2013 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 10

Ten days is kind of a big deal for this poetry challenge. I mean, we’re talking double-digit days now. The big “one-zero.” Yeah, ten!

For today’s prompt, write a poem incorporating something sweet. Maybe a cake or pie. Possibly a candy bar or pixie stick (you know, that paper straw with delicious sugar inside–mmm). Or move it sweetly in another direction.

Here’s my attempt at a something sweet poem:

“Sugar Land”

Texas is more than oil wells and cowboys;

we got sugar too, so much a city
is made of it. Root beer rivers and whole
fields of cotton candy ready to be

picked, suckers to suck, and hard candy
sticks to lick. Just bring your taste buds and your
money too; we’ll have something sweet for you.

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Robert Lee Brewer

Robert Lee Brewer

Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and a bit of a sugar junkie who especially favors tangy candies (like Sweet Tarts, Appleheads, and Skittles), though he can also go for chocolate, caramel, and vanilla. His mouth waters just thinking about all the sugary goodness in the world. In fact, his poetry collection Solving the World’s Problems touches on sweetness a bit with poems about candy hearts and fortune cookies included. He’s married to the always sweet poet Tammy Foster Brewer, who helps him keep track of their five little poets (four boys and one princess). Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.

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168 thoughts on “2013 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 10

  1. bjholmes

    It has 3 colors
    that remind me of fall
    white, orange, and yellow
    my favorite candy of all.
    It looks like a triangle
    as I eat them one by one
    the bowl quickly empties
    and now there are none.
    I love my little candycorns
    this simple surgary treat
    so easily to nibble on,
    I don’t share with anyone I meet!

  2. Glory

    I couldn’t resist posting this one – it is almost Christmas

    BAKE A CAKE (anonymous)

    You’ll need the following:
    1 cup of water
    1 cup of sugar
    4 large brown eggs
    2 cups of dried fruit
    1 teaspoon of salt
    1 cup of brown sugar
    Lemon juice
    Nuts
    1 bottle of whisky

    Sample the whisky to check for quality. Take a large bowl. Check the whisky again. To be sure it’s the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink. Repeat. Turn on the electric mixer, beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar and beat again. Make sure the whisky is still OK.

    Cry another tup. Tune up the mixer. Beat two leggs, and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit. Mix on the turner. If the fired druit gets stuck in the beaterers, pry it goose with a drewscriver. Sample the whisky to check for tonsisticity. Next, sift two cups of salt. Or something. Who cares?

    Check the whisky. Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Spoon the sugar or something, whatever you can find. Grease the oven. Turn the cake tin to 350 degrees. Don’t forget to beat off the turner. Throw the bowl out of the window. Check the whisky again and go to bed.

  3. Yolee

    I Walked in on Him

    A trim of coconut, smile
    and mischief lingered
    on the corner of his mouth.

    “Your lemon cupcakes
    were moist, airy and by far
    the best you’ve ever baked.”

    With that he took off like a flyer among the autumn leaves.

  4. Broofee

    Something sweet

    One after another
    They go by
    Days similar
    To one another
    Surrounded with people
    I don’t want around.

    One after another
    They go by
    I have a cup of tea in the morning
    A beer after work
    Bunch of things
    To occupy my time.

    One after another they go by
    But the feeling stays the same
    The need for something to give more taste to my life
    The need for something that is sweet
    The need for you.

  5. thesimplevoice

    “Something Sweet” / Spice Punch

    Hungover, all day, we were
    Blame it on the sweet ah-ah-ah-alcohol
    indulgence that came whence
    we drank us some spice punch

    Never measuring a recipe, always go by
    taste, so it was that night
    and on through the very
    next day

    It was half orange juice, fresh
    and locally made, a dash of
    citrus soda, flat though it added
    sweetness of a fabricated make

    Then came the moon, all too willing
    to shine, some cinnamon and
    whiskey, I’d do it one more
    time, if not for that long
    lost day and this work of mine

