"cannoli" poems
Cream puffs, cannoli’s and Saint Joseph’s pastries
I can’t decide which, cause they all look so tasty
Chocolate eclairs and Cheese Danish rings
These are a few of my favorite things
Creamy napoleons and crisp apple strudels
chocolate truffles, oh yes!, give me oodles!
Black and white cookies and chocolate ring dings
These are a few of my favorite things
Girls in the pastry shop stifle their laughter
they know that their cheesecake must be what I’m after
miniature pastries, boxed, tied up with string
These are a few of my favorite things
When my belt’s tight
When my pants split
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
I want to split you in two,
tickle your cherry stem
& sprinkle you with sugar drops.
I've thought about marshmallow,
some vanilla cream
on top of your lemon tarts
& rolling my tongue
to spread it.
Honey dripped onto your flower
would be tastier than flaked-baklava,
a little whipped cream
& nuts would certainly
finish you off.
But I do dream of stuffing your pastry
with my creme-filled cannoli.
That would be the ultimate dessert,
don't you think sweet lady?
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
There's something special about falling for a boy who's leaving.
By knowing he'll be gone,
You'll take your time to memorize the shape of his face and the way it changes with his mood.
You'll study his sleeping body as he rolls away and then back into you,
And you'll look at his bare chest in a way that you didn't get the chance to before.
You'll feel every inch of his body against you and you'll dream of his lips lingering on yours.
By knowing that he is going to be thousands of miles away,
You'll be able to laugh with him as you tell him all the things he has to do for you,
Like trying an authentic Italian cannoli and describing the taste of every sip of wine he'll take.
You have the chance to let his voice reverberate within you,
And you'll hear him laugh from his stomach and love every second of it.
By falling for a boy who's leaving, you get to experience little things that wouldn't go noticed otherwise.
You'll get to see how his eyes change when he tells you about his family,
And you'll watch how his entire body softens when he talks about how loved he is,
Even though he doesn't necessarily see it.
You'll find that writing poems about him is easier than writing about the boys you've known your entire life,
And it's probably because you didn't have all that time to learn about him.
Falling for a boy who's leaving is special because it'll make you realize all the things that you didn't think were important before.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 12:08 PM UTC
Roar Bean Got
Chosen
Sipping on taste
never forgotten
So miraculous power
rising.
Been told so
Boldly,
her uniqueness
Only it's mode of
attachment
Sips up on you like a
Goddess
in fragments
Her spell of the blend,
Coffee lips he was sold
kissed her hand
Mystical bow
Thought's love-arrowed
Through "Hearts" Wowed
All her poem's
Quick thinking
The (Quickie) hour?
Coffee lips ******* the
tower money showered
Home-body
Coffee__steamy
he raided my book
Crystal ball showed me,
"Everyone"
Oh! my he dated
(Holy-Coffee)
My Ego got inflated
Digging gold dreamily
Flower Lily mated and
seeded
Please "Lips" dream on
Opening up the invitation
Coffee? Me or You
Masquerade flower's brocade
Spellbound red poppy I fooled you
Coffee says cheesecake
Mystical play awake
Chosen One Bean
Clean Godly-scent
Cat nine rumor years.
coffee live's pretend
Million in one tear's
gallivant super stirred
Small World Cafe
Big University Princeton NJ.
Mister Mystical laptop taking
a sip New Jersey
The kaleidoscope Blueberry
Go Girl Godiva-raspberry
Coffee lip me
Not over my lip's
He takes another sip
Carmello, He's the
good fellow
Italian mob cappuccino
Leave the Cannoli
Take the gun movie set
"Tarantino"
Here's his handle I'm his
Secret Gun-it lips
I told you
my secret Streaming
play scout
The smell of his aura cup
In his eye's only James
No games just coffee?
Bonds
What about me?
