Free Verse
The Dessert
A graham cracker crust crumbles, golden and warm like a sunset, each bite a whisper of nostalgia— childhood summers at Grandma's, barefoot on blistering pavement, sticky fingers clutching paper plates. Key limes sit in their bowl, tiny suns bursting with green dreams, their zest tangy as first love, their juice like memories pressed hard; each drop an echo of citrus kisses. Egg yolks swirl in golden ballet— a dance of yolk and sugar’s embrace— and the cream rises soft as clouds; together they form a promise: to cool the heat that clings to skin. Whisking fervently through time’s tapestry, I pour this bright alchemy into the shell— a smooth sea of pale green waves; it settles like quiet laughter after storms. The fridge hums its patient lullaby; hours slip by like tides retreating from shore— but when it emerges—a crown of whipped cream fluff— it beckons me back to sunlit afternoons, to secrets shared under swaying palms. I slice into its heart—a breath held tight— and taste that fleeting paradise: tartness bursts against sweetness' sighs; my senses ignite in playful chaos. Each forkful is a hymn to joy and longing— for all the moments wrapped in time’s gentle embrace; in this key lime pie lies not just dessert but life: the bittersweet cadence of memories baked warm.
By Forest Green28 days ago in Poets
The Dessert
Flour dust dances in the air, and sugar crystals glisten like lost stars. A yellow globe waits on the cutting board, its skin dimpled with secrets— I slice through its tender flesh, releasing a burst of tang that fills the room with warmth. Egg whites trembling in a glass bowl— whipped to frothy peaks like clouds before a storm, each swirl a promise of sweetness to come, as I fold them gently into the citrus kiss. The crust cradles it all—golden and crisp— a delicate cradle for this dream; baked to perfection, it holds its breath, waiting for the crown of meringue to rise. Underneath the torch’s flicker and flame, it blooms into peaks like snow-capped mountains; toasted edges whisper tales of summer nights, when laughter spilled from open windows. Each slice is a sunset on my plate— bright against white porcelain; the fork sinks in with grace as taste buds awaken— a symphony of tart and sweet embraces my tongue. In this fleeting moment—soft and light— I savor memories folded between layers: picnics by riversides under skies painted gold, the comforting hum of family gathered near. This pie—a simple alchemy of love and labor— reminds me that joy can be crafted in kitchens, that happiness often lies within the whisk's embrace— a lemon-scented reminder of life’s tender balances.
By Forest Green28 days ago in Poets
Cafes and IBS
I have no time to worry about the inevitable stomach pains or little poots or putters from my voluminous behind, that is a problem for the partons down south. No, I'm too busy to worry about the aches that follow a sugary, milky drink complete with whipped cream and a cherry on top. You see, the crowd is no bother and the wait is worth it, just so long as you meet there. At this wonderful new cafe complete with you and sweet confections. You see, I wouldn't dare to dream about walking through any door that would refuse you. I would not set foot in cafe or bistro that denied you. Because love knows no borders and we've got milkshakes in need of drinking. So dear friend, chocolate or vanilla? I'll order, and we'll share, and blast our IBS winds in sweet freedom and without care.
By Kera Hollow28 days ago in Poets
October’s Holler
You enter October on a moonless night, where the old hills gather darkness around them while crimson leaves spin across the holler like scraps torn from a book of forbidden words. A raven lifts from a dead limb, and its cry crosses the valley with such sorrow that even the stars seem to withdraw from whatever waits past the last bridge.
By Tim Carmichael28 days ago in Poets
