you,
With my cup of Boston Cream Pie,
And I’d eat you all up, Well,
Everything but the…
Half Baked, Karmel Sutra,
Which I’d lick,
Like a cone of Cake Batter,
And then dip into,
Like Cookies and Milk.
Imagine Whirled Peace,
On top of this Mudpie,
And then Split,
Like a Banana.
That’s the kind of Brownie Batter,
I’d stir with you,
And then add a scoop,
Or two,
Of Turtle Soup.
And you would yell,
PISTACHIO PISTACHIO!
Where for art thou pistachio?
And with a bowl of Peach Cobbler,
And a spoon of Vanilla,
I’d look at you,
wink,
and offer you a pint,
of my Mint Chocolate Chunk.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
You're a little pastry box wrapped in blue tissue paper.
You’re the first bite into
every brownie,
every ****
every pie,
every cute little confection.
You're that thin ribbon of caramel across a layered slice of cake,
You're the sugar still lingering on my recipes,
the little puffs of flour with each turn of a page.
You're that extra dash of cocoa
and that sprinkle of vanilla and
the egg stained finger prints on jars of paprika
and cinnamon
and nutmeg.
You're the soft crack of a brown egg,
the raw taste of extra batter..
The sizzling butter in the bottom of a pan
You're every scent of spices and salts and frosting
and the sticky sweetness of glazed honey.
You're the walnuts and sprinkles on top of last summers birthday cake.
You're the peppermint sensation on the roof of my mouth
and the sweet flavoring on the tip of my tongue.
You're the delicate drizzle of chocolate
over a homemade batch of sugar cookies,
the finishing touch.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
~
SOMEBODY HELP ME!
ThE VoicEs in mY head argUe back ANd ForTh
IT MaKes mE TirEd buT...
I cAn'T SleeP 'CaUse ThE CloWns Will EaT Me
ScaRy FReaKin' CloWns
IT's ThaT BiG ReD Nose That ScaRes mE Most
NO, It'S Those StUpid *** Floppy ShoeS ThaT
ScaRes ME MosT
ScaRy FReaKin' CloWns
nO Wait, It'S Those CreePy FlaT FeeT AnD GnaRly
ToenAils
Those NasTy Twisted ToEnailS InsiDe Those StUpid
*** Floppy ShoeS ThaT ScaRes ME MosT
IcK I'M gOnna bE SicK
ScaRy FReaKin' CloWns
And if yOu sQuEEzE that fRicKin' horn oNe more TimE
I'm gOnna craM it uP yOur CloWnie BRoWnie so ****
fAr yOur FarTs Will honk
ScaRy FReaKin' CloWns
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
The Magical Date
Last nite was a celebration!
And before it all begun
He held me by my hand so close
We were off to leprechaun land!
The naughty elf with his impish pranks
His sinful teases and wanton ways
His playful gestures, fractious delights
He rushed me off to his wilful fays
We found ourselves in a Keatsian bower
In 'embalmed darkness', 'mong 'white hawthorns'
It was fragrant with the jasmine veils
That covered the roof of rosy thorns
we laughed and sang old happy numbers
we talked our hearts out gleefully
After aeons of blue moon we'd finally met
A magical date it had to be!
And so when i looked up to his eyes
It held mine in a purple gaze
In a trice of a second he was off with me
Speeding through the verduous maze
Help! i cried but held on tight
Our windswept hair, our amorous plight
His fervour, vigor, force and power
Was all i felt that wondrous night
Elf or gnome, genie or sprite
A naughty brownie or the nisse vampire
Bogie, goblin, fairy, nymph
He carried me through the forests dire...
So just wen I can close my eyes
Just when i feel im missing him
He's there as he says hes there with me
Off we go into the woodlands dim
We dance a waltz, a salsa true
A foxtrot, a ballet in embrace tight
In white moonshine, in purple rain
When dewdrops catch the morning light.
And then again with every dawn
The magic wanes, the elf resigns
To mossy groves and sylvan lands
And the elfin grottos of my mind.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC
This is not you that lies before us,
beloved Aunt, for you live on
in our hearts, our souls, our minds
as the with racquet and a ready smile,
as the doting older sister
with eyes shining like a proud spotlight
on two little girls on a crowded stage,
singled out and made special by your love.
You do not lie here cold and lifeless,
beloved Aunt, for you live on
in the warmth of your laughter
and your bright shining lively dancing eyes
and your girlish peaches-and-cream complexion
and in the memories
of two small nephews
in the endless summer of childhood
conquering the diving tower at Jellicoe Baths
or frolicking at Mission Bay
and you capturing all our shared and happy memories
with your trusty Box Brownie.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC
I want to cash in on the last 7even years
of being your friend
And—I wish I could collect
the almosts—
save for a maybe
let me redeem the maybe's for a
this time
—this time
Okay, lets try it.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 4:15 AM UTC
His old mare cantered into to town
The covered wagon followed
A boy's first trip to town alone
He took it in, and swallowed
Penny candy dreams last night
And sarsparilla floats
The ladies' parasol fineries
The men in pinstriped coats
Perhaps a whiskey, what the hell
Today he was a man!
But first the livery stable for Brownie
For oats and a water can.
The .30-30 saddle gun would come with him, of course.
He also grabbed the belted Colt from the pommel of his horse.