Her chosen bean
Luna blue blueberry
His sugar flight
"Shimmering Chandeliers"
Hello musketeer's fight
Mystical Coffee well suited
BMW car's
Wedding Bellringer
We are destined to star is born
Judy my Mom the singer.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC
my world has many colors like the prism;
the blue hues of glistening waters of greece
against the white stucco adobes.
dancing tap shoes of flamencos
while visiting in spain.
autumn hues of russian reds, gold, cobalt, greens, oranges and black co-mingling.
asian tastes of polynesian spices in the philippines.
safaris in africa witnessing the awesomeness
of massive mammals.
sophistication from the streets of champ elysees, sipping cappuccino
and i will have some creme brulee please.
or perhaps go to italy and sit on the spanish steps
with a cup of expresso. i will take along a cannoli
and count the steps.
while back at home reminiscing over a cup of joe
with a friend in tucson arizona.
after exchanging our love for art
i will read my mail from friends afar;
the outback to talk about the love
pocketed in the kangaroo’s pouch and discover
new zealand, the unfamiliar territory.
we share our secrets who have been there.
reading beautiful poetry like never before.
all the while being reminded
i have been blessed by the HOLY ONE.
you see my friends, my world has forever changed
since i have met all of you.
getting up each day having my coffee
welcoming me to another day with my friends
from the east, west, north and south.
upon dusk we say so long, see you soon.~~by lorilynn
copyright*lorilynn 2010
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 8:28 PM UTC
Srinu, you demented little kid
To have you in my life i don't know what good things i did!
You can really take a bad song and make it better
We all know how crazy you are about Helter Skelter
You'd make a better actor than the guy who played Bane
I'm telling you, for the music industry, you're the next Kurt Cobain!
Man I'd love to see you perform 'House of the Holy'
I'm pretty sure you'll never leave the guitar, not even for the Cannoli
When you get hyper you remind us all of the Incredible Hulk
You're the happiest kid I've ever seen; you never sulk!
Your moods are unexpected and its types are various
Your crave for those "SUBSTANCES" is hilarious!
I know that Nirvana has made your Chemistry easier
You can now point out Lithium on the Periodic Table at your leisure
That face you make when you play the guitar is that of a Negative Creep
And when you blush you remind me of Meryl Streep
You lucky dog, you share your birthday will George Harrison!
If you were born during World War II, you'd provide awesome entertainment by playing guitar at the garrison
Over the Hills and Far Away is where you'll have your tryst
A Whole Lotta Love is definitely part of your Wishlist
You're way more electrifying than Angus Young
You set the stage on fire with your guitar skills and singing at the top of your lungs
Linkin Park is your childhood and In The End, it does matter
The Caste of Glass that you're building will never shatter
Your love for Jimi Hendrix is stronger than a dose of Purple Haze
Cuz your love for that musician is true and not just a phase
Santana invented the Spiritual ****** which makes us forget all our fears
Eric Clapton breaks me down into a River of Tears
There's something similar between you and Red Hot Chili Peppers
You're both unique - and i can't find anything else to rhyme so here's the closest - Def Leppard
Continue on your musical journey and people will be dying to give you a chance
One day, the music you create, will put us all in a Psychedelic Trance
I know that when you go
You'll either take the Stairway to Heaven or Highway to Hell
I heaven, you'll be Knockin' on their Door,
If Hell, you'll be ringin' Hell's Bells...
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ '✿⊱╮
Crispy gold cannoli shells
hand-made pastry tubes
milky, smooth ricotta cream
Filling made of dreams
Now grate chocolate
dust sugar
Crunch!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
Two navy and pink quilts
cover a floral couch
where her Oscar de Laurenta
perfume lingers.
Dust touches picture frames
of memories long past,
All of her clothes sit in
the closet, boasting red sweaters
colorful pants and
a pair of slip-ons that she
had worn the heels from.
The blue pants I borrowed
when I had gotten my own
***** lie on the top of the pile.
Her favorite plates sit on the
top shelf of the cabinet
beside the sink,
her lotion still waits for her
hands.
Cannoli shells wait to be filled,
just in time for Easter.
Bottles of seltzer ready for her
to drink at lunch time.
Ice cream ready for her grandchildren
sits untouched in the freezer.
The lumpy yellow clay bowl still
sits on a desk full of bills.
Things are missing, though.
Her loud, boisterous voice calling
when you open the door,
excitement filled "look at you's",
strong laughter,
the belief that you are in fact
taller since last week.
Slippers left at the front door
because she was in the garden.
