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Toeing To Toe

Did you leave your cookie cutter,
Near that boiling pot?
And it got too hot,
To get your cookies baked to taste.

Did you leave your cookie cutter,
Near that boiling pot?
Now you think you should stop...
Concentrating on your need,
For sweets.

But if you wanna,
You can still whip up...
A cool mint 'coolah-tah'.
Or have some green tea with me.
I'm having crackers and cheese.

And if you wanna,
You can still whip up...
That cool mint 'coolah-tah'.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Baked By God

My heavenly baked beauty…
Are you truly; my duty…
Because you are driving me…

Your chocolate is all I see…
I hungerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
Without your chocolate I am sunk…

Started with just a little kiss here…
A little kiss there…
Now I can't think anywhere…

Oh, you heavenly baked woman…
Is the term (éclair) fair….
Iced with chocolate…

I do declare…I swear…a little dish of mint...
a hint..
You echo in me…
Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate…

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poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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With No Moolah?

I think it's time to shop,
For new scents to breathe.
And sniff the freshness,
Of an openness to leave.

It's time to scoop,
Up some hoop and holler.
And let that joy swoop over us...
Like moolah!

Gonna spend a mint...
Casting sentiments to the wind.
From treetops bent...
Rejoicing from a high we bring to them.

And-don't-need-no-money-when-you-hav e-a-honey-you-can-love.
And-don't-need-no-mone y-when-you-have-a-honey-you-believe in!

I think it's time to shop,
For new scents to breathe.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Unprecedented Weather

Weather Gods did relent
After bright morning
Hell bent
Succour to those
Who created space
For the show
To mint the mint
And no more
Kids with naked heads
And office goers on foot tread
Worst in store
For fairer sex
Braving the tempest
And beast in man.

poem by Sanjay Mehta
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After

Oh, the littles that remain!
Scent of mint out in the lane;
Flare of window; sound of bees; —
These, but these.

Three times sitting down to bread;
One time climbing up to bed;
Table-setting o’er and o’er;
Drying herbs for winter’s store;
This thing; that thing;—nothing more.

But just now out in the lane,
Oh, the scent of mint was plain!

poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese
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Alarming Cake

My alarm hastens with a cake,
Knuckled by tables, the mint is fine,
Mint echoes, differing with the dessert.

Vegetables are sceptical, not consenting,
They are agitators, intolerant themselves;
Engraved on the plate, a turnip is fun and rejoicing.

The level of food spluttering
Angers my laughing face,
A propellant is detected by the eye.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The NOT so Royal Mint.

I never liked the smell of mint
when I was only four.
That bush by the back door
burst through the railings each year

The path was wide enough
when I think back
But not then.

Then,
I would hug the wall on tippytoes
arching my back like a concave mirror,
dreading the lightest brush with death
which would follow that dreaded scent.

One day, after a downpour, the damp-
ness amplified this poisonous perfume.
The summer sun seemed focused
on that path, the roots, those leaves.

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poem by Hola Mentirosa
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Empty Commiserations

She says she doesn’t, he says he doesn’t
says he wants freedom yet his mind can’t let go
She’s not there, now and again she is
Says she needs romance but he has too much passion
Says he needs passion but she hasn’t the romance
It’s complicated, we are together but we are not

He’s looking for a mint coin, mint-cruise exploration
Says she wants prince charming but charms no princes
She’s hunting for a solar-magnet, cosmic stardust
Says he’s set in his ways and she wants to change me
Says she’s independent, he wants to control me
When the gold rush slows, smouldering fires quickening

He says he’s not found ‘her’ yet, she says she hasn’t fallen
Boundless adventures sought, there are plenty of fish
A good loose heart both say, fired up, revving for a new start
There is no guilt, no disappointment and no pain they say
Yet a jealous flicker burns, and occasionally commiserate…moaning

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poem by Sylvi Sylva
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Pure Spanish Safflower

If all my memories had taste
mine would be strong,
chocolate
semi-sweet.

If your lips had flavor
they'd be honey dew.
.
Your skin's basil hinting
cinnamon
and a pinch of sensuous mint.

Your eyes have red pepper heat.

We've tasted each
other
our mutual cuisines

our secret
secrets;

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Her Terms

My wedded life
Must every pleasure bring
On scale extensive!
If I'm your wife
I must have everything
That's most expensive -
A lady's-maid -
(My hair alone to do
I am not able) -
And I'm afraid
I've been accustomed to
A first-rate table.
These things one must consider when one marries -
And everything I wear must come from Paris!
Oh, think of that!
Oh, think of that!
I can't wear anything that's not from Paris!
From top to toes
Quite Frenchified I am,
If you examine.

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poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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