"frosting" poems
They put me in the oven to bake.
Me a deprived and miserable cake.
Feeling the heat I started to bubble.
Watching the others I knew I was in trouble
They opened the door and I started my life.
Frosting me with a silver knife.
Decorating me with candy jewels.
The rest of my batch looked like fools.
Lifting me up, she took off my wrapper.
Feeling the breeze, I wanted to slap her.
Opening her mouth with shiny teeth inside.
This was the day this cupcake had died.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
you are may
i am december
kisses exchanged
during the bluing hour
child like
staring at you
in wonder and amazement
frosting night
falling snow
flakes in your auburn hair
i walk you home
in the cold frigid air
holding your hand
dreaming of you
you are rare
a beacon
a lighthouse
in a storm
in my daydreams
you are the pixie, the fairy inspiring me
at night
you are the siren, i surrender to
a trifecta of youth, beauty, personality
you are refreshingly young
spring in my wintered life
preternaturally beautiful
perfection come to life
your femininity bewitching
your youth intoxicating
your mannerism seducing
i would do anything for you
oozing sensuality
innocences
of a woman on the cusp
you hunger for sophistication
to be worldly-wise
seeking passage guidance
from an experienced traveller
the trade, the deal, is timeless
refined by evolution
i am humbled
to have been chosen
the ultimate champion
of your ****** selection
in turn, you are my trophy
the spoils
of a never ending war
i know our time is short
the span of a bloom
a season at most
i know the outcome
seen the devastation
the problem is
we think we have time
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
I never really liked
My name
Much
Until I found out
What it tastes like
When you write it in frosting
On top of a cake
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
I Love The Feeling Of Dirt Frosting My Skin,
And My White Pants Staining From Muck,
I Pulled Out My Old Friends Today,
My Cleats, My Glove, And My Luck,
I Slipped On My Sliding Pants,
Ones I Haven't Worn For A Season,
The Hole On My Knee Matched It's Scar,
The One I Am Most Proud Of For Many Reasons,
I Just Had To Trace The Stitches Of My Ball,
The One I Missed All Winter,
I Am So Excited To Plow Myself Between Bases,
And Re-Awaken My Inner Sprinter
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
The older we grow
the faster life goes,
priorities change
quality of living
and loving takes
precedent, over
self-indulgence
and material things.
Nothing as important
as family and friends.
It is racing now,
these fleeting days
and years, reflected
most in my grandsons
growing too soon from
children to young men.
Along with Steller parents
our little farm provides
a learning ground for the
kids, teaching life lessons
that inspire character and
self discipline, with Cows
and pigs to show at fairs,
pride earned with accomplishments
and Blue Ribbons to share.
So lucky am I having a ringside
seat, watching yet another family
generation ascend and grow,
Football and basket ball
games to attend, Christmas
morns of excited children
clamoring down the stairs,
many birthday celebrations
with ever more candles aglow.
Memories all, retained and shared.
Perhaps the best part is,
these grandsons of mine,
still are up for hugs and
good night kisses, genuine
affection received and given.
Families are a true blessing
and a privilege, the only
real reason we are here.
All these things, remain the
sweet frosting on my aging
Grandfather's cake of life.
I sometimes wonder where
I would be without all these,
my reasons for being?
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
A scarlet confection
Made to tasty perfection
For your mouth’s inspection
The tip of the toppings
The vanilla flavored frosting
Is so tempting to you
The taste bud’s elation
In what you are facing
Is something like devil’s food cake
The tiled floor kitchen
In the hours bewitching
Leaves your pulse a twitching
From the caloric intake
And the hours you shorten
By licking the shortening
They are a mistake
But they are your poisonous pleasure
Made to bake and yours’ to take
It’s a sweet treat we call cake
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 3:45 AM UTC
To cook something beautiful
You need a few unsightly ingredients.
Like to make a cake
You need flour and baking soda
Baking powder, sugar, and a hint of salt
Water and eggs.
