"preheat" poems
could you please
preheat the oven
to 450°F?
thanks!
now
can you please
shove me in there
and close the door tightly?
I'll probably scream
and flail
but,
ignore that
I need a fire to be lit
under my ***
since I clearly
cannot light one
by myself
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 4:36 AM UTC
1pck. pre- cooked lasagna noodles
2 jars spaghetti sauce w/ onion&garlic;
17 oz. Ricotta cheese
1 t. sweet basil
1 t. oregano
1 egg
1 lb.ground, browned Italian sausage
3 cups mozzarella
1 cup grated parmesian
Preheat oven(with some innocent play)
Mix:
Ricotta(to add some excitement)
Basil and oregano(to spice it up)
Mix in beaten egg(to add stability)
Use ungreased 8x10 pan(to hold the comfort of it all)
Layer:
1 cup sauce(to swap a sweetened kiss)
Even out1/4 sausage(to add some spontaneity)
Place pasta in row(to layer with anticipation)
Spread ricotta(mixed with the above)
Sprinkle 1/4 mozzarella( to stretch the imagination)
Repeat steps 1-5(until pan is full of emotion)
Parmesian on top( to please)
Bake 1 hour at 350•( to heat up the love)
Cool 45 minutes( to lay in each others arms)
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 8:41 PM UTC
Without worry I sit and wonder
When the next batch will come.
Dough rolled out, stretched and pulled,
Broken into pieces and stuck in the oven. Without the confines of an cookie cutter; natural in every way. An free form of emotional bliss laid flat on the pan.
I patiently wait, green plate on the table waiting for the oven to preheat.
The dough rises becoming smaller.
I only hope you understand
How lovely it is to be near someone you love.
Without the concealment of air tight bags they are free, the cookies that bake in the oven soon to be placed on a plate, devoured.
Introduced to the seduction of crumbs that come together; sweet, delightful
Before it fully hardens.
Soft, delightful.
Skinny dipping in an pool of cookie dough.
An illusion of things whole until broken apart by lips in full desire.
Drenched in saliva of deep need
Simultaneously becoming an memory
As well as a part of smiling lips.
The mistletoe that hangs above the heart.
Waiting for another batch made by your hands
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC
Fruit pizza
I’m eight years old
Running around the house with a cape tied around my neck
Ingredients:
Sugar cookie dough
Strawberry cream cheese frosting
Sliced fruit of choice
My teddy bear’s name is Kate, after baby Kate from Arthur
We had to stop watching that show because my sister started acting like D.W
I told Kate everything because she was the best at keeping secrets
I didn’t realise she couldn’t talk back to me
Preheat oven to 350
Eat cookie dough because no matter what mom says, it’s not really going to **** you
Spread cookie dough evenly on a pizza pan
As the youngest of seven loud siblings of various ages, I had to learn at a young age how to be heard
I can yell with the best of them, but you would never know given my quiet tendencies today
I still haven’t completely grown up yet
In my mind, I’m still that little girl who read picture books and made up games like hurricane and the tripping machine
Let cookie cool
Wash fruit and slice it neatly
In my mind, I am still the little girl who did things because she wanted to and therefore got put in time out a lot
Spread strawberry cream cheese frosting on cookie
In my mind, I am still protected by the shelter of my parents
In my mind, Kate can still talk
Place fruit in a circular pattern on the frosted cookie
Cut into even pieces
I’m eight years old
Fruit pizza.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
Then took her by complete surprise;
Bursting forth into hysterics
I gazed into her glazed, mesmeric eyes
**My intention descending like nightmarish haze;
*Said **** that merit badge
Grandma ***** let the cat out the bag
I wanna play***
She's fixin for a lickin
And I'm dying to get a taste
That ***** glistening so listen
Preheat the oven don't need no glove
I've got an addiction
finna bore in
frictionless!
Instantly smitten,
Her face turned shades of crimson
when I finished with
"Lets play genital hide & seek -
You're it"
It's time to remit demented dementia baby
I'm not so easy to forget;
& I'm shots of splotchy red like syphilis
*Don't front like you won't give me the nookie
Girl urrbody had a crack at your world famous cookies
& I just can't keep my hand out the jar*
Tonight I'll wrestle a cougar with my bare hands
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
Preheat discrete on the streets
Wavy vision at the rim off the beat
Suppression for safety of surrounding innocent feet
Boiling up against restraint's imminent defeat
light bulb brightens
the sky dims down
big bang motion
aftermath sound
Keeping quiet too long creates this song
exploding a millions times over until more right than wrong
ready to break
ready to scream
ready to challenge the hope of a dream
Solar flare taste of true stellar power
White hole waste within way of cosmic hour
Time to let go and expose the flame
insanity's continuity disembodied today
consciousness expands the change
Unleashing fury's insurmountable reign
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 11:09 AM UTC
While it rains
We sit in a window
Looking out waiting for it to stop
Our life goes into a limbo
All this precious time in our lives
We waste on waiting
For something or someone
To happen
We wait for the light turn green
For our laundry to be done
We wait for the oven to preheat
Or for reciprocated love
This limbo we live in while we wait
Gives us nothing but grey hairs
As our precious time slips away
Patience is a virtue
When it comes to the right things worth waiting on
But how much time is wasted in that limbo
On things that aren't worth the wait?
It's a fine line
Deciding when it's appropriate to wait
But it's not worth it when we put our lives on hold
With or without patience
We grow old
In the end
We all have an end
How many of your pages are filled with words and events
Instead of ellipses (...) which is
The limbo we sit in while waiting
© Nathan Pival 2016
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
The shallow breaths & hot air.
We will need it later.
Pepper the words & syllables of anger over 'I want you' s.
Let all the unintentional bitterness settle and rest in chipped porcelain bowls.
We can wash it away with soapy bubbles.
P.S Remember oven mittens over hands that have already been burned.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
First it was pancakes
Then strawberry milk
Then frozen mini pizzas
Didn't taste the way
They always had
But I sure kept trying
With apple juice from a glass
Then a box and swirly straw
But the crust
Still wasn't soft enough
So I gave microwaving a shot
Years and years of beeps
But the cheese was crunchy
The centers, icy
So I tried thawing, soaking
Kids Cuisine and Lean Cuisine
And even Lunchables
Just in case the companies
Had fooled me, ruined the recipe
But none of them were bad
Just not great
Like they used to be
So I blamed my taste buds
For maturing
Copying my imaginiation
Christmas used to be funner
Summer used to be longer
Mini pizzas used to be delicious
Well
Today I cracked the code
I was in a rush
Like Mama used to be
Didn't let the oven preheat
Just slid in a tray of
Frozen mini pizzas
Kicking myself for procrastinating grocery shopping yet again and -
Beep!
The timer blared, the smoke alarm
I burned my finger, then my tongue
But didn't care because
My taste buds
Hadn't forsaken me
After all
The crust was chewy
The cheese was gooey
I'd done it
I was six years old again
Now if only
I can find a trick
That works for Christmas
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 7:41 PM UTC
It's about who you know in a room
full of strangers. Often times it's
fashioning a blindfold while
squinting to hear whispers.
Some may even consider the use
of a napkin to blot lipstick so a
collar presented at a later time
can be given a delicate touch.
And the manipulative know that
it's easier to **** someone with a kiss
than to completely rely on ***********
And lest we forget the crude that
claim ignorance when referring to
spit slowly sliding down someone's
skull as proper lubrication.
This all proves that ****** fluids
that contribute to a body of work
is priceless, especially Crimson.
To manage this all requires an
everlasting recipe. This is cake
made with blood, sweat, and tears
compared to the uncooked cake
left dormant in a box.
Preheat the oven.
Lower the libido.
More sugar..
A Country Crock...
Serve cold.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 2:18 AM UTC
Potatoes, chicken, milk and some broth.
Those are ingredients I brought.
for a hopefully well done dinner,
that the home could enjoy together.
Mince some garlic, dice the potatoes.
Preheat the *** add oil. Here it goes.
Garlic then potatoes to the ***
Some salt and pepper to hit the spot.
Prepare the broth, and then the chicken.
Add the chicken. Then some stirring.
Add the broth and start with the boiling.
Lower the heat and do some waiting.
Check it some time, and stir it a bit.
When it boils over, lower the heat.
About 30 minutes, it's now done.
**** heat. Add milk. Stir again. Have fun.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 5:40 AM UTC
-------------------------------As seen on Taste.com*-----------------------------
Ingredients:
One will need a portion of the following:
1) 50g of self-imposed isolation (optional: w/ drawn curtains)
2) a tablespoon of misguided misanthropy (store brand does the trick)
3) a propensity for experiencing negative stigma
4) ethyl alcohol enough to form parasitic relationship (approx: half bottle of grey goose)
5) 1kg of pervasive fear of the unknown (found in Future aisle amongst acquaintanceships, unwelcome hypotheticals)
6) a 3/4 cup of ground self-loathing + the root
7) lettuce
8) tomato
9) cucumber
10) onions
11) avocado
Method:
Step one: place self-imposed isolation in a slow cooker along with misguided misanthropy. Cook on low for 8 HOURS. This will make LONELINESS.
Step two: preheat oven to 200C fan-forced. take loneliness from slow-cooker then douse in alcohol before placing in oven. it's meant to burn (you're meant to burn.)
Step three: bring a *** to boil and throw negative stigma in to cook until it softens.
Step four: cut pervasive fear of the unknown into strips and braise.
Step five: plate pervasive fear and negative stigma. this combination is the foundation.
Step six: chop vegetables and mix into standard garden salad, then plate (one may plate how they wish, presentation -- to you, at least, matters not, or little; here's the one who wears tracksuit pants to parties. your parents have to remind you to brush your hair). garnish with self-loathing, decorate plate with the root of self-loathing.
Step seven: plate loneliness. truest to the recipe if loneliness is focal point of the plate. if it's cooked properly it will bleed. so will you -- just give it time.
Happy cooking!!
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 10:23 AM UTC
Ingredients being the surprise
But just the simmer the flavor that makes you wise
The Baked Potato of words to peel
The salad of everything coming together with the Salad Dressing of emotions being real
The meat being the solid contrast within words written
Just let the words digest after being eaten
Take in the aroma and the let the words dazzle your senses
What’s cooking in your oven mind?
Did you preheat your words?
A good serving of words with hearty details
Fill your wordy cup high to the prim
Now write and just let the reader take it all in
Fresh from the oven
Poetry words you haven’t heard
Words with fire come with the desire
As a Poet, it’s all about inspire
Well the *** of words is all tender and done
Have you been served in the poetry meal?
It’s not a McDonalds nor Burger king
It’s poetry being the thing.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 3:20 PM UTC
House party
Heart attack
I need some ******* air
Alright, (gasp)
Card game over breakfast
Solitaire
Unsure of what to choose
In regards to the near future
Grin and bear it
For the kids, I guess
The whatever friends I somehow amass
Hit the road
No point in checking
My reflection
Too undecided
Preheat the oven
Getting baked
Sky's gray
The way I like it
Half a smile earned
Turn a corner and regret it
Feelings are too sensitive
In that
They get shattered
And splinter up my gut
**** it
Whatever
Half way inside
Biding my time
Leather jacket
Smells like grass
Fresh cut cut-ups get drowsy
I'm barely sentient myself
Don't think about hell itself
Not that much thought crossed
That welcome mat
Laugh along
All a death tome
Singing dead songs
Getting high on
One human or another
Smoking me out
Of the house
Sky is dark now
Just how I like it
Another half smile
Looking past
I see the lights
Same lights blinding some other guy
Somewhere the sky isn't so perfect
Here, the lights blinding me
Are all around
Clowns, the lot of them
annoying....
So glad i made it
So glad to see
You didn't die inside your house
And could show up to my party
To validate me
I'd sooner berate you and your
Guest
Ugh
How you can live live
So depressive
Then bounce back with
Idiots
Crowding up the place
Beyond me
Anyway
Stopped by to drag doubt
Through the place
And show my face
To much disappointment
I guess I expected
As much
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC
Preheat the oven, three hundred fifty.
Half cup butter that's melted, nutty brown.
Unsweetened chocolate added brashly
And allowed time to cool, the brew to crown.
Mix thorough, eggs and cup of sugar, two.
Temper well lest ova scramble, desired.
One cup of warm water to mixtured brew.
A few more steps ere decadence acquired.
Half three teaspoons soda, one quarter salt
Nine quarter cups flour, we now must sift.
A quarter cup of milk which we exalt.
One teaspoon vinegar provides the lift.
Bake half an hour, as scent your nostril fills.
And now we dine upon this food, devil's.
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 5:21 PM UTC
PREHEAT oven to- actually, forget preheating
Earth's already clambered up 1.6 degrees Fahrenheit
and it will rise more
STIR INTO LARGE BOWL:
3 ounces looming catastrophe
6 cups all purpose fear
1 large, orange ruler
3/4 cup civil disobedience
1/2 cup hope, preferably white, use with modesty
a tinge of spiritual desperation
MIX IN SEPARATE BOWL:
1-2 cups oppression
2 tbsp. government inaction
1 tbsp. unspeakable terror
a dash of existential dread
Fold wet ingredients into dry bowl and mix until smooth. Kneed like you need it.
Bake in oven for 50 years, or until crispy brown, OR until the house burns down because you baked it too long, because you're out of time, because the planet's on ******* fire, because we've lost all touch with ourselves and you need the rest of the human race to lose their pride and politics and
devolve
into
simplicity
the promise of bread
burnt to a blackened
crisp
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 1:47 AM UTC
Boiling waters bubbling
While I preheat my oven
Broil the bake
Add a little salt I shake
Flavor my life with every mistake
Throw in some sweat for a Lil taste
Work hard on preparing my self
Not one bit is a waist...
Agony and misory
Suits me emotional and phisicly
Let out the box
I'm a beast
I tare **** up
When I wake up
And B4 I go to sleep
24/7 I scream with out a peep
I'll bring u to hell and it's all my treat
Wolf on the pral looking for the sheltered sheep
Designed to Rome the streets but I trust no one
So no one rides with me
No witnesses no one can speak
Till death do me part
No one will hear a peep
I live my life solo
Drained from the sun
That's y I live at night
With a full moon I have my fun
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC