"crossiant" poems - Hello Poetry

When I enter a bakery, I gaze at the variety , Of fresh baked cake, And cookie dough , Ready to bake, I smell the tempting flavors of donuts, And the wide range of cookies with nut, I glance at the crossiant, Something I gravely want, I order a coffee, And a crossiant, To satisfy me, I taste the luscious buttery bread, And relish the spread, Enjoying without worry, Well this is the, Adventure of a bakery

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Feb 26, 2016

Feb 26, 2016 at 7:26 AM UTC

Phantom_poet

Bakery

When I enter a bakery, I gaze at the variety , Of fresh baked cake, And cookie dough , Ready to bake, I smell the tempting flavors of donuts, And the wide range of cookies with nut, I glance at the crossiant, Something I gravely want, I order a coffee, And a crossiant, To satisfy me, I taste the luscious buttery bread, And relish the spread, Enjoying without worry, Well this is the, Adventure of a bakery

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I lost myself in the stories in the newspapers, and the coffee he poured me because he thought I needed something, but I did not order a thing. I lost myself in the fuschia flower in her hair, over her left ear, but, my left ear didnt have a flower, and, come to think of it, it probably never would. I drank my coffee, black, because I didn't know any better, and watched the lovers fight over buttered crossiants and cinammon lattes with whipped cream and chocolate syrup. My knuckles felt like typewriters, but, for once in my life I wasn't writing. I was hardly thinking, I was hardly speaking even. I lost myself in the low music and guitar coming from inside the cafe because, unlike me, it was beautiful and soft, and lovely. He poured me more coffee even though I didnt want it, and, gave me a crossiant, "on the house." Who would think to give, an observer something lovely? But I had accepted it because mother always said "be kind." I lost myself in silver eyes, or, were they golden? I hardly remember but I lost myself in them. And I didn't know why. I fell in love at a coffee shop where, I counted change, like quarters and dimes and anything to give him something worth keeping. I fell in at a coffee shop because life was beautiful and people didn't know me here at all so, they couldn't follow me home.

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Jul 30, 2013

Jul 30, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC

alyssa-rose-n

Falling in love at a Coffee Shop

I lost myself in the stories in the newspapers, and the coffee he poured me because he thought I needed something, but I did not order a thing. I lost myself in the fuschia flower in her hair, over her left ear, but, my left ear didnt have a flower, and, come to think of it, it probably never would. I drank my coffee, black, because I didn't know any better, and watched the lovers fight over buttered crossiants and cinammon lattes with whipped cream and chocolate syrup. My knuckles felt like typewriters, but, for once in my life I wasn't writing. I was hardly thinking, I was hardly speaking even. I lost myself in the low music and guitar coming from inside the cafe because, unlike me, it was beautiful and soft, and lovely. He poured me more coffee even though I didnt want it, and, gave me a crossiant, "on the house." Who would think to give, an observer something lovely? But I had accepted it because mother always said "be kind." I lost myself in silver eyes, or, were they golden? I hardly remember but I lost myself in them. And I didn't know why. I fell in love at a coffee shop where, I counted change, like quarters and dimes and anything to give him something worth keeping. I fell in at a coffee shop because life was beautiful and people didn't know me here at all so, they couldn't follow me home.

41

It was beating, It possessed an ache, It was stitched. He was breathing. Engaged in his work, Wrapping his files, Answering calls, 7 pm he leaves, Pays for the bus ride Opens his home Eats a crossiant Sits on the sofa peacefully, Stitches open, The ache goes away, It Stops beating, He was not breathing. Police read a text, Received at half past seven, "father, I'm not coming back" Text accompanied an attack He was not breathing, Doctors told his daughter, "He is never coming back" Too.

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Mar 28, 2014

Mar 28, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC

meghaagarwalla

Last Attack.

It was beating, It possessed an ache, It was stitched. He was breathing. Engaged in his work, Wrapping his files, Answering calls, 7 pm he leaves, Pays for the bus ride Opens his home Eats a crossiant Sits on the sofa peacefully, Stitches open, The ache goes away, It Stops beating, He was not breathing. Police read a text, Received at half past seven, "father, I'm not coming back" Text accompanied an attack He was not breathing, Doctors told his daughter, "He is never coming back" Too.

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