Best Cookie Poems
Standing on tippy toes
Top shelf
Reaching
Stretching
Finger tips edging the jar forward
Imagining the taste of chocolate chips on my tongue
Yumm mom's chewy delicious wait till Saturday cookies
Thankful I have grown that extra inch
Thinking she'll never suspect me
The jar
Tips
Topples
Tumbles
Turns
Travels over my head
Lands on the floor
Just as Snoopy comes running through the door
Eating all the cookies except for four
Looks up with his doggy grin
Like he wants some more
I reach down and grab the jar
Surprised that it didn't break
Reaching inside was my second mistake
Mom comes in and says "For goodness sake!
I'm so scared I start to shake.
"Ricky get over here right now"
I drop the jar, she watches it break
Running I try to get away
Up the stairs
Under the bed
If she catches me I'll be dead
At least that's what she said
She lifts the bed skirt
There I am
With my happy face T-shirt
Just within her reach
She grabs me
Pulls me out
Laughs
Gives me a hug
"Don't worry it's OK
I'll make more
Later today."
For John Lawless's Just within reach contest.
Written April 15, 2015
I learned a lot from Grandma
She helped me become a man
When I thought I just couldn't make it
She always told me I can
She taught me all of life's lessons
While sitting at her breakfast nook
Some homemade cookies and a glass of milk
Was usually all it took
She told me all about Heaven
And the price we'd pay for sin
She always started her lessons with
"Let me see now, where do I begin?"
I really miss her cookies
And the stories she used to tell
She knew how to get my attention
I just couldn't resist that smell
Whenever I messed up really bad
And thought I'd gone too far
She'd just pour me another glass of milk
And reach for that cookie jar
My grandma's passed away now
But that cookie jar is on my shelf
And whenever I start to miss her
I just smile and help myself
Cookie
Warm, golden
Gazing, longing, tempting
Diet, restrained, guilt, resignation
Biting, chewing, swallowing
Moist, delicious
Cookie
Poor last cookie, alone on the plate
No one partook, no one ate
Not for lack of flavor, this I know
Having already sampled its sweet morsels
Only one, is it wrong to steal a bite
From someone who's tempered their appetite?
Could I conceive of anyone so flip
As to decline the temptation of chocolate chip?
Must I do a stranger a favor
And step aside so they may savor
The succulence of the final taste
Or grab it now, in greed and haste?
The debate is settled by my mother's standards
Whose inner voice insists I show good manners.
Don't rip your heart open too deep
(All they'll see are the valves and the veins)
Don't puke out your guts in one heap
(All they'll smell is the rotten Chow Mein)
Footnote: I decided to enter this as my worst poem because it really stinks and makes me want to throw up...
The old cookie lady lived in an old house, on an old street in a very old part of the city.
She wasn’t tall, she wasn’t thin but she was very pretty.
She had silver hair in a silver bun held with a silver clip.
Every day at 2 PM she would bake her cookies and put them in silver tins-On Monday chocolate chip.
On Tuesday oatmeal raisin, On Wednesday sugar cookies with jimmies blue and red,
On Thursday snickerdoodles and on Friday gingerbread.
Why did she bake them at 2 PM? Well, they had to be done by 3.
That was when the kids from the school walked by and she offered her cookies most cheerfully.
Years went by, but one day on the porch there was just an empty silver tin.
The youngest boy on the block shook it to be sure there nothing was in.
The oldest girl on the block,
Walked up the front steps to the door and gave it a knock.
The old cookie lady answered. She still wasn’t tall, but now she was thin
and she apologized and said that could be no more cookies in silver tins.
The oldest girl on the block had an idea-one that was great.
She told all the kids to come to her house at 8.
They made cookies galore.
Peanut butter, macaroons, sweet meringues and more.
They took the cookies to the old lady’s house after school
But when they knocked on the door the old lady’s daughter answered it-uncool.
They thought the old lady was dead.
But the daughter said no, the old lady would come and live with her instead.
They, the old lady and her daughter, said goodbye and drove off north.
The younger kids cried as they sat on they sat on the porch.
They ate the cookies they had made and felt a little better somehow.
The oldest one said, “maybe she left because she knows we can make our own cookies now”.
It’s been a while since the Christmas of my youth.
Some things it seems have gone away -
Cookie cutters, hot cocoa, and an angel
are three not with me today.
Yes, Mama would get her cookie cutters out
How I loved to help make the dough.
We’d bake, then frost them, but these days,
everyone’s too much on the go!
People just go buy sweets at the grocery store.
Even hot cocoa’s instant too.
What happened to its simmering on the stove?
Microwaving is all we do!
What happened to giving out homemade cookies
as we caroled from door to door,
then having cocoa with melted marshmallows
floating on top like I adore?
And last of all, what happened to the angel
who orchestrated all of this?
My mother, once so young and filled with vigor.
Oh, how I miss my Christmas bliss!
Dec. 5, 2017 for Kim Rodrigues' Christmas Rhyme Contest
STARBUCKS AND COOKIE
I sit in Barnes and Noble
Looking at the figure-display over the snack bar
Oh how out-of-place in time they look
Twain
Shaw
Hardy
Dickinson
Hemingway
Have read them all
Out of time
The artist has caught them from middle-to-old age
Twain the Mississippi observer
older than the river
that flame-gray hair
nose-slipping specs
cigar
Shaw the same snowy mass
but older than creation
he contemplates the infinite
Hardy stirs a cup of tea
has just exclaimed
“Wha! Pshaw!
Jude isn’t as sad as that.”
Emily?
Emily sits for an artist
she has a sweater tied round her neck-
those drooping slender shoulders
always protected
but from what no one knows
Hemingway
what’s to say?
he be da man
smokes his pipe
thinking about the slaughter of ‘brave bulls’
“Good fight!” says Ernie
assigning some sort of ludicrous intelligence
There are several more
But I’ll leave them in their mothballs
The question arises
at least in my mind arises
Given their various outlook
would they earn a high place in today’s world?
I doubt it
None of them play guitar or saxophone
The drummer they moved to had an unbelievable
subtleness
I imagine they could get through a work
without need for a dripping drooling bedroom scene
And then why watch anyone use the lavatory?
They obviously didn’t know how to burn film
didn’t need to burn time
Call it imagination
Call it intelligence
Call it sanity!
COOKIE CUTTERS, HOT COCOA, AND AN ANGEL
When I was small, with curly hair
Mama would pull up a dining chair
She'd stand me there beside her
As she rolled out cookie dough
And gently guide me through the steps
For the cookies she would bake
Letting me use the cookie cutters
Carefully, for goodness sake
We'd sip on a cup of hot cocoa
While making cookies by the dozen
Place them on the cookie sheet
Then into the oven
The Angel atop the Christmas Tree
Standing out in the hall
Seemed to be smiling down at me
A memory I still recall
Yes, cookie cutters, hot cocoa, and Angels
Are still a part of me
Mama's gone, but they live on
Each Christmas that comes to be
26 November 2017 - for contest sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
Come on baby, don't be shy!
Let's hit that dance floor now.
Yes, you and I.
No inhibitions now,let the patrons
stare.
At my flowing,long red hair and you,
divinely debonair.
Come on baby, don't be shy!
We are doing our very own
Cookie Strut!
My, oh my, oh my!
January 15, 2020
Being seen
With poker face
Mistaken
As who does not give a damn
Cool and distant
Unfriendly aura
On the way
With people's stares and whispers
That she is a bad person
That is funny
Why judge
They do not know about her
Alone her name
Little they know
About the experiences and traumas
Mould her this way
No strength to make facial expression
With little energy
Left in her
Only use
This remaining will of hers
To live and face on
It is precious thing
She will keep at all costs
With friends she trusts
And faith she holds to believe
Those who love her
A rare privilege
Seeing her real self
Wild mind
Innocently gives love back
More than she does to herself
Because she feels safe
Knowing there is nothing
That will bring her down
© Sue Sanzz 2020
glitter
chocolate chips
almonds
dough
sprinkles
green sugar
candy kisses
snow
sugar
ginger
chocolate milk
sink piled high
two tea pots
cookie day at home today
A tribute to Poetry Soup's Emilia James
I don't like to be namin' names,
but check out Emilia James.
You'll find your poetic reward
in the tale of an ant and his sword.
She mixes words into cookie dough
until she's got it, well...just so.
Then, for her next funny feature,
we can enjoy another creature.
Her characters made me laugh
so hard I almost split in half.
I hope she makes up some other guys,
specializing in the smaller size.
From Washington to the Kremlin,
they're talkin' 'bout her tooth gremlin.
If all these cute guys aren't enough,
She writes about serious stuff.
You'll hear of Mother Nature's wrath,
and unsafe landmines in your path,
When you think, "it can't get better", bud,
There's Mr. Potato. Call him Spud.
Would you like some tea with me?
Sugar cookies; grand for dipping, do you agree.
I baked for hours , busy as a bee.
Would you like some tea with me?
Miss kitty, so witty and pretty you are, I can see.
You lick from head to toe of your black and white coatee.
Would you like some tea with me?
Mr. Doggie, furry paw's, I see you looking at me.
For you, a doggie biscuit shape as a tree.
Would you like some tea with me?
Sugar cookies are tasty and delicious, do you agree.
They're find on a rainy day, full tummies are we.
10/29/2021
Children's story
This is a new twist...
created by me...
of an old favorite recipe...
that you will soon see.
It starts out the same...
as the package will show...
then comes the new stuff...
which I'll let you know.
First change to occur...
has to do with the butter...
you use to need two cubes...
now use only one.
Then add an equal amount of coconut oil...
Isn't this fun!
The next change to occur...
has to do with the flour...
use Rice flour instead...
It will give you new found power.
Power to create with no end in sight...
it may not turn out...
but then again it might.
Let your imagination run wild...
as if you're a child.
Try adding marshmallows or trail mix...
perhaps M-N-M's...
you won't run out of ideas...
cause the list never ends.
P.R. Deremer