Her wedding ring,
Her love,
Her life,
Her.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 8:50 PM UTC
Cream puffs, cannoli’s and Saint Joseph’s pastries
I can’t decide which, cause they all look tasty
Chocolate éclairs and Cheese Danish rings
These are a few of my favorite things
Creamy napoleons and crisp apple strudels
chocolate truffles, oh yes!, give me oodles!
Black and white cookies and chocolate ring dings
These are a few of my favorite things
Girls in the pastry shop stifle their laughter
they know that their cheesecake must be what I’m after
miniature pastries, boxed, tied up with string
These are a few of my favorite things
When my belt’s tight
When my pants split
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
I'm eating the last cannoli. Pop's funeral was over a week ago, and since it was the storm of the century that day, the caterer had way too many leftovers. This is the last remains of that infamous day's dessert. It's well past soggy, and smells now of the sliced onions left from the hoagie platters. Those, I'll just toss. No sense risking another death in the family. It's not so delectable, I know, but I'm eating the last cannoli, because that's what pops would do. He didn't waste a thing, symptom of being raised through the depression, I suppose. The depression, yeah, can't let that get to me, he wouldn't want it that way. I'm eating the last cannoli, choking back tears, and pinching my nose to get past the smell of this prose, and an onion smelling soggy cannoli, 'cause that's what pop would want.
Last remains, yeah, those are here too. Dad's ashes, that is. All tidy in a beautiful blue marble box, mom chose for both their internment. She mostly sits staring at the flowers sent, that are about ready to expire themselves. The strong scent of lilies in the air, helps with that odd oniony aroma. I'm eating the last cannoli, because mom is insistent I should. I wouldn't argue with her over it. Neither would pop. So, I'm eating the last cannoli.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
When I was fourteen,
I didn't know how to treat a girl.
...let alone pleasure one.
This worried me.
I needed to practice.
until I found she.
oh, she smelled of Clorox and had the fashion sense of a child.
she had a gap in her teeth the size of mountains creek,
her body had the texture of a water bed...
however....
...so did her *******
but nobody was going to know or notice,
the filthy swine would ****** a bovine queen with huge *******
thus began an unforgettable experience of *********** and false intimacy.
the experiments,
the tests,
of making love,
or forging ***
making memories, forged with regrets.
she put up with my exploration and experimentation for nearly a year.
or two....
...three...
however discrete.
I was embarrassed of walking down the street with my hands clasped with hers.
But, never felt bad when it was under her shirt, or skirt, *****
I was (and am) a pervert.
I remember I told she sweet things, just to get the,
two *******
two thighs,
a cannoli for she,
and finger food for me.
I took she behind buildings,
in parks,
in woods,
in dark,
behind a bank,
in alley,
but almost rarely...
...in my house.
hmm...
when I was fourteen...
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
There are books that teach, that we revere.
There are poems that we remember because they are true.
But there are only a few movies that show us how to live.
Just as the Don prepared Michael for his life, his words guide us as well:
"Don't raise your voice- Improve your argument."
"Never hate your enemies, it affects your judgment.
"Great men are not born great, they grow great."
"A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man."
"Accidents don't happen to people who take accidents as a personal insult."
"Time erodes gratitude more quickly than it does beauty."
"Never let anyone know what you are thinking."
"Forgive. Forget. Life is full of misfortunes."
And if that fails:
"Revenge is a dish that tastes best cold."
And when life serves us lemons, Clemenza offered us this:
"Leave the gun, take the cannoli."
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 8:51 AM UTC
It's funny you think heaven will let you in,
When all you've done is blame the sin,
Did He never say, "Love Thy Neighbor"?
I beg of you to do me one little favor.
Pull out your wholly rotten teeth,
Cut off your boot-licking tongue,
Cram your throat full with holy script,
And stitch up your quivering God-fearing lips.
Take just one swing, fellow sinner,
It'll just give me another good excuse,
With a few good kicks, I'll curb-stomp you,
Straight to Hell 'cause you burnt my fuse.
Pull out your wholly rotten teeth,
Cut off your boot-licking tongue,
Cram your throat full with holy script,
And stitch up your quivering God-fearing lips.
I don't fear your guns,
I just fear for you,
No, I don't fear your guns,
I'll count to three, we'll have some fun.
