Sweetness
A collection of poetry about love, baking and trying not to grow up.
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- 547 reads
Kipling's Anonymous (2008)
Cough. Hello, everybody. My name is Paddy and I have a problem. It all started around two months ago, I suppose there’s this co-op, right right next to our house
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- 602 reads
The Midnight Baker
I was once nicknamed The Midnight Baker for obvious reasons. An unpredictable, sticky urge to beat and whip and craft and blast in heat which occurred only in the mild oven
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- 3 comments
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- 890 reads
Icing
Just as icing and decoration makes the greatest cake the smallest things make you. The most insignificantly significant make you who you are and make me who I am, smiling.
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- 375 reads
Lebkuchen
I thought at first you were calling me by a term of endearment which you learned from your pen-friend in Germany; a word you had gracefully deciphered from her slanted, dotted hand.
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- 1053 reads
Missing
It’s easy to say ‘I miss you’; I miss being eighteen, playing keyboards in a Soul band, and the Salvador Dali melted clock which told us, shakily,
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- 1 comment
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- 416 reads
Sweetness
Sweetness is a stolen kiss still sugared with the taste of a cake I made for you. Sweetness is a morning where the pain of sleep cut short is soothed by waking side by side.
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- 339 reads
Marshmallows
The first time you made me cocoa you had those tiny marshmallows. The little white parcels of sweetness which melt swiftly into layers of warm comfort, as I do when I hold you.
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- 3 comments
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- 449 reads
Scrabbled
It was the second or third time that I visited your house and I scrabbled around in my mind as I picked out the letters of the game of scrabble which was absent from our fated evening
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- 452 reads
Mr Hocking
The secret ingredient In Mr. Hocking’s case Was a thick West Country accent And the crystal clear conviction That it was the seaweed above all else Which made his ice cream the best,
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- 7 comments
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- 1405 reads
Pipistrelle
Hundreds upon thousands of tiny bats Are beating their thin wings To welcome the night. A flutter falls As the darkness descends And their voices call: A nocturne at once urgent
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- 4 comments
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- 968 reads
The Ant Rocks
A long-awaited exchange Of mutual existence Recalls a name, long-forgotten But instantly familiar. As children, thrown unceremoniously Into holidays and grandparents,
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- 5 comments
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- 814 reads