    Alas, farewell, yesterday can never
    stay but if I’m to have tomorrow
    then to the sweet, no thanks I must say
    tonight, keep far, far away

  6. seingraham

    PINK SWEETNESS

    She never could
    resist cotton
    candy; it was
    the colour
    of baby booties,
    the ones her sister
    had from her auntie
    knitted specially
    just for her

    And it melted like snow
    on her tongue,
    only sweet
    like sugar
    that stuck
    to her teeth
    So when
    the man offered
    her a cloud
    of candy
    she just didn’t
    even think…

    Sobbing
    in the trunk
    of his car,
    she knew it was
    her fault
    Everybody knew not
    to take candy
    from a stranger
    Not even cotton
    candy
    pink
    as baby booties

    1. seingraham

      Robert – I swear, I don’t read any of the poems until after I’ve posted but the last couple of days, it does look as if I’ve channelled some of what what you’re writing (unintentionally, I assure you) – another great poem, yours is too…gives me a whole different view of how I imagine Texas is…might have to go there after all…Sharon I

  7. Missy McEwen

    Shana

    On days—-
    when the radiator and windows are ice
    cold and the stove is turned on for heat and boiling
    water to make hot chocolate

    when the pantry is freezing
    but is where the honey, nutmeg,
    and cocoa is kept, so you get the fur coat, that
    you bought from the thrift store years ago
    but never wear outside, from the hall
    closet

    and with a pumpkin orange wool hat
    pulled over your head of wild
    curls you fling open the pantry door
    in style, long leather opera gloves
    on your hands.

  8. Missy McEwen

    Shana

    On days—-
    when the radiator and windows are ice
    cold and the stove is turned on for heat and boiling
    water to make hot chocolate

    when the pantry is freezing
    but is where the honey, nutmeg,
    and cocoa is kept, so you get the fur coat, that
    you bought from the thrift store years ago
    but never wear outside, from the hall
    closet

    and with a pumpkin orange wool hat
    pulled over your head of wild
    curls you fling open the pantry door
    in style, long leather opera gloves
    on your hands.

  9. julie e.

    FAVORITES.

    My fav’rite song?
    sweet silence
    My fav’rite blanket
    plaid
    My goals for
    the near future
    are to stay awake
    till bed
    Fav’rite artist
    is the sunlight
    as it makes the
    poplar glow
    on this chill but bright
    Fall afternoon
    The sweetest
    gifts I know.

  10. mjdills

    My Petunias, a Rest Stop

    While bitter complaints run rampant in other communities
    Neighborhoods of Starlings don’t much mind the rain
    They tear into my pansies and infant tomato plants
    As if to avenge some unforgotten rude offense
    Yet the Hummingbird makes an appearance
    So fleeting as to nearly be missed
    My petunias, a rest stop
    A taste of honey
    In a busy day

  11. Lori P

    Sweet Day Dreams

    who says I only have to wish your mind
    into tolerable, pleasant patterns
    when you close your eyes?

    I know the wrongs and fears, empty
    promises and empty people that haunt you
    while you still stand

    remembrances of mistakes compounded
    solutions ignored, stupidity embraced that
    make you want to forget your yesterdays or
    at least keep them from seeping into your todays

    so let others wish for your nighttime bliss
    I’ll take the more formidable challenge
    and wish for you peace for those times
    when your busy life doesn’t stop you from thinking

  12. foodpoet

    Tais,
    On this festival day, I made kahk with the last
    Of the dates you sent from your desert rest.
    I will share them with Menefer when he scribes
    My words. He will share thoughts
    But my smile and dance are ever
    Yours.