May 2, 2022
May 2, 2022 at 12:47 AM UTC
I take deep breaths inches away from the pillow
I take deep breaths to center myself
I am here
I am now
But have I forgotten who I am?
Am I the boy who went to New York on a weekend trip and visited MacDougal street and Washington Square park and didn't see a single folk singer?
Who ate a date cookie in Chinatown and a cannoli and little Italy because it felt right and good at the time
Am I the Woody Guthrie Pete Seeger wannabe who asked the audience to sing along to a song they didn't know and no one sang but you didn't care because the words were yours yet you didn't write them?
Who freshman year read On The Road and Howl and told himself he would be a poet and saw beauty in the world and thought about all the people with beating hearts
Who sophomore year got his heart smashed against the pavement but decided not to blame himself for convenience sake and is still reeling from his poor choices
Who took a trip with friends to the Ohio river and held rocks in his pocket because he was prepared to fight his way out if he had to
who fed his own delusion that he would ever fight his way out
who lied to himself that he had the spine to fight
Am I the one who read Siddhartha and vowed to be better and looked toward a golden and eternal time where the words would be simple
Who cried at Ginsberg who cried at Wolfe and who cried at the Bible because he knew what things were holy
Who drank tea to center himself who ran to keep himself in shape who had a good time because the world was full of love
Or am I nothing more than what I am now
Breathing inches away from my pillow
Breathing to center myself
So I can be here
So I can be now
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
Heavenly Sweet
Fig frosted treat
With fancy minced meat
Steamy latte cup
S biscuit
A sloppy sup
M aple apple cinnamon
E atable fruitcake panettone
M ound of coconut bars
O range pumpkin muffin jars
R aspberry peanut butter jams
I ced sugared yams
E ye candy almond brittle
S now butterball mouth spittle
Cherry jubilee on velvet cheesecake
A proud baker proclaims, “I make”
Bread pudding’s caramel sauce
Cannoli center chocolate ricotta gloss
Anise waffle layer powder dust
On warm iron it crusts
Vanilla cookie shape
Crystal sprinkles after it bakes
Celebration feasts
Of sinful delightful sweets!
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
Art history matters. New Master’s degrees
Lead to dull innovation in poetry. Please
Try to write us a poem where meaning is plain
And no MFA patriarch needs to explain.
a statue carved by Bernini/a plate of eggs painted by Velázquez
Jane, dear Jane, you’re a porcelain idol.
The time has arrived for your verse to unbridle
Itself and reveal some slight traces of life;
We know you are smart, but that dull butter-knife
Of your poetry, smearing the references ’round
Is like Sylvia Plath/Gertrude Stein/Ezra Pound…
personal pan pizza with unlimited free toppings
Those weird sudden line breaks confuse us, in fact,
And the rarefied dishes you name-drop get cracked
On the floor of your poetry, leaving us shards,
Risking splinters for muses and mystified bards.
my arm breaks off like the shell/of a freshly-filled cannoli
You deadpan in monotone, stunningly brave,
But your tortuous verses go straight to the grave.
Academic obscurantists murmur and nod
As they lower the corpse of your work in the sod…
carelessly thrown baby/a designer toilet cistern
You ought to re-frame and then tighten your lines,
So replete with Old Masters and euro-trash wines:
(…weirdly-named liqueurs in a Rococo palais)
Why would you not, then, aspire to coherence,
Dismissing the need for white male interference?
Your verses cry out for some fatherly guidance
To try and make sense of your history of silence.
Apr 7, 2025
Apr 7, 2025 at 6:22 PM UTC
A million tasty pastries and all the time to bake
Croissants, croquembouche and fruit atop a crepe
Eclair? I'm there.
Cannoli? Holy moly!
A big ol' slice of cherry pie? My, oh, my!
Throw in a dozen doughnuts, you're sure to drive me nuts
No ifs, ands, or buts...
But if you ever serve me a slice of chocolate cake
You best believe I'll never partake-
The thought of eating it alone just makes my heart ache!
Buttercream? What a dream!
Brownie batter bites? Up all night, I just might!
German streusel? There's no refusal.
Just don't do any cake on my birthday,
If you did, it'd just be the worst day
And I'd weep me to sleep because the hate of cake is so deep-
I'd love to see it in a heap...it just feels so cheap.
Seriously...
**** cake.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC