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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.


Get some super sweet feedback on your poetry. Click here to learn more.


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
    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


    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…

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


    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

    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


    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

    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.


    My fav’rite song?
    sweet silence
    My fav’rite blanket
    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

    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

  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.


  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


    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


    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.

    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.

  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

    half n half
    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


    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


    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?”

  30. bethwk

    Even Sweetness Doesn’t Satisfy
    “Hata tamu hukinai.” Swahili proverb

    It’s just that too much
    is actually worse
    than not enough,
    you know?

    It didn’t used to be this way.
    If it had sugar on it,
    I’d eat it even
    if it set my teeth on edge,
    even if it gave me
    a raw, thumping headache.

    But sweetness has a way
    of covering up the real deal,
    squelching the true flavor
    in its bid for domination.

    Search for subtleties
    and suddenly
    sweetness doesn’t satisfy.

  31. Clae

    Another Evening, Another Dream

    In another dream I lived
    Found every moment excellent
    Seen acknowledged through the crowd
    Heard, though nothing like as loud
    As the voices that surround
    So my moment came and went
    An evening thoroughly well spent
    Once my dream came to an end
    No more moments left to spend
    All I took I was glad to gain
    What was given will remain
    Patience and kindness I will esteem
    As sweet mementos of my dream

    T.S. Gray

  32. cbwentworth

    Cleats hit the pitch,
    two teams, one dream
    Manchester Red
    Arsenal Blue
    Ninety minutes,
    the brawl begins
    Bloodied faces,
    colliding shins
    One kick, one goal
    Sweet victory!

  33. De Jackson

    Of Pies, and Bluer Skies

    She eats them one
    by one,
    mince and
    each crum
    -bled crust
    opening something
    loose in her chest.

    If she can just
    get the recipe right,
    perhaps these latticed
    limbs won’t feel so tight
            and crimped.

    She scrimps and
    saves each sliver
    of sapphire that
    slips by, weaves
    them in and out
    of cloud and silver
    folds the edges
    over once or twice,
    leaves behind
    her most sacred slice
                      of sigh.


  34. LeAnneM

    He’d sit in his recliner pulling
    Chocolate drops from a paper bag,
    Sharing now and then
    Like chocolate glue, they’d last
    If you let them melt

    The furnace clicked and hissed
    And overheated
    The big front room
    Where Saturday nights at 7:30,
    Kids on the floor,
    We all faced Channel 5 for

    Midwestern Hayride

    We laughed at Kenny Price,
    Loved Bonnie Lou
    And waited for the guest
    Ray Price or Merle Travis were
    Treats as good as chocolate drops

  35. Sara McNulty

    Sweet Tastes

    Different tastes in sweets,
    spearmint leaves,
    Deb loved them.
    Cinnamon red hots on tongue
    were much more my style.

    Still hate spearmint leaves
    Deb still hates
    Give us a warm pecan pie;
    see taste buds merge.

  36. bjzeimer

    No More Sugar

    You know you are drinking
    too much soda
    when you drink one cola after another
    to pick you up
    savoring every swallow—
    how it feels good on your throat
    wets your dry mouth
    that just becomes drier
    while you get thirstier.
    Then, your dentist tells you
    you have several new cavities
    this time, reminds you
    of missed appointments
    because you say, you don’t have
    enough energy to keep them,
    so, you go for your annual checkup
    to see what’s wrong
    after which your doctor calls
    and tells you your sugar is elevated.
    “What do I do?” I said.
    “No more sugar,” he said, and handed
    me a glucose monitor and two vials
    of ten strips, and a diet—
    “No more sugar” will pick you up.

  37. Dare

    Sweet Winter Morn

    Snow falls silently
    Cold winter morning
    Brings shivers and sneezes

    Brown sugar and cinnamon
    Top steaming oatmeal –
    Spoonfuls of sweet warmth

  38. Jane Shlensky

    Fair Trade

    Whenever he is good to me,
    I make him something sweet:
    a berry pie to make him sigh
    as he sits down to eat.

    He’s in the yard and working hard.
    I mirror what I see.
    He rakes the leaves; I roll my sleeves
    and bake a cake—or three.

    Unwritten code is a la mode,
    and spouses know it’s true—
    give tit for tat with this or that,
    and there’s baked goods for you.

  39. Michelle Hed

    Through the Haze of Christmas Past

    You’re on school vacation –
    there are no alarm clocks
    or homework deadlines.
    Snow covers the ground
    and the world seems quiet.

    The house is decorated –
    the scent of pine,
    crackling logs
    and soft small lights
    warm up every corner.

    You grab a blanket
    and curl up on the couch
    amongst the pillows –
    a dog at your feet.

    It started when you were little…
    Mom or Dad would curl up with you
    and open one magical book after another,
    filled with sugarplums, snowmen and
    Reindeer – lining your head with the wonders
    of the giving season.

    Now of course, you’re older
    and can read to yourself
    but it’s with a fond smile
    that you look at all the decorations,
    grab a blanket,
    crack a book
    and let the real world fade
    into the background.

  40. Julieann

    Devil or Sweetness

    Your name has the power to heal or to hurt
    To restore my broken heart — or rebreak it
    Your name could rekindle shattered promises
    Or crush me completely
    Your name could restore the smile to my face
    Or extinguish any joy that I may ever find

    She was the love of my life
    I could not picture a life without her
    My future was wholly entwined with hers
    Never would I have dreamed she would cut the cord
    With no explanation, no justification, no truth,
    Just a simple “it’s over”

    I was not looking; I did not want anyone,
    Yet somehow we met, you are so completely different
    However, both of you were named the same
    I want to be with you, I want to love you,
    You tell me you are different, that you are not like her,
    You tell me it is safe to take the chance

    I want to believe you, to rebuild faith, and love,
    A future — I want to dream again,
    Can I accept your name is the same as her’s?
    I am afraid to take that chance – too many what ifs
    Can I trust you? Will you turn out like her?
    Are you a Devil, or are you my Sweetness?

  41. Walt Wojtanik


    They’ve started already, A steady stream
    of sweet visions. My mission is easier
    when these dreams begin. We are in
    full swing bringing these dreams to fruition.
    Rubber balls and baby dolls; games and toys
    galore. And the little folk dig in, no joke
    to please the girls and boys. Me and the Missus
    are filled with bliss for this is what makes us shine.
    I fly all night and she’s all right and fine because
    I return to her every time. All year I’ve waited
    my breath is bated and the work takes on
    new meaning. All the planning and scheming
    boils down to that one night. What a flight
    that will be. Those that could be better than good
    are giving a final push. Making my job
    a work in flux as lists of names are finalized.
    The reminder to be good for goodness sake
    Is one that should not be taken lightly,
    For this sprightly elf has gotten himself
    into groove. It’s time to move to fulfill
    the sweetest dreams. It seems we go through this
    every year, but that’s why I’m here. I work
    to the sound of reindeer pause. That’s my job,
    I am Santa Claus!

  42. Walt Wojtanik


    She’s so sweet,
    a real treat. Lips that taste
    like striped candy.
    I savor the flavor
    when she favors me with tender
    sips of her peppermint lips.
    Liquor may be quicker,
    but I find her candy kisses dandy.

  43. Susan Schoeffield


    Forget the shaken.
    Forget the stirred.
    Forget the vodka
    and chocolate liqueur.
    I’ll take mine straight
    (some might call it neat).
    Just give me the chocolate,
    silky and sweet.

    © Susan Schoeffield

  44. elishevasmom

    Not a Butterfinger
    (A View of Alzheimer’s)

    Back some 45 years ago,
    I can remember sitting
    at the dinner table with
    my parents. (My brother
    and sister had moved
    out years before.)

    Mother would pour
    her after-dinner cup of
    coffee, and then she’d
    ask Daddy to pass the
    sugar. If he was feeling
    impish, he would reach
    across the table and dip
    his pinky in her cup, and
    say, “There you go”.

    Although Alzheimer’s
    comes uninvited to the
    table, that little piece
    of orneriness is so
    rooted in his long term
    memory that, for now
    at least, it still puts in
    an appearance from time
    to time.

    Ellen Knight 11.10.13
    write a “sweet” poem for PAD 11.13

  45. Cameron Steele

    Sweet Dreams, Sweet Girls
    A Sestina

    In one future we are slurping milkshakes
    on a beach, our laughs like butterfly
    wings or the blushing petals of a petunia
    on the wind. We don’t mind our scars or warts,
    just press our backs into the sand,
    slather the sun across our bodies like peanut butter.

