Let them Eat Cake

Let them Eat Cake
key lime, mango, nourishment, self-love of another sort

Oh, the pain and suffering continued flowing winds of despair, breaking truisms and heart multitude of choirs angels once singing, falling mute to the bitter taste left in one’s mouth. Anger’s raging moments lashing out at the innocent, devilish burning desires retorted back and forth, laying upon one another more feverishly hatred banishing tones, lingering taste in one’s mouth.

Promising not to spread more accumulating decaying supposition, altering realities, transmuting train-wrecks again, and derailing cars falling from universal flow, we look beyond the burning flesh, even beyond the galaxy wound ineffable mysteries. Tissues in hand just in case, emotions flow outwards of left field, craving desire nourishing soul-felt transitioning thought transfigured reality as it may, may we see the gift in returning the gift, another receiving joy, love’s tranquility.

Sweetened pot not for the smoking, yet enjoyable beyond exoplanetary orbital sun-gazing star-bursting, sight-seeing to interminable, let us see what our bakery has in store. This baking, healing moment will be a weekend event, greater than ‘the most amazing show on earth,’ greater than ‘Sunday, Sunday, Sunday, monster truck rally!’


It is time, says the baker to the healer.


The people need more pabulum, agape at the deepest of levels, un-tethered, unwritten yet before, indescribable, taste-altering moods. Fusing South with the North, East to West, Heavens sending depths of internal swelling, we will heal the wounds of our fallen through a magical taste of love-biting goodness, teasing every taste bud and every cellular knowing of love-everlasting.

The day begins with a nourishing thought, written words upon the page, rolling out a dough pieced together collectively by the others’ weekly songs. Kneading, caressing, fondled fondant a possibility, layers a necessity to counter the layers hidden in plain sight.

Granulated sweetness provided by the swaying trees coconuts falling at our feet, mixing a hen-pecked countering the hand-picked selflessly giving trees of life. Buttery coating, Slick Rick teasing with the old-school trade of thought, once be told, henceforth returning speculation, neither candy nor sugar-coated lining lower realms of being.

For the time it takes to change a load, merely the cost of lifetimes of work, deep-rooted tail-pulling layers of battered soulful evolution, bottom dweller to thaumaturgies promise of out of this worldly flavorful mix one up for me. It is only one layer of our subconscious! Still worthy of rejoicing! -healer to the baker, reminding of love pouring into every layer of physical form, shaping, forming realities, visionary design as once unbeknown, made whole from broken yokes, sifting through sweetest and most bitter of ingredients.

Softened stares, glaring, ice-piercing relaxing tone, mixing the pungent and fragrant alike, together-forming, collective-holding, heart-felt spoken truths filling pan of once emptied vessels, the sacred body of ness taking form. Reminded of the once heated battle, past weakened knees, yearly encounters, met with more heat, turning flashpoint into a cosmic ordination of well-being.

Secret ingredient exposing sacred flow, Key’s nectar of the gods, pairing dairy land’s subtle kiss packaged in rectangular form, Neufchâtel formerly known. Hen’s laying thoughts aside thrice remaining yokes of any given moment, broken, is no longer what it was cracked up to be.

Here is the artwork, masterful bakers planning his or her presentation, slowly toiled low temps, complex exit least splitting headaches, words failing in comparison. Attempts made or accepting the yielding course, heat removed, rest in warmth, blanketed sun radiating through the looking glass.

The patience of a saint, the elders’ wisdom, the anticipation of a child; fusing healed, abused, dazed, and confused no longer the case, just becoming another peeled-back layer yielding sweetest news. Smelling what the Rock is cooking, drooling over the pinup centerfold hidden within the taste of home’s favored dish, a foretaste of our desiring thought transmuting once again, love pours from the heat of the moment.

Chilling tales of yesteryear, grandmothers’ recipe falling short of its claim such as this truth be told, behold next layer with the gentleness of a dove, fruitful tropical twist to spirits’ guided message. Tropical trees are flowering plant genus Mangifera, mango simply stated, test-tasting treat teasing tongues of tempered beings awaiting rainbows’ promising days.

Chill out for yet another session, as long as it takes to Netflix another of our favorites, reading a few chapters of a famous author, or scrolling and trolling social feeds and tweedy bird’s needs. The gelatinous orange heated course is next in line, under-the-fire blending mixed-miseries worth its weight in gold.

Secrets to sharing its worth are dividing and subtracting two, hidden piecing-together, familial bonding over the masterpiece, sharing with the world. Dabble, droplet, a dollop of whipping creamery delight, kissed with love, sealed with peace and tranquility.

~ Ani Po

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Photo by Izabela Rutkowski on Unsplash

Not knowing what to do amidst the pain and sufferings of the others at work, meditated efforts not nearly enough, yet answers flowing response comes forth to share in heartfelt song, during love’s favorite key to happiness-cheesecake!

Yes, one of my favorite things to bake is cheesecake. Although time has not permitted in some time, it is a necessary feat for the calling winds of suffered and tattered souls. I am clearing my schedule to create this masterpiece for all to enjoy, tastefully and deliciously bound by love and peace pouring from my heart to their own.

Today’s flavor of the day will be a key-lime, mango cheesecake on a sugar and coconut cookie crust.

The first layer will be from a cookie recipe of sorts with ginger and coconut lightly teasing the dough. Baked for ten minutes, allowing fusion of ingredients to take place. Cooled while next layer is mixed with a taste of The Florida Keys, intertwining and dancing with flavorful creamy Wisconsin delight. Baked slowly at select temperature, while keeping the door closed at all times. Temperature turned off to rest for another set time.

Cracking of the door, allowing breath of life to kiss the very mixture, once singularly, turned collectively, brought together as one amazing olfactory smell bomb teasing one into craving desire of just a little bite. Out comes the first and second layer cooling to perfection once again, careful and slowly chilled non-cracking layer.

To create the next no bake cheesecake, placed atop the first layer carefully chilling in assisted living in the fridge, one must puree the mangoes delicately singing songs of praise and thanksgiving for this fruit of the tropics, blanketed by another package of softened cream from the Midwest. Sweetness to taste and recipe will follow in coming days.

Chilled again, pondered thought of weekly transgression and hurtful words exchange, songs of wholeness and healing sounds from intergalactic beings transfer worldly issues to far distant planetary systems, awaiting the gelatinous mango layer blanketing the created healing song via masticated transverse reality of spoken words.

Photo by Ardi Evans on Unsplash

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Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and more importantly the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

The Author Seeks Counsel

The Author Seeks Counsel
shifting present-day self and collective whole

Here we sit at the brink of changing course, quill in hand, keyboard clap, clapping, daring entrance to the void once again. Just as The Author writes, rewrites, tranquil moments, transmuted thoughts, once a darkened moon, dispirit thoughts consuming self-inflicting misery upon the cosmic all-encompassing, infinite presence, scientifically unable to prove.

Fiction, prose, non-fiction, truth reality obscured by mental illness or mental precision, lacking the courage to go against the grain. Filled with emotion, welling eyes, pouring rivers and gateways to past and present moments of hurtful crimes, traumatic times, ancestral or intrinsic factors believed to be real, sitting at the zero-point of no return, The Author seeks counsel in the others.

Looking to the East, six other directional pulls, wisdom keepers transcribing in other galaxies, truth or apocryphal-like, mythical story-lines, calling on the ancient Gods to fill this void, Author remains alone to write and rewrite Chapter one and henceforth. Unanswered prayers, crickets reply, sitting within the medicine interwoven fabric of desire, deeper understanding enters the house of possibility.

Our responsibility says he, true nobility transpiring from yesterdays and yesteryears, not better than anyone but thyself own be true. Called upon by the ancients, star keepers, galaxy birth-givers of life, answering true spirited calls, no longer hesitant, no longer a doubting Thomas.

Rewriting last line, switch-words of sorts, carrying negativity to positively understood truest of vocabulary, transcending old paradigm, fixations of what if’s and whatnots, entering new vocabulary underwriters taking note.

No longer hesitating, desirous becoming; no longer doubting, forever acting with assurance. Just like that, snapping of the fingers, rewritten programs of the subconscious to conscious, it is so. The Author standing by, armies of ‘others’ by her side, ready to write, rewrite the wrongs of self, collective, unanswered thought-felt realities, calling of arms of the many, take up your quill, scratch out, onus probandi, erasure playing in the backdrop, the time is Now.

What more to be stated? Energetic beings are floating amidst, nodding, giving affirmations to what was written before, chiliad of spent years on balancing fears and joyous returns, juggling a thousand lifetimes at the brink of extinction. Forward-moving, ink blotting with self-interpreting beings coming forth, it is being written.

In the beginning, it was giving birth to sacred breath, present-day blackened and darkened shadowy void, future tense aforementioned thoughts tranquility, it is written upon the page, hearts true home singing sacred tunes, forever shall it be written upon the sentiments of the many. Call to arms! Grabbing sword in hand, slicing through previous beingness of what subconscious taught, henceforth simulating unseen and unspoken, shifting present-day self and collective whole, it is so.

It Is So.

~ Ani Po

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With the ability to write and re-write our stories, we the authors of stories, take responsibility in our words, as to give meaning to our current situations, accepting or acknowledging our conditions of life’s many offerings and setting a tone of offering to the readers to take up the challenge for self and the collective whole.

This piece is an extension of thought, gathered over time. Here are other pieces to the puzzle, if your care to read.

Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and more importantly the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash