"eclairs" poems - Hello Poetry

N. N is for neurologist. What does the neurologist say? “Nothing seems to be wrong. Your net recall seems normal. You seem to remember most nouns and the news. Nothing serious, No need to worry.” I don’t quite remember driving here. This is Bethesda, right? And your name is…? P. P is for psychologist. The P. is silent. So is the psychologist. I talk and talk. My energy level is high today, even though I got no sleep last night. I want to write a poem and run a partial marathon. I love people. People are so beautiful. “Only connect,” said E.M. Forster. Am I talking too much? How does that make me feel? Just great! Not like yesterday, when I wanted to jump into the Potomac from Key Bridge. P is also for Potomac. The psychologist speaks. I need a new pill. E. E is for endocrinologist. What does the endocrinologist say? “Eat. You’re an enigma. You are losing weight. We don’t know why. We’ve checked everything and can’t find evidence of enemies in your endocrine system. Enjoy some eclairs, eggplant, eggs benedict. Life is short, endulge! Hopefully not too short. O. O is for oncologist. Oh. Oh oh.

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Mar 14, 2019

Mar 14, 2019 at 11:22 AM UTC

david-adamson

Medical Alphabet

N. N is for neurologist. What does the neurologist say? “Nothing seems to be wrong. Your net recall seems normal. You seem to remember most nouns and the news. Nothing serious, No need to worry.” I don’t quite remember driving here. This is Bethesda, right? And your name is…? P. P is for psychologist. The P. is silent. So is the psychologist. I talk and talk. My energy level is high today, even though I got no sleep last night. I want to write a poem and run a partial marathon. I love people. People are so beautiful. “Only connect,” said E.M. Forster. Am I talking too much? How does that make me feel? Just great! Not like yesterday, when I wanted to jump into the Potomac from Key Bridge. P is also for Potomac. The psychologist speaks. I need a new pill. E. E is for endocrinologist. What does the endocrinologist say? “Eat. You’re an enigma. You are losing weight. We don’t know why. We’ve checked everything and can’t find evidence of enemies in your endocrine system. Enjoy some eclairs, eggplant, eggs benedict. Life is short, endulge! Hopefully not too short. O. O is for oncologist. Oh. Oh oh.

42

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

0

Feb 25, 2013

Feb 25, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

A few of my favorite Things ( song parody)

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

17

If I were an elephant I know just what I'd do I'd pack my trunk with all my junk And move far from the zoo I'd bring with me my monkey Best friend and sidekick Preston If memory correctly serves me He's a **** at giving directions Cause I'd like to move to Timbuktu Either that or Kathmandu One thing is clear as long as it's not here Any old place will do I'd then open up a doughnut shop Run by Preston the monkey and me Where we would toss sprinkles on top With banana creme in-between We'd be known far and wide for our doughnut delights Oh and fancy schmancy eclairs too Yes if I were an elephant That's exactly what I would do Wouldn't you?

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Dec 10, 2016

Dec 10, 2016 at 1:08 PM UTC

mike-hauser

*If I Were An Elephant*

If I were an elephant I know just what I'd do I'd pack my trunk with all my junk And move far from the zoo I'd bring with me my monkey Best friend and sidekick Preston If memory correctly serves me He's a **** at giving directions Cause I'd like to move to Timbuktu Either that or Kathmandu One thing is clear as long as it's not here Any old place will do I'd then open up a doughnut shop Run by Preston the monkey and me Where we would toss sprinkles on top With banana creme in-between We'd be known far and wide for our doughnut delights Oh and fancy schmancy eclairs too Yes if I were an elephant That's exactly what I would do Wouldn't you?

21

February a baleful month dabbed with deep darkness, the calendar's mortuary nature's own Gulag. Its window opens upon possible impossibilities none of which yield joy. Crows plummet murderously from the heavens vainly trying to flee into spring but merely splat. Roads are crushed beneath a carpet of **** Frosted blimps soar naked. Boots refuse to stay tied. Your parent's nightmares freeze your sweaty sleep. Snow falls like dead swans. Eclairs crystallize into lumps too solid to enjoy. A month of undeserved solitary confinement that trembles the soul. A deep achromatic terror keening coldness in a huge white wail penetrating the ears until march stops the madness and hope blossoms as crocuses, apricity achieved, small phosphorescent dots of desire. ~mce

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Feb 4, 2016

Feb 4, 2016 at 10:13 AM UTC

mike-essig

Aeromancy

February a baleful month dabbed with deep darkness, the calendar's mortuary nature's own Gulag. Its window opens upon possible impossibilities none of which yield joy. Crows plummet murderously from the heavens vainly trying to flee into spring but merely splat. Roads are crushed beneath a carpet of **** Frosted blimps soar naked. Boots refuse to stay tied. Your parent's nightmares freeze your sweaty sleep. Snow falls like dead swans. Eclairs crystallize into lumps too solid to enjoy. A month of undeserved solitary confinement that trembles the soul. A deep achromatic terror keening coldness in a huge white wail penetrating the ears until march stops the madness and hope blossoms as crocuses, apricity achieved, small phosphorescent dots of desire. ~mce

34

The last year , And we'r here . The teachers cared , But we feared .... The school has the layers, But we'r the players ... Just keep the memories And eat eclairs .. :)

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Sep 7, 2014

Sep 7, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC

choprasahab

The Last Year

The last year , And we'r here . The teachers cared , But we feared .... The school has the layers, But we'r the players ... Just keep the memories And eat eclairs .. :)

8

It’s boxing day (the Brit name for the day after Christmas) and Pamela, Lisa’s grandmother is visiting our little pandemic ark. Pamela’s a Cowboys fan so we’re watching them slaughter Washington - between commercials - but now a Tesla commercial is running. “Those electric cars,” Pamala says dubiously, “seem problematic.” “You’ve heard of global warming, haven’t you, Pamala?” Leeza says. Leeza addresses everyone (even her grandmother) as if they were her age (12). It’s both seductive and lazy. “This whole system,” she raises her arms to include the apartment, the city and America, “will collapse - we’re DOOOOMED,” she concludes, as if speechifying to an eager crowd. “Everyone’s heard of climate change,” Pamela says, sipping her eggnog. Pamela is as well informed as any of us and seems rather envious of the future, even the coming awfulness. “Leeza’s her own theatre,” Her mom says, grimacing indulgently. Leeza’s full attention was now on the pastry tray - having spotted two small eclairs under the bear claws - she'd lost interest in the conversation and saving the planet. “The system won’t collapse,” Will says. Will received his early acceptance letter from Harvard the other day and now he knows everything. “We’ll lose Florida, South Carolina and New York,” he pronounces calmly, “so there’ll be some.. migrations.” “Thank you, professor,” Lisa says, rolling her eyes as if to say ”Harvard people.” “I think the Covid might get us all - before climate change,” I say, in the spirit of the holiday. “Well,” Will says, grinning, “that’s what ALL the people at inferior colleges think.” Leeza, passing by my easychair, curls into my lap like a cat, gently petting my hair. “Don’t be mean to MY friend,” she says, purringly - I was suddenly her possession. Lisa comes out of her chair, a sly smile on her face, to lay crosswise atop Leeza (and me). “Ugg,” I managed to say, squirming to get comfortable, then “Akkkk.” Lisa says, “Leave my poor roomie alone!” and starts baby-kissing my head.” Will starts in our direction like HE’S going to pile on. “Egggg! I shrek, “HELP!” Pamela whoops with glee as Dallas scores another touchdown. “Like beating a dead dog with a stick,” she says.

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Dec 29, 2021

Dec 29, 2021 at 10:10 AM UTC

anaisvionet

boxing day

It’s boxing day (the Brit name for the day after Christmas) and Pamela, Lisa’s grandmother is visiting our little pandemic ark. Pamela’s a Cowboys fan so we’re watching them slaughter Washington - between commercials - but now a Tesla commercial is running. “Those electric cars,” Pamala says dubiously, “seem problematic.” “You’ve heard of global warming, haven’t you, Pamala?” Leeza says. Leeza addresses everyone (even her grandmother) as if they were her age (12). It’s both seductive and lazy. “This whole system,” she raises her arms to include the apartment, the city and America, “will collapse - we’re DOOOOMED,” she concludes, as if speechifying to an eager crowd. “Everyone’s heard of climate change,” Pamela says, sipping her eggnog. Pamela is as well informed as any of us and seems rather envious of the future, even the coming awfulness. “Leeza’s her own theatre,” Her mom says, grimacing indulgently. Leeza’s full attention was now on the pastry tray - having spotted two small eclairs under the bear claws - she'd lost interest in the conversation and saving the planet. “The system won’t collapse,” Will says. Will received his early acceptance letter from Harvard the other day and now he knows everything. “We’ll lose Florida, South Carolina and New York,” he pronounces calmly, “so there’ll be some.. migrations.” “Thank you, professor,” Lisa says, rolling her eyes as if to say ”Harvard people.” “I think the Covid might get us all - before climate change,” I say, in the spirit of the holiday. “Well,” Will says, grinning, “that’s what ALL the people at inferior colleges think.” Leeza, passing by my easychair, curls into my lap like a cat, gently petting my hair. “Don’t be mean to MY friend,” she says, purringly - I was suddenly her possession. Lisa comes out of her chair, a sly smile on her face, to lay crosswise atop Leeza (and me). “Ugg,” I managed to say, squirming to get comfortable, then “Akkkk.” Lisa says, “Leave my poor roomie alone!” and starts baby-kissing my head.” Will starts in our direction like HE’S going to pile on. “Egggg! I shrek, “HELP!” Pamela whoops with glee as Dallas scores another touchdown. “Like beating a dead dog with a stick,” she says.

15

he watched her excitedly eat **** shaped food especially eclairs as she languidly tongued the white buttercream from the sides of her mouth thinking of her his masturbations powered the lights of the Catskills it wasn't just his profession it was his obsession just another horney borsht belt gynecologist

0

Dec 8, 2020

Dec 8, 2020 at 4:01 PM UTC

zebrablack

Borscht Belt Doc

he watched her excitedly eat **** shaped food especially eclairs as she languidly tongued the white buttercream from the sides of her mouth thinking of her his masturbations powered the lights of the Catskills it wasn't just his profession it was his obsession just another horney borsht belt gynecologist

14

half formed thoughts, half finished lines, breakfast half eaten, left on the... half asleep, half awake, half dressed child, starting today... a mistake. let us rewind, to, when we were all still abed. then when the alarm rings out snooze it pretend we are dead at least to this half made greyest day and turn away from this half formed mayhem of harried reality go back, go back, to the land of dreams for today, the better choice... no half sown seams to burst, hems to trip on, clothes, that will not zip, the zip on that set of pants that i must fix no bad hair, no external rants, about work incomplete,(half done). no thinking rude thoughts, about stinking heat swelled feet. just cool linen, pressed against my tired cheek .. and an island deserted... with cool breeze and a fridge with filled with chocolate eclairs and iced coffee ... a big squishy chair... utopia .... see i am halfway there.. but halfway here also and the bell has rung. time for these... half @rsed musings to be done. phones to answer, emails too reports to analyse, lectures to prepare, here i am half an hour into the day and already... way.. too tired to deal.... so position.. my clock hands... at.. half way past... i don't care.

0

Apr 18, 2014

Apr 18, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC

betterdays

half

half formed thoughts, half finished lines, breakfast half eaten, left on the... half asleep, half awake, half dressed child, starting today... a mistake. let us rewind, to, when we were all still abed. then when the alarm rings out snooze it pretend we are dead at least to this half made greyest day and turn away from this half formed mayhem of harried reality go back, go back, to the land of dreams for today, the better choice... no half sown seams to burst, hems to trip on, clothes, that will not zip, the zip on that set of pants that i must fix no bad hair, no external rants, about work incomplete,(half done). no thinking rude thoughts, about stinking heat swelled feet. just cool linen, pressed against my tired cheek .. and an island deserted... with cool breeze and a fridge with filled with chocolate eclairs and iced coffee ... a big squishy chair... utopia .... see i am halfway there.. but halfway here also and the bell has rung. time for these... half @rsed musings to be done. phones to answer, emails too reports to analyse, lectures to prepare, here i am half an hour into the day and already... way.. too tired to deal.... so position.. my clock hands... at.. half way past... i don't care.

59

It was January last Wednesday, When the moon turned bright green, The stars danced a tango, And the sun wore a sheen. The clouds sang a lullaby, To the mountains so high, While the rivers played hopscotch, With the fishes passing by. The trees whispered secrets, To the birds in the air, And the flowers wore hats, Made of chocolate eclairs. The wind told a joke, That made the rocks laugh, And the grass did a jig, On the giraffe’s behalf. So if you see a rainbow, On a snowy summer’s day, Just remember this tale, Of January last Wednesday.

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Sep 9, 2024

Sep 9, 2024 at 1:30 PM UTC

Geof_Spavins

It was January last Wednesday

It was January last Wednesday, When the moon turned bright green, The stars danced a tango, And the sun wore a sheen. The clouds sang a lullaby, To the mountains so high, While the rivers played hopscotch, With the fishes passing by. The trees whispered secrets, To the birds in the air, And the flowers wore hats, Made of chocolate eclairs. The wind told a joke, That made the rocks laugh, And the grass did a jig, On the giraffe’s behalf. So if you see a rainbow, On a snowy summer’s day, Just remember this tale, Of January last Wednesday.

20

*i revel in the sweet mistrust citrus blossoms swell with fragrance spring is here so let’s be vagrant accepting emptiness as it is victimless the misty hues streets of water streets of wine streets of blue and streets of time signal to me and i’ll signal to you nod your head and i’ll nod mine too dress in black and cast your shadow i’ll catch your arrows as they fall from wombs burning on thrones of dollar bills throes of hunger and throes of woe sewn into hands upon your mantle all are lit except the candles self portraits frozen in stillness spill the whiskey on the miller’s witness burn the bread that you are baking in life’s funeral parlor my hands are quaking shaking and taking their fill of flour, water, yeast and rye and pouring it all into copper pots her stockings rip and tear on rocks i hold steady to her fading truth be told i am waiting as ugliness breathes dread into this bread threads of laughter in my head respect your elders take your shelter unclench your fists stay open to the mornings drunkenness please seethe with silent ease and glide upon the flesh of earth her skin your memory retains the taste of flesh the scent of breath the scene was tantalizing her story is a bride’s tale sung by the orphans in the fields growing juicy berries her face is covered in their stains i abstain from feeling freely is the longing for goodness shameful then please embarrass me with your kisses embrace me with your quickness madness is merely darkness retrograding your eyes are blades of grass on hillsides upon mountains and dark caverns socks worn down by iron ore treasures sunken in your lips i see heroes and villains all too quickly turning into children burning like ****** in Vietnamese forests your studs and your mares with dollops of hair whipped cream frosting and strawberry tarts eclairs are bought on parisian streets lanes of fire are blinding heat your time is now so read the words of the Niscean sect and accept the prophets that have been neglected really open really feel that this opening is real her apple peels are earrings cored like her feelings stolen from the ceilings of gardens and queens*

0

Mar 4, 2017

Mar 4, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC

ganesha-michael-shapiro

what now?