They aren't appealing to look at
By themselves
Or even when mixed together.
But when handled right,
And with a little time
Love and care
An oven and a spatula
You conform them into exactly the right shape
And those unsightly ingredients become
A tasty treat,
But what's a cake without frosting?
It's something bigger than what it was.
It's a combination
The frosting makes it more
Visually appealing,
It masks the overly cooked
Side.
Some air pockets from
An inexperienced
Or careless chef.
It's masks imperfections.
You can't force a cake to become perfect.
It needs time,
it needs love,
it needs care.
Dare I say it again,
It needs time,
It needs love,
It needs care.
When the cake
Gets those, and is left alone
To bake,
To think about what it's job is,
To not just be beautiful
Covered in frosting
But without it as well,
You'll have the best ****
Cake you've ever made.
It won't be over done on one side
Or the other,
It won't have air bubbles,
It'll glisten and gleam,
And be pristine.
You'll have a cake
Beautiful
On the inside and out.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
Hark! Take heed, for this cake be both mighty and magnificent!
1.75 cups flour
2 cups white sugar
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
0.75 cups unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tsp. salt
2 eggs
1 cup (as in 8 fl.oz/250mL.) strongly brewed coffee (make more and drink it!)
1 cup buttermilk (or 1 tbs. white vinegar+1 cup milk mixed well, blah blah)
0.5 cups cocoanut oil (or 0.33 cups basicallywhatever oil), a little less if ***
1 tsp. vanilla extract
OPTIONAL:
2-3 shots (60-90mL; 0.2-0.33 cups) black spiced *** (Kraken, if at all possible)
I also want to experiment with whiskey/burbon.. if you try it, let me know!
--Flour, sugar cocoa powder, baking soda+powder, salt mixed in one bowl
-- eggs, coffee, *** buttermilk, oil, vanilla in another
Slowly mix the dry into the wet until as homogenous as possible.
I use an 8"x8" (20cmx20cm) pan @350F (175 C) for about 40 minutes, but I check on it at round 30 minutes because some variance may well apply. If you use olive oil, or avocado oil, or whatever other more fluid oil, I find a slightly hotter oven (375 F/190 C) can be advisable, but pay attention to your specific scenario! The worst that's happened for me is the top gets a bit crusty, but that pleasantly works with the overall moisture of the cake, especially with olive oil and the *** addition.
Do the toothpick test to see if it's ready!
Frosting is applicable, as well, because this Magical Cake is not horribly sweet for how horribly sweet it sure is. I usually just sprinkle some confectioner's sugar on it to make it look all fancy for my classy friends and band-mates.
ENJOY!
Bake responsibly, but have some fun.
Also, suffer the decimals!
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
Beards
Life is a bakery ;
And men are the cakes in that bakery.
In that same bakery,
beards are frosting.
You know what cakes without icing are called in the
bakery of life?
Boring.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
Sincere reassuring hugs,
Touching and
being touched,
Caresses shared,
Easy laughter exuded,
Intimate whispers
of affection exchanged,
A fellowship of souls,
Sweet Companionship
spread, like frosting on a cake.
As comfortable and reassuring
as your favorite old wool sweater
on a chilly night's weather.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 8:22 PM UTC
today's my birthday,
but i don't want presents
today's my birthday,
but i don't want wishes
today's my birthday,
but i don't want to be older
today's my birthday,
but i don't want a party
today's my birthday,
but i already have everything i want
they told me that my mom loved birthdays
they told me she'd stay up all night
baking cakes and cookies and pies
they told me she planned parties months in advance
they told me she loved to sing happy birthday
and that she had perfect pitch too
they told me she made me her
famous almond dream cake
for my first birthday
smothered in coconut frosting
with one little palm tree
precariously placed on top
they told me that she
learned to knit
just for me
to make me a soft blanket
adorned with the words,
my little angel, cara
today's my birthday,
but i don't want it to be
today's my birthday,
but i don't want to remember my mother
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
*He reminds me of
red velvet cupcakes.