The warped board sidewalks led past stores
His worn boots clopped along
He strapped on the .36 Navy Colt revolver
And fastened down the thong
He clopped down to the first saloon
Laid his rifle on the bar
A sporting girl sat next to him
With the unlikely name of "Star"
"A milk for the lady.
Myself as well,
Barkeep, if you please!"
A cowhand howled out raucous laughter,
Flipping up Ms. Star's dress, to well above her knees
"That little pup, he wants some milk
So Star, give him yer ****
I'll bend him over, spank his ***
And then give YOU a treat!"
The young man's vision doubled, trebled,
The shame clear on his face
As tears welled up in big blue eyes
A witness in every soul in the place
"Aw, the little ***** is bawling! WAH!"
The cowhand bellowed out
And all false mirth left his expression
And he gave the boy a clout
The boy just sat and sobbed and watched
As Ms. Star joined in the joke
But cowhand was already 3 bottles in,
In a flash, her nose was broke
Cowhand reached across the boy
To grab that sweet, sleeved rifle
The boy grabbed cowhand's wrist just then
And twisted it just a trifle
A yelp and howl from cowhand's mouth,
"YOU BROKE MY ****** WRIST!
NOW you're ****** you little sprat"
He took a swing, and missed.
Red faced, clumsy, humiliated
He drew leather on the boy
Dead to rights, he had the kid,
He realized, with grim joy
An explosion, a thump, on warped pine floor
Blue smoke curling in the air
Utter, vapid, vacuum silence
Patrons cemented to their chair
The tears were gone from those blue eyes
Blue steel as his gaze fixed
A hole had grown in cowhand's head
The size was .36
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
You will wonder why your chest feels so tight whenever her name rolls over his tongue. Not me, but the other one.
The one who will always have a place in his heart.
Don't give up yet,
but listen to every story of them.
It will break you for sure, but you will know how once he loved someone that much.
You will find yourself think about him continually.
When you walk alone on the street,
when you are with your friends talking about life,
or simply when you wash your dishes.
You will think about him
in any places
in any situations
The thoughts of him will make your stomach churns,
like you've been riding a roller coaster for so long
Sometimes the excitement will put you on the top of the world
but then reality will take you down,
twist you around,
and flip you over.
Again. Don't give up yet.
Bring him muffin or take him out to have fudge brownie ice cream on the weekend. Those are his favorites.
Remind him to not sleep late because he will get tired and grumpy in the morning,
tell him it is okay not to be perfect all the time,
and the most important thing
be there for him when he is unhappy with his life or when the memories of her keep crashing back to him.
You might prepare a band aid for gashes that will be left in your heart.
But please don't give up yet.
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
There will be no service and no luncheon
when you “now” becomes a “Then”
Just a dignified cremation
awaits at your Journey’s end.
There will be no spoken eulogy
By a priest who knew you not.
No crying yapping relatives-
For none had you begot.
There are those of us
who’ll shed a tear,
to think the old Girl’s passed.
but there’ s no need to wear a suit
Or get the Limos gassed.
You’ll have passed on in your sleep
Having felt the needles pinch.
A far more humane fate I think
than dying by the inch.
Brownie was a good dog
And often gave me her paw.
She always got excited
when she saw me at the door.
A better pet you couldn’t get,
Nor meet a gentler soul.
I’ll shed a quiet private tear
when I put away her bowl.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 7:49 PM UTC
plug-in your head music
remember being young
on a pogo stick
a unicycle
with training wheels
under
sunshine of your
love
o’ shine on
you crazy
diamond
run in the
jungle
feel the rain
on sunny day
and let it be
misunderstood
stop your moon tears?
run in Reeboks?
come on
you painter of
words
chew
good & plenty
plant
lime lima beans
kaleidoscope kale
juicy fruit gum
harvest
magenta mangos
paisley peaches
or go to an auction
bid on
T-bone
bubble gum
sprout beans
Tahitian telecaster
pre-rolled wagon wheel
sweet sixteen candles
Hound Dog Taylor’s
Brownie McGhee loafers
no?
yes?
don’t change
your lunatic fringe
in twilight’s open season
read
The Hidden Singer
dance
boogie woogie
cha-cha-cha
outside the house of the rising sun
so turn it up, Mr. James
your big wheel
keeps on turnin’
groove
to the little bird
who sings and sings
© 2011 chuck a stetson
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 7:07 PM UTC
What's going on in your Marshmallow head
What does it tell your sweet Cookie soul
Chocolate skin and Brownie hair
Turned it's back to intuition
I know you have been spontaneous
Unpredictable
Breaking bad
The only traces are left
Lines in a WhatsApp
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 9:57 AM UTC
Maybe we’ve moved past
The jazz dancing nights
Baby brownie bites into freedom
Now
A pathology of pathologically pathetic patterns
Day in, day out
Wax on, wax off
One of these days:
I’ll learn the piano
Beethoven, bach, ben folds
One of these days
Handstands, happiness, hope
Will string through the summer loving
Hooligans
One of these days
We robo-people will wind down,
Slow,
Stop,
Need oil for our rusted bits
Head, shoulders, knees, and even toes
But, mr. tin man, what if Dorothy
Never comes along?
We won’t blink for centuries
And maybe the world will finally come alive
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 8:01 PM UTC