    Or maybe we picnic together, peanut butter
    sandwiches on a grassy hill, honey milkshakes
    and memories of childhood, butterfly
    days when the world opened like a petunia
    or marigold. Then we’d dream of witches with warts,
    faraway lands of rice and sand.

    If time shifts like sand
    will we remember moments of almond butter
    snacks, at a table where milkshakes
    were few and far between; left for dreams. Butterflies
    flew in our minds and petunias
    were an inside joke. Will we recall our warts

    and all of ourselves? Or will warts
    be only what we remember; shifting sand
    rises like dunes in the mind, peanut butter
    smiles easily lost and milkshakes
    no more than cream, a butterfly
    wing, the dread leaf of an ancient petunia.

    No. Even the skeleton of petunias
    can bring life back to life, warts
    fading into the whole picture: Sand,
    sun, a linen blanket, peanut butter
    and open eyes. Our milkshake
    lips speaking prayers that butterfly

    out into the world. And aren’t we all butterflies?
    Beauty at the whim of wind. Petunias
    open to our landings; we are real warts
    and worries. Soul and skin will turn to sand,
    our hopes take to air, peanut butter
    days will linger in new women who shake

    in our milky memories. When you press petunias into the sand,
    forget your warts. Let your butterfly heart rise — churn the sky into butter.

    1. De Jackson

      First of all, this form frustrates and flummoxes the best of poets.
      Then to use this particular mix of words, and to use them so well (“butterfly” as verb…heavenly)…just amazing.

      There is too much to love here to quote, except that I hope ALL butterfly hearts will read this, and take this line as both a challenge and a promise: “churn the sky into butter.”

      Stunning, Cameron.

    2. elishevasmom

      The pictures you’ve so beautifully painted are virtual snapshots, wonderings of ‘what if’. Then you arrange them as a collage, no better yet, a mobile. Balanced, turning, moving in the wind. And then you sum it all up, hanging by the last two lines. So well done!

  46. elishevasmom

    Sweet Addiction

    So, you want to talk about something sweet?
    For me it’s chocolate that’s hard to beat.

    With mint chocolate ice cream in the scoop,
    it should have earned it’s own food group.

    Then there’s Canada mints’ pink wintergreen,
    from time to time will steal the scene.

    And then for Smarties did I lust,
    where a five pound bag barely broke the crust.

    In my youth (I’m ashamed to relate),
    I’d sneak sugar to self-medicate.

    This time spicy gum drops turned traitor,
    their mass consumption haunting me later.

    But since achieving a certain age,
    you’d think by now I’d be more sage.

    Now it’s on the weight gain I must focus.
    It no longer disappears hocus-pocus.

    I’m addicted to sugar, I will admit,
    is there any program into which I’ll fit?

    Ellen Knight 11.10.13
    write a “sweet” poem for PAD 11.13

  47. De Jackson

    Butterscotch Pockets

    My Uncle Don stored slivers of sunshine
    in his pockets.

    Heading in for a hug,
    we would listen for his
    work shirt’s slightest crinkle,
    our small hands reaching
    as much for the sweetness
    of his smile
    as these golden-wrapped gifts.


  48. carolecole66

    No Carbs

    Peaches, ripe in July, juice that ran down my chin
    like a song vining through my mind and
    all summer I longed for watermelon, black
    seeds in pure liqueur. It was the raspberries,
    though, that did me in, perfect little cups,
    four-pronged crown, jeweled and red as sin.
    How could anything so sacred
    be so wrong?

  49. De Jackson


    We leave out
    the graham cracker
    and get straight to the
    ooey-gooey goodness.

    Stoke the fire, love.
    Scorch your mallow just right.
    Slip a sliver
    of chocolate (dark or light)
    right into the center, then
    s’moosh the whole thing
    onto your tongue.



  50. Walt Wojtanik


    Across the way you stay
    as we play with words and idea,
    real moments shared in caring
    commitment. Quality time
    spent in smiles and rhyme,
    a mime of the heart, no words
    spoken but broken things mend,
    a little glue and a tender hand
    touching the scars, remembering
    that love is a gift that once given,
    is only returned in kind. And you find
    that her charm and smile for even
    a short while brightens you day.
    Not syrupy or sticky, the trick is
    to let her honeyed heart embrace you;
    lips that taste you season; your cup of tea.
    A loving sip between Sweetpea and me.

  51. mrvanessarose

    Great Pie in the Sky

    Which came first,
    The moon pie
    Or the s’more?

    Don’t ask, just
    Swing down
    To the Gulf,

    Grab an RC Cola and
    Follow me to
    The great pie in the sky

  52. Erebus

    Leave me alone; I’m hungry.

    the candy of young minds

    The sweet sugar sizzling
    on the tongue of childhood obsession

    Chocolate that melts with this exotic sway
    And teeth
    glued together with the regret
    of filling my mouth with skittles

    Fruit looks boring
    unless encased in fizzies
    And vegetables
    that’s another story

  53. Jacqueline Hallenbeck


    Short and sweet my poetry is.
    I A.D.D. on the longer stuff.
    Mine lasts no longer than a sneeze.
    Short and sweet my poetry is.
    The suicide rate has now decreased.
    I write the poems that make you laugh.
    Short and sweet my poetry is.
    I A.D.D. on the longer stuff.

  54. Domino


    Yes, a salad if you please.
    Hold the dressing. Hold the cheese.
    Hold the croutons, Hold the taste
    I’m try to decease my waist.
    No, no chicken, bacon or salt.
    I know it’s bland, it’s not your fault.
    But one more thing, I must admit.
    On the side? I’ll have a banana split.

    1. Domino

      True story: My mom used to run the jazzercise class for her friends. After class, which was in our home, she served sundaes. Attendance boomed. ^_^

      Thanks for laughing with me, friends. ^_^

  55. Earl Parsons


    Sugar sweet
    Sweets for the Sweet
    Sweet Bye and Bye
    Sweet Home Alabama
    Sweet victory
    Sweet Caroline
    Sweeter than Honey
    Sweet, Sweet Spirit
    Sweetest Name I Know

  56. annell

    Sweet, Dark, and Scary
    Something sweet
    Something dark
    Something scary
    Have no idea
    What this can be
    It slides out from
    Under the bed
    Stands beside me
    When I sleep
    It beckons
    It whispers
    It laughs
    It is scary

    I have no plans for it
    I know it will come again
    I will turn my back
    I will not accknowledge it
    Something sweet
    Something dark
    Something scary

  57. Linda Goin

    The Wife Needs a Sweet

    Hugh is a husband in a habit
    of gifting me with sugar
    on special days. Chocolate kisses
    for Christmas, boxes of mixed
    chocolates for the new year,
    chocolate-covered strawberries
    like hearts hiding
    behind snuff-colored shrouds
    for his Valentine. This year,
    he offered two sugar skulls
    for the Day of the Dead,
    one male, one female,
    so elaborate that I cannot
    eat them, and I can only hope
    they never dissolve.

    His candies want to be loved.
    As I roll each piece around
    my mouth, sucking away
    on its life blood, I wonder
    if he wants these sweet treats
    to serve as compensation
    for my sour disposition.

  58. taylor graham


    To the bulk-food section I come for sweets –
    clover honey. Here are bees in a box;
    the warning reads: Don’t Open! Where bee meets
    free air, sweet goes wild, I guess. Under locks,
    they’re fine. My honey oozes while the clocks
    tick down. Honey for my homemade bread. Bees
    humming oregano blooms; summer breeze
    of gardens. Honey sweet as Pindar’s verse.
    Bees endangered? Not here – not yet, where trees
    shade the fringes of pasture, shepherds-purse.

  59. Linda Rhinehart Neas


    Far in the past
    settlers came to a rich
    green valley, through which
    a river flowed, winding a
    snake-like path through
    mountains, hills and dale.
    They came upon a mountain
    glacially placed without
    so much as a “please may I!”
    No granite walls to scale,
    no basalt to ease the walk,
    but a mountain of sandstone,
    as crumbly as brown sugar,
    made them think twice.
    Eventually, paths were blazed.
    Now, from spring to late fall,
    adventurers can climb to the top
    of Sugarloaf Mountain,
    gazing over fields of sweet corn
    and sugar maples – the best of treats!

  60. Jane Shlensky

    Sugar Pie

    “That child’s so sweet,
    I could eat him with a spoon,”
    she says, squeezing a wriggling
    toddler. He hates when she
    gives him sugar, squeezes
    the sugar out of him, pinches
    some puddin’ from his cheek
    or belly, or talks of eating him,
    starting at his chocolate drop toes.
    She scares him a little,
    with all that love to give
    and all that hope seeping
    from her pores, but it flows
    from her natural as honey,
    and she’s Grammy.
    What can you do?

  61. Jerry Walraven

    “Like folks who do the Right Thing when no one is looking”

    just the right ratio
    of cumin and coriander
    and chili powder
    hit the palate
    at the end of a bite,
    you can taste
    a little sweetness
    at the end of the fire
    satisfies more
    than sugar
    could ever dream.

  62. Jezzie

    Cornish Cream Tea

    Last night I had
    the sweetest dream
    of eating scones
    with jam and cream
    whilst watching waves
    coming crashing
    over granite rocks,
    sea spume splashing
    way way up the
    craggy cliff face
    in Cornwall, my
    favourite place.

  63. bxpoetlover

    Give Me Some Sugar

    There’s nothing going on
    Between my sheets
    because I crave me
    Something Sweet.

    Not Godiva
    Or chocolate chips
    But soothing words
    From your lips.

    “I’ll cook tonight”
    “I’m proud of you,”
    and best of all.
    “I love you too.”

    Don’t know where you are
    Where you are from
    How you look
    Or when you’ll come

    But when God puts you
    in my path
    you’ll protect me
    and make me laugh

    Thank me for each meal
    I cook
    With a smile and
    Come hither look.

    And even when we
    scream and shout
    We’ll hunker down
    And work it out.

    Some may say I’m picky
    with men out there to meet
    But I’ll wait on The One.
    I crave me something sweet.

  64. Jezzie

    Sweet Dreams

    The sweetest dream that
    I could have would be
    about my school day
    Sherbet Fountains with
    licorice sticks,
    acidic Pear Drops
    and Cough Candy mix,
    pale coloured fizzy
    sweet Flying Saucers,
    aniseed Black Jacks,
    and huge Gobstoppers.
    In my day you could
    buy four a penny
    (our pocket money
    wouldn’t buy many).
    We’d share Refreshers
    or tubes of Love Hearts,
    pastel Opal Fruits
    and Parma Violets,
    our Jelly Babies
    or rolls of Toffo.
    We’d even share our
    very last Rolo,
    our Maltesers or
    our bar of Munchies,
    but we’d not share our
    honeycomb Crunchies!

  65. MLundstedt

    “Honeysuckle’s Spell”

    Honeysuckle casts its spell,
    As only it can do.
    The years just fall away,
    And you are barely two.

    Fragrance! What an engineer.
    I see you running there–
    A simple summer dress,
    And curls in your hair.

    You stop and call for me
    To share what you have found.
    It’s been too many years,
    Since I have heard that sound.

    And then the breeze adjusts,
    The scent is borne away.
    And the vision simply fades,
    To its normal shade of gray.

  66. writinglife16

    Calorie Quotient

    His soft words were
    Like a smooth mousse.
    Rich and sweet.
    As the words flowed,
    the calories rose.
    She had to stop him.
    She was on a diet.

  67. gl86


    I wandered through the gate of clouds
    chilled by the mythic, alpine air
    when all at once I heard the crowd
    engaged in a divine affair

    The deities feasted and danced –
    exulting in their eternity –
    And though I observed, much entranced
    The gods took no notice of me

    Celestial laughter rang out
    and divine flesh I could see
    while dripping from their mouths
    was that sweet heavenly honey

    That delightful fragrance filled my nose
    and led me to the banquet table,
    where I tried to taste the ambrosia,
    but I simply was not able.

  68. Jezzie


    Cadbury’s “Crunchies”
    evoke so many
    sweetest memories
    of my old school days,
    when walking back home
    I’d buy a bag of
    home-made honeycomb
    for just a penny.
    The sweet shop on the
    opposite corner
    of our senior school
    was out of bounds for
    us girls, but we would
    often break the rule,
    and some of us stood
    on guard while some would
    nip across the road
    to buy the bag we’d
    share with each other,
    and we never told
    even our mother.
    But I should mention
    we got caught one day
    and then had to stay
    in for detention!

  69. Cin5456

    Laughing out loud, and rolling on the floor over your poem, Robert. I used to live in Stafford, TX, right next to Sugar Land, and worked in that area several times in my long life. I think its a misnomer. Excellent poem, though.