His clothes are dark
like it's wrapper. Skin
as sweet as the white
frosting placed as the
topping. Cheeks blood
red like the colour
additive added in the
recipe. He's sweeter
than honey coming out
of the queen bee. I'm
telling you he's a cupcake
to me*. ~
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
1. Fallow brown, like he's poured his whole soul out through the gold sieve and lies in wait to be replenished.
2. The color of the ocean. Blue, I guess, but that’s not even the half of it. All the ruggedness of the waves—forming up, breaking, and forming again like life is only the motions. Her eyes are blue, but you could hardly tell.
3. A hand-painted bowl of fresh chocolate frosting from which the most immature hands soonest get a mouthful.
4. Beautiful. Like, drop dead gorgeous. I’d dig my own grave and stick to rolling in it if she ever looked at me some type of way. Their color? I don’t know. But most of all, I dare to wonder about the bludgeoned scar between them.
5. Sturdy cobalt. Far more indicative of her steady heart than gold could ever hope to be. Still susceptible to tear, but not so easily warped by heat or stress.
6. Simply brown. No, red? It’s always been hard to tell through the fog. Truthful like the rawest earth, I’ll call her mahogany.
7. Faded blue spray paint over a slate gray wall. Forcibly muted after her years of blasting music, but there’s still that rogue twinkle to them that I pray slips through the cracks.
8. Coffee, with all the vim and vigor to make you click your heels and fall in love.
9. Unripe lime seen lazing in the shade. Not fit for a margarita just yet, but straining at the bit nonetheless.
10. Hazel, although I still don’t know what the **** that actually is. Whatever. It looks nice on her resume.
11. Green. Or were they blue? The memories of her were too wonderful, too important, that I had to let the littlest details fade away first.
12. The crystallized seafoam that made me realize I deserved to feel alive, too.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 3:09 AM UTC
Nobody was born today
But you picked up a cake anyway
for five dollars fifty plus tax
Now you're watching
Criminal Minds on a couch made for three
and eating it with your hands
It vaguely occurs to you that
you should be sharing it with someone
or at least put on some **** candles
You're not even hungry
you don't even need to fill a void
you did good today
You hardly even miss her anymore.
You haven't thought about it in weeks.
If you just slept you'd be fine in the morning.
You consider it all
examining the red velvet
stuck under your thumbnail
Maybe you're looking for
a file or a prison shank
sunk beneath the frosting
Or maybe you just need
to make this a Night
The Night of the Cake
It'll blend in
with the others
in a matter of time
But for a few weeks
you'll look back
and remember
you are a member
of those romanticized ranks
those plastic or terracotta statues
Tomorrow you will feed the dog.
And after work you will pick up groceries.
And after groceries you will pay your bills.
But tonight is the Night of Cake.
Tonight
you become a stereotype
An unforgiving consumer
with chocolate-stained hands.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
The traditional Christmas Windows of Wonder
Were set to be unveiled at five
This meant to the children and parents
That Santa was set to arrive
Each year on the eve of the annual parade
All the stores in downtown did display
their annual Windows of Wonder
And the town was abuzz all the day
Children staring, windows frosting
Their mouths open wide like their eyes
Christmas was captured in an 8 by 10 box
With gifts piled up to the skies
Christmas presents of every sort
Trees and tinsel, lights and *****
Children staring, frozen stiff
Christmas wishes behind plate glass walls
Parents and children watched the parade
Waiting for Santa to come
In between all the floats, there were still the displays
As the children who all stood there numb
Toys and mechanics, robots and dolls
Trains and race cars on tracks
The children all stared and they dreamed of just how
Santa would get all these gifts in his sack
In the midst of the crowd was a blonde, little girl
A good breeze could just blow her away
She'd been hovering there, looking at one small doll
And she'd been there for most of the day
The parade, it passed by, but she never did look
she knew Santa was not here for her
There was only one thing that had captured her heart
And that was the doll, that's for sure
The other kids looked, made their lists in their heads
Ready to tell Santa their list
but, this little girl stood alone from the crowd
She was cold and her cheeks were ice kissed
The parade ended late, and Santa went in
took his chair and he met with the throng
But, this girl stood aside, never moving on up
And the Santa, knew something was wrong
He called her by name, which gave her quite a start
She was scared, but she moved at his call
She sat on his lap, and he reached down behind
And he gave the small girl the small doll
Her face lit the room, more than any display
She said "Santa, just how did you know?"