  13. DanielAri

    “The happy poem sleeps in the sun.”
    —Donald Hall

    Returning to consciousness in flannel,
    my legs gone long and supple as warm wax
    collecting again in a sleep-stretched whole
    with no thought but sausages and flapjacks,
    which will wait for me to cook and smell them,

    serve them to my family and relax
    with my creamed, anticipated coffee;
    and to feel my body drop its ashes,
    then put on a microfiber ski cap
    and drive over the bay through San Rafael

    to visit the lighthouse at Benito
    on a sunny, windless afternoon trip
    and end up spreading beside the white sea
    a strawberry blanket where the nappers
    can nap while their offspring attracts the waves

    to her fresh, ripe feet—how they curl and drip
    dreaming midday in Eden’s sandy lap.

    DA

  14. Benjamin Thomas

    Candied Arguments

    My beloved and I used to engage in candied
    Arguments about which of us
    Was actually sweeter.

    So I said to my beloved
    In whispering tone You’re so sweet

    She’d responded in like manner
    But you’re even sweeter

    I refused and said
    But no, you’re MUCH sweeter than I

    She continued again
    You’re the MOST sweetest one

    I didn’t back down and said
    Oh yeah? You’re sweeter than the most sweetest one

    She responded again in the like
    Your even sweeter than the one who is sweeter than the most sweetest one

    I continued my rebuttal
    You’re the most sweetest than the one who is even sweeter than the one is sweeter than the most sweetest one

    This continued until we both conceded
    And simply enjoyed mutual sweetness

  15. BezBawni

    BITTERSWEET

    In about a life or two
    you will find your perfect tide,
    I will finally know what’s true,
    we will manage to make things right.

    After pages have lost their lines,
    after poems have found rhymes,
    after words have redeemed their crimes,
    we will manage to make things right.

    When there are no more whats and whys,
    when your truth is as sweet as lies,
    when I’m ready to become wise,
    I will finally know what’s true.

    Once you show you aren’t that tough,
    once you conscience has had enough,
    once you’re ready to learn to love,
    you will find your perfect tide.

    Taste of honey on lips will stay,
    they will praise more than they will pray,
    it will no longer hurt some day,
    in about a life or two.

  16. Rosemarie Keenan

    My mother was suspicious of vegetables.

    Frozen peas, sure,
    no harm in that.
    Corn, too, had its place
    and that place could only be reached
    via can opener.

    On grocery day
    she’d speed through the produce aisle
    like she was being chased
    by a broccoli-wielding mob.

    Candy was her passion.
    One drawer that in a neighbor’s kitchen
    might hold ladles, graters or a rolling pin
    in our house held a cache of chocolate kisses.

  17. MichelleMcEwen

    Some Things

    Some things just stick
    in your mind like

    the Chicano boy who took
    your virginity, who sucked

    on your toes as though
    they were the sweet plump

    pulp of some fruit.

  18. Karen H. Phillips

    Day 10
    Prompt: Incorporate something sweet into a poem.

    Something Sweet

    Giggles coming from smooth baby face being kissed.
    Cuddles with small, soft, sleepy warmth against chest.

    Pudgy hands closing small fingers on brown leaves’ crunch.
    Tiny toes wiggling against texture of grass.

    Squeals of joy when she spies the cats.
    Smiles of recognition when she spots her Uncle E.

    Madelyn, Madelyn, you are my something sweet,
    precious baby, you are my late-in-life treat.

  19. Margie Fuston

    Tangerine Stains

    Sara spends her days under her parent’s tangerine trees,
    eating the fruit until her fingers turn a sun-soaked yellow
    from slipping back their skins to reveal succulent slices of sin.
    She savors the sound of the slices separating,
    the sudden release when one springs free,
    the first spurt of sweet,
    and the scrape of the seeds against her lips
    as she spits them, spinning, into the air.
    Sometimes she shares a slice
    with the boys who stroll in from town.
    They kiss her lips and tell her she tastes like sugar.
    When sunset comes she saunters home
    where her mama makes her scrub her hands in the sink,
    struggling to erase the stains from her skin.

  20. Mywordwall

    I WISH I CAN OFFER SWEETNESS

    Everyone needs a chocolate
    to wind down,
    remove the bitter taste of angst
    that come once in a while.

    I wish I can dive into a bag of Doves
    take one, just one, at a time –
    it does not help to get too much –
    I’ll just have enough,
    just enough until the hurt is gone
    and I can have a chocolate induced smile.

    Yet,
    chocolates will better serve
    some other souls today
    those whose properties and loved ones
    were swept by Yolanda away
    I know. No amount of sweets
    can yet assuage their hurt
    but it will console them to know
    they are thought of and loved.

  21. Cin5456

    Overheard in the Shipping Dept.

    Good morning, Phil. How
    are things in shipping today?

    Everyone is smiling and happy
    after this year’s Christmas
    bonuses were announced.
    I brought donuts this morning.
    Would you like your pick
    before I set them out?

    Thank you, my dear, but
    my daily intake of sweets
    reached maximum allowance
    when you walked in the door.
    (giggle)

  22. jenreyneri

    born of a tantrum

    through sobs and sniffles
    the five year old pleads
    “who ate the last of the ice cream?”

    super mommy can fix it
    with her weapon of choice for this evening meltdown-

    vitamix to the rescue

    ice
    half n half
    sugar
    vanilla
    chocolate syrup

    tamper it,
    control temper.

    no more tears

  23. PKP

    Sweet Passe

    They say it is passe to be sweet to be kind
    In a world where bombs we are waiting to find
    Better take care and with caution skeptically mind

    I think we are raising little ones into a terrible bind

  24. PKP

    My little brother could be a small monster mister
    But not when it came to his only big sister
    Asked by a rich aunt to pick any toy struck his eye
    He hesitated, cute and not at all shy
    In a high clear voice asked what would his big sister be getting
    And left with a cherry red fire-engine and a great deal of petting

  25. PKP

    Rock Candy

    In the winter of my sixth year
    A fever held me in its grip dear
    While others played in the snow
    Nowhere could I run and go
    Watched from the window laughter I’d hear
    My grandmother saw my sad plight
    Had me wait and emerged – what a sight!
    A plate piled with small icicles sweet
    Sparkling rock-candy hand made – What a treat
    Shook the blues while I dipped them in chocolate’s steaming heat

  26. PKP

    In the shadow of curtains

    My mother a tailored dark preferred look
    in the room my little brother and I took
    our evening sleep –
    he made not a peep
    while I stared at the flow of drape and I shook

    And so while my fearless sibling edged on to sleep
    I’d story-tell him my panic in abeyance to keep
    His favorite was Candy-Town
    Into my bed he’d snuggle down
    While I calmed – creating a building-sized treat

  27. shanezie

    Sweeten the deal

    The sweet center of a sour patch,
    kid, that’s where we’ll meet. You snicker
    my whatchamacallit while I butter
    fingers. MM girl. Don’t get your panties
    in a twizzle, or do. Just show me those
    twix. How many licks does it take
    to make my tootsie roll a jolly rancher? Good & plenty.
    Come here my little kit kat,
    show me that peppermint patty, those mounds
    around your jelly belly.
    Trust me dove, our love will make your star
    burst on a warhead bound for Mars.

    (this one was fun)
    Also published on: http://sillionwind.wordpress.com/

  28. PressOn

    THE FLUTE ON THE FENCE-POST

    Way out here, after the rains,
    Earth is compliant, like one great park,
    and its herald is the meadowlark
    sweetly singing over the plains.

    It makes me glad to have my ears
    as I listen to its long-loved song;
    it bids me know that fears belong
    to one great dust bowl, in arrears.

  29. Walt Wojtanik

    CANDY WISHES AND MALOMAR DREAMS

    You foster your sweet tooth
    and the truth of your addiction
    is your attraction to sugary treats.
    You eat to fulfill your craving
    and you’re sving your dessert for last.
    The faster you consume them
    the more you’ll assume they
    will go from your lips to your hips
    in seconds flat. And that is a
    miscalculation. It takes a bit longer.
    Knowing it will spoil your dinner.
    How can you have any pudding
    if you don’t eat yer meat?”

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