poem raisin bran (A Search Engine Term Poem)

poem raisin bran box
elegant verse; health facts; ads
two scoops fibrous truth

Phenomenal Fiber

Sugary cereals wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not sweet or built to suit childish boy’s over-eager buds
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the shape of my grains
The span of my piece,
The roll of my spill,
The curl of my tubules.
I’m High Fiber Cereal
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal Fiber,
That’s me.

I flow into a bowl
Just as cool as you please,
And too famished,
Fellows stand or
Fall down on their seat.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the clarity of my box,
And the smooth of my brown,
The tussle in my bag,
And the joy in my heft.
I’m High Fiber Cereal
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal Fiber,
That’s me.

Hunger itself has wondered
What it sees in me.
It tries so much
But it can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show it
It says it still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the crunch of my bite,
The health of my serving,
The fiber of my spoonful,
The grace of my price.
I’m High Fiber Cereal
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal Fiber,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my top’s not torn.
I don’t fall or roll about
Or have to rustle real loud.
When you see me pouring
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the sweet of my taste,
The slight of my sweet,
the fill of the bowl,
The need of my grit,
‘Cause I’m High Fiber Cereal
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal Fiber,
That’s me.

-Maya Angelou

Elasticity Cornflake Cereal (Search Engine Term Poetry)

elasticity cornflake cereal
the soft yield before the crunch
the soft furrow after the plow
the grain tilled, the bowl filled
beige dew, golden grace, maple table;
earthy floor.
A new crate carted:
A new crop wrought:
the sun dawning ecstatic rebirth
your warm comfortable face
spoons a harvest of cornflakes

Should Milk Shine (A Poem)

Should milk shine, the holy glint,
Caught in a circle of unaccustomed light,
Would dehydrate, and any boy of cereal
Look twice before he fell from grace.
The features in their private dark
Are formed of sand, but let the false day come
And from her lips, half-crushed grapenuts fall,
The mummy napkins expose a faded chin.

I have been told to reason by the box,
But box, like brain, leads helplessly;
I have been told to reason by the pulse,
And, when it quickens, alter the pouring pace
Till cereal and milk lie level and the same
So fast I move defying time, the quiet gentleman
Whose beard fills with Wisconsin milk.

I have heard many years of crunching,
And many years should see no change.

The bowl I filled while playing in the park
Has not yet turned soggy.

-Dylan Thomas

The Taste of Milk After Cereal (A Search Engine Term Poem)

Your touch graces the air
Leaves it cool, gentle, sweet;
The taste of milk after cereal
Bleached bones beside warm flesh:
But fact.

Cornflake Fitness (Search Engine Term Haiku)

Cornflake fitness high
Cocoa Crispies less wholesome
Bran: a health engine

Sonnet #18: Shall I compare thee to a honeybunch of oats?

Shall I compare thee to a Honeybunch of Oats?
Thou art more lovely and more zesty:
Rough spoons do rumble the taste buds of tongue,
And oat’s solid lease hath all too brief time:
Sometime too cold the milky pool glistens,
And oft’ is his fair complexion dimm’d;
And every clarity from limpid to saccharine decline,
By chance or nature’s changing course sully’d:
But thy eternal crunch shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that crispness thou ownst;
Nor shall Soggy brag thou wanderest in his moisture,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as milk can flow, or cereal tumble,
So long as this, this gives life to thee.

-Shakespeare

The Milk You Pour (A Poem)

The milk you pour encroaches
The bowl is mine I know the slant
Soggy is my enemy your spoon shant stir
Under his strong impulsive spin
The rainbow’s foot is not more apt
To have the centaur lover
So steal bran not O rabbity wind
But leave but still savor
For if the gods would love
Theyd see with eyes like mine
But should not taste like I
Your sweet inducive bran
And raven raisins.

- Dylan Thomas

Time Enough To Sog (A Poem)

Time enough to sog;
Toss in bowl
Your golden flake of flesh;
Breathe against china,
Puffing powdery chalk to and fro;
Not drawing in your cellulose kiss.
Your prism’s fine dust
Will find such love against the grain,
And break the tidy spell;
It’s cloudy in the depths
A paper witch upon her sulphured broom
Flies from the cover.
The sticky pyridoxine,
The choking fructose;
The children’s bananas’ turned dark as sin;
Then sink your face,
For you’ve a lie to drink.

- Dylan Thomas

Nearly breakfast, and the devil

Nearly breakfast, and the devil
Still comes visiting his poor tracts,
If not in person sends his unending evil
By messengers, the flow of letters
Spelling across the box his devil’s facts,
The hours’ cries, full milk-firstily.
He has the whole bowl now, parent’s departed
Who cannot control the order he tips,
The law permits
His wild libels, and his lips
Poised at the hungry ear
To whisper, when he wants, pathetic war
Or lay pathetic rumour.
The welcome devil comes to atone,
Steals what is best – homogeneous mixture -
Rapes, leaves to float (the goon!),
Counts on his spoon
All he has spilled in wonder,

The welcome devil comes invited,
Suspicious, but that soon passes,
They cry to be taken, and Devil separates
All that is found already mixed,
Leaves it among filthy used knives and the glasses.

-Dylan Thomas