He said, "Sarah, my dear, it's as plain as can be"
"It's as easy as making it snow"
He put her back down, clutching her doll to her chest
And she walked to the front of the store
but, before she went out, she turned back to say thanks
And where he was, there was Santa no more
Is it magic to think that this Santa was real?
Or did this man know just what he should do?
He made Sarah's Christmas, by giving that doll
And I'm sure he made many more too
The Children of Christmas stare wide eyed all day
Dreaming hard of when Santa will call
But,, off in the corner of the chlly, young crowd
Stands a girl, with her new Christmas doll
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
Black is the corupt angle watching over us from above
Black is the dark pines covered by the snow
Black is the sound of loudness.
Black sounds like rain clouds coming from a far.
Black feels like broken glass.
Black feels like the hate in my heart.
Black taste like burnt cookies
Black taste like the cake under the frosting
Black smells like a week old corpse.
Black smells sour as candy!
Black is my soul~
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 4:11 AM UTC
I wanna **** myself in a thousand ways.
I wanna feel nothing but pain for days.
I wanna lose my ******* mind,
and never think again.
I want you to rip up
my pedals,
my roots
and my stem.
I wanna die
and be dead forever,
I wanna be plucked
of every feather.
I want no one
to sit around with,
to feel horrible together.
This feeling
is best felt alone,
it slips in
like a crisp breeze,
frosting your bones.
Then it warms up your heart,
but it doesn't make you better.
It ***** with my head,
and makes me write you these letters.
Until i want nothing else,
then to be able to forget,
the prettiest elf.
But you can relate
to how bad this must be,
accept that every day,
there's no one
Loving you
more than me.
And now
there is nothing
but fate to steal.
But i have faith,
that I could heal.
This terrible affliction,
you're forced to feel.
I love you,
and I want your life.
To be filled with love,
and free from strife.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC
The buzzer is ringing, the cookies are done
now I'll eat them one by one
The smooth frosting just like silk
wash them down with chocolate milk
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 6:51 AM UTC
I'll just have a taste
just have one
two
three
four
sticky mess
all over my hands
why couldn't I stop
I don't remember doing this
frosting drying up my mouth
only solaced by further sugar
sticky mess
all over my hands
I can't wash it off
I can't get it off
it's engraved there
sticky mess
all over my hands
tormenting me
making me sick
sticky mess
all over my hands
purge it out
get it out
shower drowning out the sound
sticky mess
all over my hands
I'm disgusting
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
I write like a poet
I speak the words of a song
I sing like an angel
…who tends to get the notes wrong.
I’m funny and friendly
Or I pretend to be
I’m weird but I’m witty
I guess that’s just me.
I wear my sneakers
To parties with dresses
I paint on the walls
And I make frosting messes
I suppose I’m annoying
But I bet you are too.
I guess that’s my panache.
How about you?
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
"I'm just tired..."
Excuse one for the silence that ensues.
She listens as he tells her he refuses to hurt her
...even though she aches as the words leave his lips.
Triple chocolate chocolate chip frosting is all she wants.
"I didn't sleep well..."
Excuse two for the agitated responses.
Her best friend has distanced herself
...but expects her to just sit by and wait to be wanted again.
Triple chocolate chocolate chip frosting gags her.
"It was a rough night..."
Excuse three for the silent tears that stream down her face.
Her father tells her she's a spoiled, stupid *****
...but acts like he's a genius that's greater than God.
Food loses its appeal entirely.
"I don't need a mirror to see myself..."
Excuse four for her avoidance of reflective surfaces.
Her mirror has become her worst enemy
...reflecting her flaws and screaming her issues.
She no longer has an appetite.
"I'm fine"
Excuse five... and six for all the things she does in a day.
She's breaking, crying, and dying
...but its been repeated so many times her friends have begun to believe it.
Food now makes her want to throw up.
"Excuses, Excuses"
seven, eight, nine, ten for all the things she needs to deny
her mask of a smile makes everyone believe them all
...no one realizing how unhappy she is
she eats...but only because she doesn't want them to worry.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
I was flying home from Denver
and the man next to me ordered 3 double vodkas
slipping the stewardess a hundred bucks
by the end of the flight he was asking me
to come home with him
he had a sheepskin bed throw
that would keep us perfectly warm
this chill winter night
I refused
called him a drunk freak
and giggled when he stumbled down the escalator
and split a **** in his forehead
that cracked like
like Easter
smothered in chocolate frosting
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 7:13 PM UTC
Can you be my cupcake tonight ?
If you be the cupcake ill be your
sprikles and frosting . Your chubby
blushing cheeks remind me of red
velvet cake . Im **** sure what im
saying is no mistake because you remind
me of that kind of cupcake . Did anyone
ever tell you that your sweeter than sugar
before ?! Because if not than here I am
telling you your sweeter than blood red jam .
Now come on darling undo your shirt and
let me take a bite out of your heart tonight ~
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
On his body is a ginger bread thong
To soften you up he sings a sweet sugar song
If you hit on him he’ll play along
He’s the **** ginger bread man
He’ll ****** you with candy wine
On a scale from 1-10 he is a 9
Girls look at him and say, “He’s so fine”
He’s the **** ginger bread man
On his face are peanut butter eyes
He has powdered sugar on his manly thighs
He will reel you in with his seductive lies
He’s the **** ginger bread man
On this neck is a chain of candy
Around the house he can be handy
If you add frosting he can be pretty randy
He’s the **** ginger bread man
Out of the batch he is the pick
He has a giant ginger breadstick
It has rainbow sprinkles on it
He’s the **** ginger bread man
You bite the chain and swallow the thong
Eat the stick which is very long
You gobble him up till he’s all gone
NO MORE **** ginger bread man
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 5:37 AM UTC
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting
Time is repetition
As I watch from the couch
“He won’t last the weekend,”
Says Hospice
“They said he might not last the weekend,”
Says Dauson
He’s stronger than they know,
I say
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting
False hope, of course
I can see the way
The cancer fights
Deceiving the guards
Hiding and attacking
Slowly taking what’s theirs
Slowly killing,
Spreading down towards the
Ground then rocketing up
Until his psyche
Dissipates into nothing
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting
“Go hunting, it’s opening day,”
He says
They listen
But only because
He yells at them to
She goes out to smoke
My grandma with my grandpa’s killer
“Can you pick Dauson up?”
Says Mom to Tracy
Keith’s mother,
Mother of my brother’s “brother”
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then Frosting
I know it’s coming
Yelling it’s arrival
Like the steady beat of a beating drum
I’m surprised
That no one else
Can hear it
That no one else
Can feel it
Permeating the air
The shadows reaching out
With tendrils made of cold
Made of smoke
Made of death’s sweet kiss
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting
Time is fast forwarded
Laying him down on the bed
“Melissa’s almost here,
The boys are almost here”
And then time stops for a moment
He’s facing me
Eyes closed, mouth parted
A single tear that is his own
Freezes on his cheek
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting
You asked what changed
Me the most?
What made me who
I am today?
A grave stone
A wooden cross
Seeing a man die slowly
Day after day
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC