Bear claw tree

I was on a walk and I saw a tree,

With weird fruit that attracted me.

I went closer to inspect them well,

They were brown and smelled like hell.

Shaped like a paw of a grizzly or a polar,

As fruit, I guess they’re powered by solar.

With long, thin, black things super, super sharp,

Mat, furless black that’ll go through a carp.

I looked closer and one pawed at me,

Startled I yanked my babyface free.

All of them seemed to have come to life,

A treeful of them waving, sharp as a knife.

One of them fell, I guess it was ripe.

It didn’t move and I poked it with my pipe.

My poke made a hole and jam oozed out,

It was a pastry, I had no doubt.

A bear claw tree, isn’t that wonder,

I tasted it, and it made me ponder:

“What is the filling? Tastes like vanilla.

Whatever it is, it’s one tasty filler.”

A bear claw tree almost next to my home,

I guess my sweet tooth won’t have to roam.



Oh my goodness, grandma’s baking!

The anticipation! Can’t take it! Shaking!

Can I please please please, just taste the dough?

Just a tiny bit, a crumb for a mouse? No?

Ok, ok, I know when to stop.

I’ll wait and wait till my head goes pop.

That’s just the cover, I have a plan,

When she leaves I’ll taste that flan.

I could call my friend to come over,

She’ll open the door (with the flap for rover),

As soon as she’s gone, fingers in the bowl,

I can taste that sugar stuff deep in my soul!

I did as I planned and approached my trophy,

Quiet and soft, with footsteps loafy,

I took the scraper to catch lots of dough,

Plunged it in and stirred it so!

Brought it onto my awaiting tongue,

Taste buds waiting for of what had been sung.

Into my mouth! Oh why, oh why?

The dark, thick dough for buns of rye!

Disillusionment for one so young!

Betrayed by my best friend, my best tongue!

I thought it was some chocolate pastry,

Not rye, salt and yeast and not at all tast-rey.

I can never trust anything, not anymore!

Grandma’s betrayal shook me to the core!

Sweet roll ghost

Today I got a chill in the cafeteria,

A tiny breeze deep from Siberia,

Swooshed fast by and blew in my ear,

It was my basest, oldest fear:

A sweet roll ghost just booing away,

It had come around to haunt my day.

At eye level just sweetly levitating,

Eye to sugar chunk, me hesitating,

I don’t dare to make one move,

(If I danced the situation might improve)

I listen to the sweet roll’s ghastly wail,

Listen to the words and I know its tale:

“CoOoOOOoooffeeee is what I want to taste,

Dunk me in it, don’t just baste.

CooOOoOOoffeeeeee, I have never seen,

Grant my wish, show me caffeine!”

I buy a cup and put it on the table,

“Double ghostpresso” is written on the label.

The small sweet form just dives on under,

I hear a yell that’s filled with wonder:

“It’s quite warm, thank your soooOOooOOoul.”

I drink it up and it warms my whole.

Baking ovens give life

If only I had some of mom-made muffins right now.


If you think real hard about a baking oven,

It’s like a life factory, red or mauven.

Intensest heat mixed with dough.

Left to bake real long and slow.

Sometimes maybe give a small stir,

Take a whiff and start to purr.

Nearing completion it sends a call,

Delicious aroma loved by all.

Every worker and student too,

Comes close by, ready to chew.

Mouths full of what makes a fine fool,

They have to gulp so they don’t drool.

Distribute the goods and then just wait,

A small bubble with no tears or hate.

All you think is “Thif if fooo goooood!”

That’s a good thing, just like you should.

Mouth might burninate and that’s alright,

A small price to pay for this lovely bite.

The ice is broken with no words,

Everybody sings like the three little birds.

The house is alive, livened up by the pie.

Ovens are life is what I abide by.