"wonderbread" poems - Hello Poetry

blueberries gasoline and prostate gland breast cancer Wonderbread and pacifier controlled experiment space travel and honey peanuts inductive reasoning and electricity tornadoes torture chamber and biscuits copyright car radio cantaloupe golden eagle lunch break tomato Romanian songbook rhubarb and barbed wire always hungry nevermind meat loaf goosefoot mango juice Ipad mosquito bite city street and broccoli Chinese cabbage female *** drive water sport pure contralto goat yogurt new year black death white light and green tea

0

Aug 11, 2015

Aug 11, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC

robert-ronnow

blueberries

blueberries gasoline and prostate gland breast cancer Wonderbread and pacifier controlled experiment space travel and honey peanuts inductive reasoning and electricity tornadoes torture chamber and biscuits copyright car radio cantaloupe golden eagle lunch break tomato Romanian songbook rhubarb and barbed wire always hungry nevermind meat loaf goosefoot mango juice Ipad mosquito bite city street and broccoli Chinese cabbage female *** drive water sport pure contralto goat yogurt new year black death white light and green tea

14

You me the dog our kids White fence Two cars kids toys Elvis on the radio Wonderbread and bananas Pinesol on hand / Folger's at wake A granite island counter Our lives are now a life Our lives Fat red bowtie on 'em We're yamaha piano keys played all night Presents under the tree Pantry stocked; cars washed; bedtime; And now becoming domesticated Isn't as nightmarish As we thought It would be In college It's bliss & bliss & bliss & Going well & better than Mom n Dad & saccharine & Dreamy

0

Dec 6, 2012

Dec 6, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC

dev

Dreamy

You me the dog our kids White fence Two cars kids toys Elvis on the radio Wonderbread and bananas Pinesol on hand / Folger's at wake A granite island counter Our lives are now a life Our lives Fat red bowtie on 'em We're yamaha piano keys played all night Presents under the tree Pantry stocked; cars washed; bedtime; And now becoming domesticated Isn't as nightmarish As we thought It would be In college It's bliss & bliss & bliss & Going well & better than Mom n Dad & saccharine & Dreamy

23

Inside this plastic orifice pulsates the vibrations of flies Around the frontal lobe of the brain, A honking trumpet of confusion and Fake self-confidence, With that fake eyebrow raise of condescending question. A drunk woman’s loop just spilling insecurities. I remember when I was 18 years old and so much more sure of myself than I am now. Now, my questioning analysis turns to stammering cindersm My voice to quivering gibberish, My spine to a trembling cane. This is the age we were worried about, Shaking coats off to try on new ones. To be fearless again, a shit-talking hardass With no reason to five a **** no reason To be ashamed of words I spit, the norms I shatter, the growing genuine demeanor I cherish. My words leak off the page and down The spinal column of answers, Stacked and jacked for another gear change. Green lime crime in a gray lipsticked Lip-lock torn asunder in cheap talk. I’ll stop apologizing for nature’s wrongs. I’ll forsake the jumbled up mumbled mess That drooled down the spider fingers of Those lonely, lost days. And for a coin, I’ll stake my life On the candle that refused to burn Because now the reason crests the waves of Pedantic experience. Made past the overly-viewed statistics. The curves now drip away the Remnants of fabricated wool Into a bed of once exhausted syllables And frequented sobs. Without a known ending, I’ll know this much: The insecurities are a bottomless chalice Full of the Catholic’s guilt And the people you see around you Are warriors bred without Fathers. Streamlined sick in a wonderbread coffeehouse, These are the hours worth reckoning.

0

Sep 23, 2011

Sep 23, 2011 at 11:44 PM UTC

kara-rose-trojan

I've Made It This Far

Inside this plastic orifice pulsates the vibrations of flies Around the frontal lobe of the brain, A honking trumpet of confusion and Fake self-confidence, With that fake eyebrow raise of condescending question. A drunk woman’s loop just spilling insecurities. I remember when I was 18 years old and so much more sure of myself than I am now. Now, my questioning analysis turns to stammering cindersm My voice to quivering gibberish, My spine to a trembling cane. This is the age we were worried about, Shaking coats off to try on new ones. To be fearless again, a shit-talking hardass With no reason to five a **** no reason To be ashamed of words I spit, the norms I shatter, the growing genuine demeanor I cherish. My words leak off the page and down The spinal column of answers, Stacked and jacked for another gear change. Green lime crime in a gray lipsticked Lip-lock torn asunder in cheap talk. I’ll stop apologizing for nature’s wrongs. I’ll forsake the jumbled up mumbled mess That drooled down the spider fingers of Those lonely, lost days. And for a coin, I’ll stake my life On the candle that refused to burn Because now the reason crests the waves of Pedantic experience. Made past the overly-viewed statistics. The curves now drip away the Remnants of fabricated wool Into a bed of once exhausted syllables And frequented sobs. Without a known ending, I’ll know this much: The insecurities are a bottomless chalice Full of the Catholic’s guilt And the people you see around you Are warriors bred without Fathers. Streamlined sick in a wonderbread coffeehouse, These are the hours worth reckoning.

44

WHEN I WAS JUST A LITTLE BOY I USED TO ASK MY “MUDDA” DON’T GIVE ME PEAS OR BROCOLLI JUST BRING ME PEANUT BUTTA I’D DIP MY FINGER IN THE JAR AND SCOOP IT IN MY MOUTH THEN WAIT FOR ABOUT AN HOUR OR SO, FOR IT TO SLIDE DOWN SOUTH I USEO TO EAT THE KIND CALLED “SMOOTH” BUT QUICKLY SWITCHED TO "CHUNKY" I LIKED THE WAY IT TASTED SORTA GRITTY, KINDA FUNKY SKIPPY, JIFF AND PETER PAN WHERE BRANDS I LIKED THE BEST I’D OFTEN LINE UP ALL THREE JARS AND HAVE A TASTE TEST-FEST BUT CHOOSING BRANDS WAS EASY FOR MY MOM WHO WAS SO WISE SHE’D EYE EACH ONE SO CAREFULLY THEN BUY THE LOWEST “PRICE” YEA, WITH SOME JAM.. ON WONDERBREAD OH WHAT A DELICIOUS TREAT! I REMEMBER ALL THE GOOEY GOODNESS HOW MUCH FUN IT WAS TO EAT BUT NOW I’VE GIVEN UP THAT SNACK MY CHILDHOOD TASTES I’VE TRADED I’M OLDER AND MY PALATE HAS BECOME SOPHISTICATED I NOW EAT FOOD THAT’S LOW IN SALT AND SATURATED FAT BUT WHEN I WANT TO CHEAT A BIT?... “HEY SKIPPY, WHERE YOU AT”!!!!

0

Sep 4, 2011

Sep 4, 2011 at 1:05 PM UTC

michael-erdman

ODE To P.B.

WHEN I WAS JUST A LITTLE BOY I USED TO ASK MY “MUDDA” DON’T GIVE ME PEAS OR BROCOLLI JUST BRING ME PEANUT BUTTA I’D DIP MY FINGER IN THE JAR AND SCOOP IT IN MY MOUTH THEN WAIT FOR ABOUT AN HOUR OR SO, FOR IT TO SLIDE DOWN SOUTH I USEO TO EAT THE KIND CALLED “SMOOTH” BUT QUICKLY SWITCHED TO "CHUNKY" I LIKED THE WAY IT TASTED SORTA GRITTY, KINDA FUNKY SKIPPY, JIFF AND PETER PAN WHERE BRANDS I LIKED THE BEST I’D OFTEN LINE UP ALL THREE JARS AND HAVE A TASTE TEST-FEST BUT CHOOSING BRANDS WAS EASY FOR MY MOM WHO WAS SO WISE SHE’D EYE EACH ONE SO CAREFULLY THEN BUY THE LOWEST “PRICE” YEA, WITH SOME JAM.. ON WONDERBREAD OH WHAT A DELICIOUS TREAT! I REMEMBER ALL THE GOOEY GOODNESS HOW MUCH FUN IT WAS TO EAT BUT NOW I’VE GIVEN UP THAT SNACK MY CHILDHOOD TASTES I’VE TRADED I’M OLDER AND MY PALATE HAS BECOME SOPHISTICATED I NOW EAT FOOD THAT’S LOW IN SALT AND SATURATED FAT BUT WHEN I WANT TO CHEAT A BIT?... “HEY SKIPPY, WHERE YOU AT”!!!!

32

Glossy-eyed children taste toxin-doctored water from plastic red cups as popular hits of the day intertwine with impure intentions and blind approbation for strangers- obscured within the cherry-colored lenses of Dionysius’s shroud. - A languid form stumbles though an ocean of slurred words and victorious howls Into a water room with four walls, a broken door, and a single reflective glass, sounds of the century now low and intertwined with the domestic petting zoo steadily beating against the door Still broken. Tired eyes through orbital vision and a weary process of cognitive recognition Finds within the glass a conception of self, foreign to the observer and comically out of place. Segmented ideas find meaning in convoluted streams of thought as the spoken word Is devalued and meaning is limited to fain attempts to *** a smoke, bro. Radiating self-righteous belligerence and misattributed Bravado- the two-dimensional protagonist clumsily plunders the kitchen for processed sugar bars and handfuls of stale Wonderbread before projecting discarded toxins into the potted plant near the high-traffic doorway while snapback youth formulate attributable hashtags and millennial responses to a situation typical to the time of uncertainty and blissful absence. Come morning, we’ll eat scrambled eggs in sunlight And romanticize about a Kodak experience, now elapsed by a self- more stringent.

0

Nov 8, 2015

Nov 8, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC

dalton-

Late-Summer Party at Fratboy Dwelling, 2015

Glossy-eyed children taste toxin-doctored water from plastic red cups as popular hits of the day intertwine with impure intentions and blind approbation for strangers- obscured within the cherry-colored lenses of Dionysius’s shroud. - A languid form stumbles though an ocean of slurred words and victorious howls Into a water room with four walls, a broken door, and a single reflective glass, sounds of the century now low and intertwined with the domestic petting zoo steadily beating against the door Still broken. Tired eyes through orbital vision and a weary process of cognitive recognition Finds within the glass a conception of self, foreign to the observer and comically out of place. Segmented ideas find meaning in convoluted streams of thought as the spoken word Is devalued and meaning is limited to fain attempts to *** a smoke, bro. Radiating self-righteous belligerence and misattributed Bravado- the two-dimensional protagonist clumsily plunders the kitchen for processed sugar bars and handfuls of stale Wonderbread before projecting discarded toxins into the potted plant near the high-traffic doorway while snapback youth formulate attributable hashtags and millennial responses to a situation typical to the time of uncertainty and blissful absence. Come morning, we’ll eat scrambled eggs in sunlight And romanticize about a Kodak experience, now elapsed by a self- more stringent.

20

That spark came from within Radiating outward People could see And return my smile I was soft and happy Like a wonderbread lunch Time passes Caught in quicksand Sometimes wormholes Head down back up No time for lunch today Life's drum beats on I hear it Oh do I hear it My day starts in fifteen minutes The drums are easy to hear When your back is the bass Sipping the last bit of coffee I notice the toast on my plate Burnt Toast I give him a fraternal nod I step out into the street and walk to work

0

Aug 15, 2014

Aug 15, 2014 at 7:59 AM UTC

josh-bass

Review (Nine Years Experience)

That spark came from within Radiating outward People could see And return my smile I was soft and happy Like a wonderbread lunch Time passes Caught in quicksand Sometimes wormholes Head down back up No time for lunch today Life's drum beats on I hear it Oh do I hear it My day starts in fifteen minutes The drums are easy to hear When your back is the bass Sipping the last bit of coffee I notice the toast on my plate Burnt Toast I give him a fraternal nod I step out into the street and walk to work

22

Frightfully cool, as a matter of fact, as in a midsummer's apple pie a la mode come down cold chills. Remind me of when I had thought I was an alcoholic when I was living at home goin' to the U of I and would have just chugged 3 beers and thrown up time after time it seemed barhopping on campus and would get the shudders on our front porch afterward thinking about it, or the brat I had tasted at the local campus brat house wondering what wonder was, why we were blessed with a Stevie Wonder himself at the time and if that had anything to do with Wonderbread?

0

Sep 25, 2017

Sep 25, 2017 at 3:08 PM UTC

charles-sturies

When I Though ***** was Cool

Frightfully cool, as a matter of fact, as in a midsummer's apple pie a la mode come down cold chills. Remind me of when I had thought I was an alcoholic when I was living at home goin' to the U of I and would have just chugged 3 beers and thrown up time after time it seemed barhopping on campus and would get the shudders on our front porch afterward thinking about it, or the brat I had tasted at the local campus brat house wondering what wonder was, why we were blessed with a Stevie Wonder himself at the time and if that had anything to do with Wonderbread?

19