*i revel in the sweet mistrust citrus blossoms swell with fragrance spring is here so let’s be vagrant accepting emptiness as it is victimless the misty hues streets of water streets of wine streets of blue and streets of time signal to me and i’ll signal to you nod your head and i’ll nod mine too dress in black and cast your shadow i’ll catch your arrows as they fall from wombs burning on thrones of dollar bills throes of hunger and throes of woe sewn into hands upon your mantle all are lit except the candles self portraits frozen in stillness spill the whiskey on the miller’s witness burn the bread that you are baking in life’s funeral parlor my hands are quaking shaking and taking their fill of flour, water, yeast and rye and pouring it all into copper pots her stockings rip and tear on rocks i hold steady to her fading truth be told i am waiting as ugliness breathes dread into this bread threads of laughter in my head respect your elders take your shelter unclench your fists stay open to the mornings drunkenness please seethe with silent ease and glide upon the flesh of earth her skin your memory retains the taste of flesh the scent of breath the scene was tantalizing her story is a bride’s tale sung by the orphans in the fields growing juicy berries her face is covered in their stains i abstain from feeling freely is the longing for goodness shameful then please embarrass me with your kisses embrace me with your quickness madness is merely darkness retrograding your eyes are blades of grass on hillsides upon mountains and dark caverns socks worn down by iron ore treasures sunken in your lips i see heroes and villains all too quickly turning into children burning like ****** in Vietnamese forests your studs and your mares with dollops of hair whipped cream frosting and strawberry tarts eclairs are bought on parisian streets lanes of fire are blinding heat your time is now so read the words of the Niscean sect and accept the prophets that have been neglected really open really feel that this opening is real her apple peels are earrings cored like her feelings stolen from the ceilings of gardens and queens*

79

Storms live in the attic They roll round on the wide brass bed and Tussle beneath the eaves where Wintry starlings sing in arabesque falsettos and the quilts are all sewn by hand Lily is mistress of this place She bathes in thunder while the bluebells ring Her lover watches, dumbstruck all he knows is the air shimmers around her And the sky vibrates in her eyes Lily loves her lover only Spurning pretenders and naysaying Minotaurs Trusting his carnation smile, she Wears tomorrow’s clothes, defiantly penniless Wallowing in Omelettes and pillows Lily paints her lips with rainbows While her lover stretches out his canvas homage falling deeper in love, felled By the curve of her breast in the moonlight And the way her hips roll as she walks And if he’s her Halfpenny Prince She’s his Sixpence no richer Princess... Kestrels fly round the parlour, Ravenous, but They dine on eclairs in the boudoir And never go hungry Rain fills their silver violins Music flows from his fingertips to her spine Shambolic evening invocations Paint the walls as they revel in their adagios Soaring past counterfeit barriers Lily never overthinks her loving Mystics and gypsies roam free in her veins Her blood becomes his, intrinsically Intertwined in their colourful progression Sad yesterdays die Long Ago Everything changes at midnight Lily courts her twixt times metamorphoses Slinky rhythms catch her feet Waterfalls pour from her arms as she dances Her lover captures her with a last breath Glazes her flesh with his lips In the eaves dervish doves swirl in arcs of fright In the garden of night tendrils unfurl Their Fate touches the stone Angels Of Sorrow From pitted mouths of pity they sigh Lily is mistress of this place She wakes alone in her wide brass bed, while Crying birds sing to her in sympathy And Summer weeps for her morning disillusion... her threadbare reveries fall away He is gone, he is gone, he is gone He was her Halfpenny Prince She his Sixpence no richer Princess... Lily’s heart flies round the parlour, Mourning, Now she eats the bread of Memories Lily never goes hungry

0

Feb 9, 2019

Feb 9, 2019 at 5:29 AM UTC

deidre-lockyer

Lily’s World

Storms live in the attic They roll round on the wide brass bed and Tussle beneath the eaves where Wintry starlings sing in arabesque falsettos and the quilts are all sewn by hand Lily is mistress of this place She bathes in thunder while the bluebells ring Her lover watches, dumbstruck all he knows is the air shimmers around her And the sky vibrates in her eyes Lily loves her lover only Spurning pretenders and naysaying Minotaurs Trusting his carnation smile, she Wears tomorrow’s clothes, defiantly penniless Wallowing in Omelettes and pillows Lily paints her lips with rainbows While her lover stretches out his canvas homage falling deeper in love, felled By the curve of her breast in the moonlight And the way her hips roll as she walks And if he’s her Halfpenny Prince She’s his Sixpence no richer Princess... Kestrels fly round the parlour, Ravenous, but They dine on eclairs in the boudoir And never go hungry Rain fills their silver violins Music flows from his fingertips to her spine Shambolic evening invocations Paint the walls as they revel in their adagios Soaring past counterfeit barriers Lily never overthinks her loving Mystics and gypsies roam free in her veins Her blood becomes his, intrinsically Intertwined in their colourful progression Sad yesterdays die Long Ago Everything changes at midnight Lily courts her twixt times metamorphoses Slinky rhythms catch her feet Waterfalls pour from her arms as she dances Her lover captures her with a last breath Glazes her flesh with his lips In the eaves dervish doves swirl in arcs of fright In the garden of night tendrils unfurl Their Fate touches the stone Angels Of Sorrow From pitted mouths of pity they sigh Lily is mistress of this place She wakes alone in her wide brass bed, while Crying birds sing to her in sympathy And Summer weeps for her morning disillusion... her threadbare reveries fall away He is gone, he is gone, he is gone He was her Halfpenny Prince She his Sixpence no richer Princess... Lily’s heart flies round the parlour, Mourning, Now she eats the bread of Memories Lily never goes hungry

58

Or pardon me Floridian traded the palm trees Shopping site for Psychic cards Sprees Thousands Palm reader Thieves Let's hear it 4 the cowboys Happy guards Gypsies and Tramps Cher turning back I got you, babe____* The thieves got down on their knees he could steal anyone's loot Oh! Dear The terms of endearment It's her the Owl **** Hoot A kick off the western frontier Boot Gypsy hut of the parliament Dreamy-Eclairs Foreign love tears She reads my palms What did she leave out The lip of numbers to pout on (Tumblr) He is carrying on Nose of the snout She is left Mean **** and boots Antonio Bean sprouts New siblings The bashful wall Her hands I cannot believe he buttered her I am feeling all butchered Transfiguration What an abomination Still bashful wallflower Bell tower no time for a new President climbing the Trump Tower Woodsy Natalie Gypsy Rose Lee Got all buttered by the Popcorn colonel Those bitcoins Lions and Tigers and the bears Hug those handles Palm me riders of the storm Somehow he College Dorm get testy with my right arm they alarm me Eyes African Violet Compare to Elizabeth So go Taylor another Swift emerging gift Pour some sugar on me Palm me quick We are the Gypsies We need your paws instead of our hand Alaskan Huskies We love you "Brittish bitcoins" March out lions_____

0

May 7, 2018

May 7, 2018 at 1:34 PM UTC

robinHelloRow

Gypsy Palm me

Or pardon me Floridian traded the palm trees Shopping site for Psychic cards Sprees Thousands Palm reader Thieves Let's hear it 4 the cowboys Happy guards Gypsies and Tramps Cher turning back I got you, babe____* The thieves got down on their knees he could steal anyone's loot Oh! Dear The terms of endearment It's her the Owl **** Hoot A kick off the western frontier Boot Gypsy hut of the parliament Dreamy-Eclairs Foreign love tears She reads my palms What did she leave out The lip of numbers to pout on (Tumblr) He is carrying on Nose of the snout She is left Mean **** and boots Antonio Bean sprouts New siblings The bashful wall Her hands I cannot believe he buttered her I am feeling all butchered Transfiguration What an abomination Still bashful wallflower Bell tower no time for a new President climbing the Trump Tower Woodsy Natalie Gypsy Rose Lee Got all buttered by the Popcorn colonel Those bitcoins Lions and Tigers and the bears Hug those handles Palm me riders of the storm Somehow he College Dorm get testy with my right arm they alarm me Eyes African Violet Compare to Elizabeth So go Taylor another Swift emerging gift Pour some sugar on me Palm me quick We are the Gypsies We need your paws instead of our hand Alaskan Huskies We love you "Brittish bitcoins" March out lions_____

93