The Cake for God

by Darryl Price

is all but invisible.
Some say this is
because it is within
a bakery within a
bakery within a bakery 
and thus appears to
be everywhere at once.
The cake for God
has never been eaten
except by children who
seem to later forget what
it tasted like. Some
say like eating a
bowl of ice-cream while
dreaming on a sun-drenched boat deck
swallowing french-fried light. I
don't know what that
means either. The cake
for God arrived a
little burnt around the
edges as if someone
had been given the
slap and nod to
turn up the heat.
Eyewitnesses swore it sure
stank to high heaven.
Perhaps that was the
intent? To ambush the
magic nostrils atop the
thundering mustache hairs of the
old deity and cause
a revolution in His giant
thinking about you and
you and you. Didn't
work. The cake was
simply sent back with
a cryptic note saying sorry,
"Please try again later."
Ten things we do
know about the cake:
It won't go away.
It keeps appearing on
toast.It can speak
a dozen different languages.
It prefers silence as
a means to communicate.
It celebrates its own
birthday more than once
a year. Cake's got
no sense of humor.
Its piping is of
big thorns and little roses.
It always manages to
leave just before the
police arrive. It makes
a lot of promises
and never delivers the pizza.
And finally the cake
for God is so
greedy it will steal
anyone's love without remorse.
The sad thing eventually
floats away, leaving empty
paper plates on top
of the very real
tears of men and
women,girls and boys,
everywhere.It continues to
baffle like a half moon
fallen through blue sky. 

Bonus Poems:

The Tiger Who Jumped Over the Moon

by Darryl Price

Lord knows we all tried to stop him 
from doing it. You're crazy we said. This 
makes you look like a lunatic. They'll hunt 
you down in even heavier droves now. You've 
upset their delicate memories. I tried to stop 
it. That's cow territory my friend I said 
but it didn't matter. He just made up 
his mind to jump and mean to and 

so he did. I'm going to miss petting 
his fuzzy head as we walked through the 
jungle together. It wasn't so much that I 
felt safe with that tiger but I prefered 
his growl to almost any other sound. It
made me feel glad to be alive. Anyway
what's done is done. He's gone. One day
I'll be gone. Maybe we'll see each other 

again and the laugh will be on something 
other than us. Or maybe it doesn't matter.
He's gone and so is a pretty big 
chunk of the world. It was funny. A 
tiger taking a flying leap over the moon 
like that. Many astronomers were puzzled by what 
they were seeing in their telescopes that night, 
that's for sure. I don't think that's why 

he did it. I think he just wanted 
to feel something else for himself. To see 
if there was more to it all than 
this barroom brawl we've been handed. I see
some stars look a little more like tiger's 
teeth tonight. Thanks for the grin my friend.
I'm writing you this poem because it's all 
I've got left. You know what it's for. 

Bonus poems:

All These Poets

by Darryl Price


All these poets with their hands

Full of poems are driving

Me into the wheat fields like

A flock of crows. They offer

You a cigarette and light

The damn thing with a poem.


They give you a little dance,

But when they take off their clothes

Poems are stuck to their feet

Like blades of grass. All their lips

Taste like poems dipped into old

Barbecue sauce. They trail with


You after butterflies or leaping on poor

Fireflies, but when it comes time

To free all the prisoners

Their keys will only unlock

A chest full of more poems.

What's wrong, they will say, don't you


Like poetry? Eyelashes

Wink, but the closer you look

The more you make out the ends

Are fastened with small poems.

Earrings are acrobats with

Poems to be handed out


Like flyers to the breathless thrilled to death

Crowds clamoring below the bleachers. They'll invite you

Over for dinner, but your

Fork and knife will have been replaced

By rolled up poems, tied with

Typed out blurbs. These poets don't


Believe in poetry as

A way of life, of being

Awake, they see it as a

Fabulous job and they must

Get there first for, or die trying.

All these poets want you to


Swallow their words without chewing.

Without thinking. Without

Buttoning or unbuttoning. Without feeling further

For the poor souls who need it

The most. Without so much as

A thank you for the sacrificial listen.

Four Attempts at Authenticity

by Darryl Price

1.Toothpaste and Dogfood, Galaxies and Quasars

All things want you to hear
the sound they are making
from the center of their 
being. That would require

you turning on your lights.
Not your porchlight. The light
you are when you are not
afraid to see. Not off.

The light you know you feel.
All things get imbued with
soul pollen. Sometimes this
leads to brooms dancing by

themselves, but doesn't mean
they mean you harm. Doesn't
mean someone hasn't called
them to evil service

out of hate or greed. You
will know them. All things need
a friend in you before
you die. Regardless of

their ability to
ask your forgiveness. They
have the shipwrecked life 
and life found everywhere. 

2.The Little Things and the Big Things

One has a natural tendency to
roll with the punches. One is waiting for

the cut that can never be returned to 
form. One was out walking alone when the 

storm hit. One was already born old. One 
was killed by a wayward one-eyed wind.One's  

still trying to find a good ladder. One's 
loudly singing in the bathroom. One was

looking directly in the sun's mirror.  
One caught by a Sunday morning prayer

gave up the ghost like a familiar boot
to the rushing by leaves. One wasn't sure 

what one was singing was true or not. One 
often jumped at someone else's shadow. 

One landed on a forgotten bruise. One 
was caught in the rain that never let up

and slipped and fell on the sidewalk. One can't
explain. One didn't protect you. One did. 

3. You Have Arrived at Your Destination

But you'll have to go back to the beginning to 
claim your reward. But the game still isn't over. But 
everything exists in a naked bulb. But no one shall 
know the real reason for the blowing curtains. But you  
had that lesson. But you were laughing instead of listening.

But I tried to tell you something lovely. But the 
exploding ground fell on our heads. But I came back 
and you were gone. But I left small silver bells 
tied to the glowing weeds. But birds have their own 
climbing monsters to fight. But the traveling men came down 

the lonely road singing a joyous song. But I joined 
their circus in my wildest dreams. But didn't know the 
derby wearing elephant was capable of such grand larceny. But 
you weren't going to remove that splinter, were you? But 
how much is enough? But I don't blame you. But 

I never did give up. But the ships just sailed 
on and on. But we came back changed people. But 
only to someone like you. But to ourselves we were 
only gone for one holy moment. But you always wanted 
an explanation for the many unbearable things there are no  

words for. But I'm not saying the sea didn't make 
me a sick man. But I'm at the end of 
the voyage and you're still a bitter sparkle to me.
But if you'll let me I'll give you your fair 
share. But please remember me. But we made no promises.

4. Lost Dog

Surely you've seen my face before.
You know me. Why do you pretend
you weren't the one? This is the face
of the one you left behind. Find
me. I am always looking for 
you. Every day. I waited, my 
eyes fixed upon the door. You know
me. Have mercy. I need your hugs.

The Unbearable Heaviness of Selfies

by Darryl Price

All you haters pushing
poison. Poison kills. Hate
is dumb. How many have
you harmed? Why do you have
to be so cutthroat? Hate
is dumb. Is my calling
hate dumb politically
incorrect? The tragedies
of war have come
to our door. Hate is dumb.
War is rude. Haters piss on
truth. Words hang in the

air because they can't believe
in themselves. Hate is
dumb. John made the mistake
of teasing weak men with
guns. You can't tease a man
with a gun. Or a hat.
Or a uniform. Hate
is dumb. War is harsh. Death
gives lillies a bad breath.
Hate is a crime against 
the practice of kindness.
Soldiers will shoot unarmed

students if given the
right order. How many 
numbers make up a soul?
How many poets are
alive in the world today?
Don't care. People aren't
numbers. Hate is dumb. The
world is sick and no one
wants to do anything
about it. It makes me
sad, but that doesn't mean
I'm not okay. I'm not,

but certain things make me
glad to believe in the 
magic of being here. 
Dumb hate has no mercy. 
All you haters so sure
of your propaganda
against love and compassion.
It is never too 
late. Hate kills happiness.
Generates suffering.
Hate is dumb. Life goes on.
In this we're together.

These Poor Creatures by Darryl Price

These creatures have always wanted 
to carry us far away with 
everything beautiful. Their true 
feelings seem to be ones of an  
insatiable hunger. These poor 
creatures shun anything that feels 
like it might make them smile without 
even trying. They're dangerous
to the environment just standing 
there. They love gluing weapons of 
every shape and size onto their 
hidden bodies. They are prepared 
for all out war at all times. Can 
you imagine them as simple 
growing children? Ironically 
they are extremely childish in 

their pulpits and cruel in their soft
polished seats, but no child is left 
within their darkened eyes. See how
they communicate in smoke fits 
and mirror tantrums? You still want 
to see what you are up against? 
What they want to turn you into?
We've got to find a way to not 

only survive their coming but 
survive their going. A way to 
remain inwardly peaceful and 
by nature non-violent even 
as we take up arms to defend 
ourselves, our loved ones and others 
against their hideous trampling
through the sliced gardens and bruised skies.   

This Broken Road by Darryl Price

I did what I said, but the damned
disappointing road still went straight 
back to the nowhere we started 
from. I'm still wasting my time on 
it I guess. I did what I said 
and it's far too late now to start 
anything over. I did what 
I said and you watched my broken 

heart burning in the losing fight. 
I did what I said and you called 
me out as your golden fool, but
behind my back. Well I never 
wanted to see you be ever
unhappy. I just never guessed 
that the master sacrifice was 
to be so many of my own 

wasted favorite dreams of you 
and me being glad together.
I did what I said and then lost 
everyone in the process. I 
don't know where you ended up. I 
used to wonder, but it's just a 
laughable waste of time. There is 
just no going back, not to new

happiness, not even to a 
shared bittersweet sadness. I did 
what I said, but I couldn't stay 
quiet. I did what I said, but 
I found no one I could trust.I 
did what I said and maybe you 
did, too, but you were the one who 
pulled the crazy trigger on a

real cool beautiful friendship.I 
saw the death falling in your eyes
like an end of the world bomb. I
cannot be with you. I'm always 
almost lost. Your mad question. My 
sad answer. One last kiss in the 
form of a bunch of words falling
apart from feeling. Turn turn turn. dp