Cup winner

Sludge conceals sweetness and calories
secreted beneath the scabbing surface
muscles ache, the incessant twist
and fold of spoon and fork

Proud lines of white await their fill
a low hum, dim light, seeps through
oven door, trays offered to the medium furnace
such plain unassuming delights

Becoming cool, awaiting to be dressed
by beaten butter, a dash of colour
piped around and around,
a flick to finish

Accessories to break the bold fondant
this simple treat excessively priced
emotively triggering saliva
put on a pedestal, an everyday cupcake.

High and dry

Has it really been a month since I last posted?  So much for the poem a week target :)
It's funny how inspiration can sometimes take a holiday and how it is often the extremes of joyful and painful circumstances that ignite the old creative fire.

Last week was my daughter's 9th birthday party - a happy yet stressful 18 hours, if you count the sleep over of her friends.  Though all said, it was the baking of the 'humble' cup cake that produced the most enjoyment and has been the inspiration for my forthcoming prose.
Thank you to those who dipped in for the first time, or to reacquaint with some old posts.

Back soon....

my daughters beau

He picked me
put a smile on my face
he picked me
the world's a brighter place
a kiss to the cheek
was all it took
young love - steps by the book.

Going underground.....150

They say you have to be a right 'Charlie' to ride just one stop,
though I guess the occasional trip....
But rush hour is more like a shuffle
waiting, waiting - many deep
hopeful of a space on the next ride
reminiscent of Dunkirk

150 seconds to the next train
150 commuters crammed into a space
that would be comfortable for only a third
anywhere else and this proximity would be assault
unwanted intimacy send many to seek solitude
close eyes, listen to a beat - hold breath

150 steps as the escalator has ceased
to drag us skyward, again
a brief sprint into the bottle
neck and neck to the exit barrier
always behind the ticket that refuses to release
its protest for the sub-surface experience?
huff, puff - though steam has long departed
into the slalom of meandering tourists and the time rich
towards daylight, our salvation.

The power of the sun

Sun is warming concrete, people are coming out
Your face catches rays, your unmistakable pout
Standing proudly in your favourite summer dress
hugging the body I desire to caress
the developing tan, now ten days old
a break from reality makes you younger, bold
relaxing saying nothing by the beach or pool
this holiday romance breeds a love sick fool.

Carnival

Slopping against weathered wharf
mist laden murk tide to the halogen haze
penned in maisonettes dabbed with colour
reminiscent of the heavy make up of ageing whores
who know better than to be here late

Splattering of droplets click on cobbles
rhythm joined by the out of sync clack, clack
reverberations of the 8ft shadow
disfigured by uneven walls and puddles
softened through the dark hooded cape
tethered by the windless eve

Searching eyes, recessed in the flawless smooth face
lips that will never speak nor smile, almost unnoticeable
to the exaggerated beak, its prominence
hideous to the frightened youth, out casted to its peers
refuge, an opening to piazza
escape from this vacant back alley - ah Venice.


a challenge from @frenzyofflies and @santha_g to break my 'block'

Thoughts adrift

Interior cabin, all contained
Attempts to deal with loves raw pain
Loneliness brings forth defeat
Drifting thoughts  - bitter sweet
The view here is sterile, blank
A return to you, a toast drank
Journey to its ends, my means
Desire so strong, my hopes - dreams.