When hard times come they sit a spell,
Like kin folk come to stay
A-packin' troubles, pets an' kids
That always get ‘n your way.
It's drought an' flood, an' flood an' drought,
There ain't much in-between.
You work like hell to make ’em good,
But still they’re sorta lean.
The ranch went under late last year,
The drought got mighty tough.
The boss held-out a long, long time,
But finally said, "enough!"
So here I am dispatchin’ cops
An’ watchin’ felons sleep,
In Junction, at the county jail,
A job I’ll prob’ly keep.
The wife, she works at Leisure Lodge,
Where older people stay,
A-makin’ beds an’ moppin’ floors
To earn some ‘extra’ pay.
Though “extra pay‘s” the term I used,
It goes to payin’ rent,
An’ after all the bills are paid,
We wonder where it went.
We hocked my saddle, guns an' chaps,
An' then our weddin' rings;
Then when we couldn't pay the loan,
They sold the 'dad-blamed' things.
We felt real bad a day or two
But then we let it go,
Cause it got Christmas for the kids
When money got real slow.
When hard times come they sit a spell,
Don't matter who you are;
They'll cost ya things you've set aside,
An' clean your cookie jar.
You'll loose some sleep an' worry some,
Won't pay to moan an' groan;
But hang on to your happiness,
They'll finally leave ya 'lone.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2005
I wish to claim
My yesterday sillyness
My crinkled nose grininess
That hide and seekiness
Spin the bottle
kind of geekiness
My hand in the cookie jarness
That pushing too farness
Collecting comic charminess
Hidden playboy kinda business
Cop a feel inquisitiveness
Being a bit
A true life witness
Loving the mysterious
Laughing more than being serious
What it was all aboutness
Thinking that it lead to freeness
I'd know just how to be ness
Eating what I want
Staying up late kinda keeness
Now I wonder
What was the rushness
To reach adultness
Full of it's doubtiness
What's it all aboutness
I witness it's dreamlessness
It's no longer about me-ness
To much sane-ness
Routine and sameness
No one cares if you cameness
Less is less
And more is moreness
Can't see the trees
Through the dark forest
So grab onto your girliness
I'll bring my boyness
There will be more
No more boringness
We'll spin in circles
Enjoy our dizziness
Is a serious business!
I wrote this one in December 2014.
I am now proud to enter it into Shadow's contest.
I hope you have as much fun reading as I had writing it.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014
The rain outside plays games with the webs that cloud my mind,
I think I hear a tune. A drum solo that heralds memories buried deep
and sealed in concrete. Even the locked safe with five feet deep of steel
can not resist the lightning strike of the Goddess of Thunderstorms...I
...i think of you.
A pain from yesteryears thought dead rises from the ashes...
No! I will fight this.
Forget when I flew too close to the sun
my feathered wings singed.
I fight...I do...I try...I do...but I...
i think of you...
your fresh baked sugar cookie scent,
your China Doll moonlight white complexion.
I think of you...and I...I weep
I on the mountain, exposed
as vultures tear at my flesh.
Devour my organs like so much fodder
and everyday whole again...
the creatures hover to start anew.
In my sorrow,
in my physical pain
I attempt to resist...but I...
i think of you.
Iodine flows through my veins.
My screams echo.
My blood drenched tears
flow like a mountain stream
and i pray
and i whisper the word "mercy"
i think of you.
March 16 2015
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
"May I?" she asked motioning to my dog-eared notepad as a child might
asking for a cookie expecting to be told it would spoil her dinner
I took another swallow, my hand instinctively moved to the book
to protect it or keep her from disappointment, maybe both
"It’s just a love poem, no big deal," I replied as she inched closer
Her perfume more intoxicating than anything Angelo had on that dusty shelf
I felt weak as my mind went to another time
where this sort of thing actually happened
An old movie, fancy gowns, pinstriped suits and fedoras, a swing band playing for a crowded dance floor, champagne, diamonds and gold cigarette cases
"Hey doll, can I buy you a drink?" I felt a tap on my arm as I snapped
out my ill-timed dream to see an inebriated guy hitting on her
She looked at me, eyes pleading though I sensed she could handle herself
"She’s with me." I blurted as again that stardust smile returned to her face
"No offensh pal, jush don’t see a goddesh round here too often." he slurred
"Well she’s my goddess, now beat it." I barked in my best Sam Spade impersonation, feeling quite proud of myself
She raised her glass again as I touched it with my bottle, we both took a sip
"Thank you," she sighed reaching across me, laying her smooth hand atop mine still resting on the booklet
"So you’re a love poet?" she said in a voice that could have turned winter to a summer day at the beach
I chuckled, "I've been called that but not sure I’d go that far." Her fingers gently caressed mine
"Are you going to let me see or do I need to get you drunk first?" she laughed now using a finger to trace seductive figure eights on the back of my hand
My mind whispered, give her the book but my ego moaned, just enjoy her touch a little longer... my mind won
She excitedly took it like I had just handed over the keys to a new Jaguar
I watched as mahogany eyes perused my words,
Warm me this evening
neath satin affection
Find in my lips
every need and desire
Touch me with wings
soft as midnight sonatas
Floating on dreams
filled with all you require
Dancing to melodies
sprinkled with stardust
Under a shimmering
Lie in my arms until
sunrise is calling
Here on this night that we
both long to share
Oh my, she sighed melting faster than soft butter on hot toast
“That is the most beautiful poem I've ever read, "I hope you don’t mind"
She leaned in and kissed me, her moist lips drenching mine, then said
"I’ve never kissed a love poet before"
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016
Standing on tippy toes
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
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
Gives me a hug
"Don't worry it's OK
I'll make more
For John Lawless's Just within reach contest.
Written April 15, 2015
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015
Grandpa's Fishing Hat
hope and joy
more poetry books
Babar, the Stuffed-Elephant
McCoy Cookie Jars
ties I don't wear
family heirloom recipes
suits I try not to wear
my Children's love
....... Jesus Christ
Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2009
I have tracked my New Year's Resolutions
over the years these are my fantastic results.
2011: I will try to be more attentive to Lauren.
2012: I will pay more attention to what's her name...ah...Lori...I know I'm close.
2013: I will try for reconciliation with Lo.
2014: I will try to be more attentive to Carol.
2011: I will walk 35,000 steps a day this year.
2012: I will definitely start my walking routine this year at 10,000 steps a day.
2013: I will walk once a week.
2014: I will try to drive past a gym at least once a week.
2008: I will not stare at women's cleavage .
2009: I will cut down the amount of time I stare at women's cleavage.
2010: I will stop being so obvious when I stare at women's cleavage.
2011: I will attempt to stop getting caught staring at women's cleavage.
2012: I will stop increasing the time I spend staring at women's cleavage.
2013: I will seek professional help as directed by the courts.
2014: I will try to stop starring at the female prison guards cleavage.
2011: I will not let my siblings push me around.
2012: I will stick up for myself with at least one of my siblings.
2013: I will not let my siblings bullying depress me.
2014: I will talk to Dr. Potter and the group about my siblings.
2008: I will read Clarissa this year all 1534 pages.
2009: I did not read Clarissa I will read Varney The Vampire all 866 pages.
2010: I will read the first 50 pages of Varney The Vampire this year.
2011: I will read some articles in the newspaper this year.
2012: I will try and finish the comics section this year.
2013: I will read one strip in the cartoon section this year.
2014: I will read the fortune cookie thingy the next time I have Chinese Food.
Sponsor: Regina Riddle
Contest Name: New Year's Resolution
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
~Soup To Go~
This summer~ all I want is a bowl of soup
A secret flavor that combines every veggie group
An outcast taste of ancient granola herbs
All kinds of extracts that create different verbs
I will leave the table only to dance out in the rain
Round and round in wonder catering out my sweet refrain
I will visit mother and tell her I forgot her recipe
Brag about my soup and how I used and stole her ecstasy
Paint about the life she gives the grounded trees
Think about the sugar that makes me surrender to her sweet debris
I will order me a special~ with the right poetry breeze
Exchange my cookie dough with mothers pollen seeds
Hide behind her oak tree and listen to her endlessly
I can even cook myself a picture making nature my enemy
Close my eyes and smell the mist of self control
Hold on to my emotion and take a sip of my soup bowl
Add extra salt and pepper to every line I manipulate
Swirl my spoon around and smile at every thing I hate
Come sit down with me and collaborate
Lets cabbage out on mothers nature's plate
Wakening up to her blossoming sauce that drips with a certain flow
Driving by her White castle, and stare at another soup to go
Order me; a soup of all the things I see
Order me; a soup made out of mystery
Order me; a soup out of the things I wanna be
Order me; a soup made out of the sadness found inside of me
Order me; a coffee to go with my poetry soup
Type me a funny comment that will add a smile to my food group:-)
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011
When I leave this world
It won’t be silently
NO, I will leave behind a note
A note of reproach
For the sin of humanity
In the inability to feel with…to feel for
To truly love
Another human being
Who has the curse of being….
When I leave this world
My words I’ll behind
To a world that was unkind
To a world that only loved
Cookie cutter shapes and sizes
A world with a status quo
That couldn’t be tampered with
A world that embraced
The happy….oh the happy
Those with perpetual smiles
With lilting voices of angels
And with beauty of the ages
Those worthy of love
Serene angelic doves
Who never felt despair
But were always bright and fair
When I leave this world
I will leave behind
A legacy for those
Who were unloved
Who didn’t have sound minds
Who struggled along the way
Who tried to be beautiful
Who tried to smile
Through ripped and aching hearts
Who tried to stay afloat
When others would just gloat
Those who tried to be brave
But longed for the grave
To those I will say
“You are beautiful
You are worthy
You are precious
You are priceless
Your mind though tormented
Is full of beautiful treasure
Don’t blame yourself
For not being able to fit
In this selfish and crazy world
You are not a misfit
The world is unable
To make itself fit
To the dazzling beauty of you
So, just do what it takes
Just do what it takes
To get through the pain
To get to tomorrow
You’ll hear my voice
Whisper to you in the breeze
Telling you to make the world
A better place
A more caring place
Because of YOU!"
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013
Inside the Dishwasher everyone rushed!
Clinks, clanks, rattles, 'Ouches' and ' Ohs'!
"Would you pa--lease, settle down!" said Deb--They hushed.
"Now we can hear...let's just see how this goes."
Curious, Peter, looked out through a chinc,
And watched Vie and Chris-- approaching by twos.
They opened the door--and who do you think--
Standing there wearing her fine Jimmy Choos,
Ms Lost Sonnet!--spoke not a word--but winked.
Wilma Wine-Corkscrew, dressed in purple hues
Gave the 'all clear', and Peter spread the news.
"We're having a party Ms Sonnet, please,
Won't you join us? It's a magic party
For Peter", said Ruben Rotisserie.
Bob Blender poured her a drink--quite hardy.
Connie Candellabra was flaming bright
As Ms Sonnet swept past to the soft couch.
Carolyn Cookie Jar screamed with such fright,
"Quick! She's on fire!" Then Lost cried, "Ouch!"
"I'll save her", said Catie Collander. "Here!"
But the water leaked through her like a sieve.
Susan Spatula yelled, "Have no fear, dear!"
Yet, the fire held on and would not give--
Others tried, but could not stop the fire.
Then Peter said, "I wuw twy! I can do it!
With 'Awwy, I can fwy! Way up highya!
Togethwa, we can save Ms Wost Sonnet!
Awwy is my fwend. He tawks funny, too!
He's aw the way fwom Engwand and he is
My Supwa Cape! So I can fwy! It's twue!
No H's wive theaw--his name is wike this:
'Awwy--not Hawwy." So now, they all knew.
"Did I 'ear some bloke colling my name?"
"Yes! 'Awwy, me! We've Ms Sonnet to save!"
Harry Handtowel--AKA, Super Cape--fame
Was now on the neck of Peter the Brave!
With no hesitation quickly they flew,
Smothered the fire and saved just one shoe.
Brittle and weak, Lost needed more than glue...
"She needs magic! Oh! Paweeze! What can we do?"
"Peter...we only made enough for you".
Said Carol Crock-pot. They all cried, "Boo Hoo..."
"Then give huw my magic! That's what you do!"
So quickly they sprinkled the magic brew.
Ms Sonnet was greatful--then said, "Adieu".
"Peter, you've done well," said Anne Assam Tea,
"Let's all have a cup'a tea and you'll see...
"'Magic's believing in yourself, --frankly,
Do that--and you can do--anything!"
*Special appearance by "Lost Sonnet", courtesey of David Williams...with much gratitude, thank you all for appearing ;)...Peter has many adventures to come...big hugs, love you all, cap'n deb
Copyright © Deborah Burch | Year Posted 2012
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
Copyright © Larry Belt | Year Posted 2010
Sitting in a cloak of black conservatism:
I feel my hands,
oily on the desk like shortening in
slate gray cookie pans,
the speedway inside forcing the absence of
And my thoughts,
so flippant to implore
if a man with a chartreuse neck tie
can see the long wet streaks
across the cherry plane.
a sequence of interrogatives
common to the bored walls
of serious conference,
evoking tone inflection
in the pattern of polite.
Darest I mention truth?
I am your whore;
infect me with smug integrity,
smack me with false prophet leadership,
just leave some crisp bills
on the nightstand, sugar.
Yet my voice models his wavelength,
relaying back the catchy tired language
of one hit wonders;
from the man who owns a chartreuse tie.
awards a loaf of Wonder bread,
and a two bedroom lower.
Copyright © Michele Nold-Godleske | Year Posted 2006
Words rip through the night sky
They conspire to tear a hole through reality
A reality created in your eyes
Taped tightly to your mouth is a bill of lies
That you have yet to unroll
And it's constricting your ability to breathe
Like a dying bumble bee, your stinger is useless
And as such your threats often fall flat
As flat as the heart buried deep in the ground
Your eyes cause lightning flashes in my mirror
And the sparks cause my hair to stand on end
It's time I took the scissors and shredded your beliefs
So many times I have been expected to bow to you
To take a bow has been the song of my entire life
Faltering to the commands of the many Gods and Goddesses
And now here I stand with a green belt of insanity
Ready to beat the lackluster starlight from your eyes
Ready to watch them flicker and then slowly die
Your words ripped through my night sky
They conspired to tear a hole through my reality
A reality I created in your eyes
I taped a bill of lies tightly to your mouth
One that I have yet to unroll
And it's constricting my ability to breathe
I justify the reasons for my unintended assassination
With the cookie crumbs that litter the far reaches of space
Filtered through memories of a lifetime of torment
It will not be long now before your statue explodes
Sending shards flying over the entirety of life's greatest gift
This gift is what you unwrapped- Death
And now with a stick of dynomite I give you one last smile
One last smile to fill the confines of your prison cell mind
Which has grown frail and decrepit
Tears filter through my emotional machine belt
And slowly fall into a wasteland where they cease to exist
I turn and the butterflies erupt from your heart
The explosion blinds my eyes briefly
And yet I feel more pure than I ever did before
Death is the gift I give to you
Copyright © Christopher Goss | Year Posted 2011
When I think of the bygone Christmas
images that come to my mind are
candy canes, cookies and popcorn strands
adorning the Christmas tree.
The popcorn strands are easier to make
and still, I think,it's a family project.
I know, decorating with cookies difficult
but feel their homey feel with cookie cutters
which can be napkin rings for the table
Hear the sleigh bells ring
creating the quintessential Christmas melody
hang a strap of sleigh bells on your front door
warm sounds, a great greetings for the guests.
but the best sound is children’s laughter
and the squeals of glee, as the presents opened.
Think of the toys that simple things
you might have played with a child
like a jack-in-box or spinning circus top.
Spices, bayberry and baked things
are all scents that evoke the holidays.
Choose the Christmas décor that appeals
not only to eyes but to the nose and ears,
drape fir branches tied with a red bow above the door.
November 29, 2014
Form: Free Verse
First Place win
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014
Now they say that girls are made of sugar
And spice, but good girls finish last my friend.
For there is one truth for all women kind,
Come hell or high water we will fight
For our right to indulge ourselves in
The need for perfections greatest
Yes we will take down that cookie
Puppet clown, dressed in blue,
For there is no fiercer monster known
To man, then a women who’s cookie
Faddish is left unsatisfied.
Peanut butter to chocolate chip,
Just pass the milk and watch out dude,
For women shall be the first to dip.
Call us the two fisted women of the
Raw dough generation, we don’t
Really care, just pass grandma’s old
Roll me down the bakery sweet,
No fragrance smells finer then freshly
Baked what ladies, COOKIES.
Sugar me sweet it’s the ladies favorite
Treat, by the bucket or truck load it can’t
Be beat, frosted or plain, it matters not,
But without Milk its sacrilege that is
Now chocolate maybe the vise five to
Seven days a month, but cookies rule
As the male race drools, because honey
There is no doubt women will take you
Don’t for what, lets all say it ladies around
The world, all together now, SAY WHAT
By the way did I tell you my favorite
Food in the world, of course it’s very
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO POET DESTROYER
And to all women
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015
Gazing, longing, tempting
Diet, restrained, guilt, resignation
Biting, chewing, swallowing
Copyright © John Michaels | Year Posted 2014
I wake up to my TV blasting episodes of Woody Woodpecker.
I wipe my encrusted eyes, which had a field day in that dream I had
Involving two Swedish women, a Latin princess
With curvaceous hips that could save me if I ever fell from mountain climbing,
A Sony boom box made in 1984 playing Duran Duran,
And empty boxes of Junior Mints, M&M Peanuts, & Cool Whip.
I walk to my front door to discover hundreds of blood lettered Post-It notes
Slid under by my friendly Mafia neighbors,
“Turn that crap down or say ‘HOLA’ to my little friend! Woody sucks! ”
So, instead of apologizing, I grabbed my power drill
Which I bought off this Mexican guy named Bob
Standing in front of my local Home Depot,
I thanked each of my neighbors by drilling Wal-Mart smiley faces
Smoking Cuban cigars & holding Shotguns
Into their doors
At this point, I popped in some Belgian waffles & French Toast sticks
Into my Cookie Monster toaster oven and turned on the news.
What was I thinking?!
News reports on Sugar Daddies being harassed by stalking gold-diggers,
Another asinine Final Destination movie,
More teacher-student scandals,
Celebrity break-ups & pregnancies
Oh, how the sheep live vicariously through them
Where’s that damn noose I bought off Bob?!
To remove my early morning frustrations,
I turned on my Xbox 360 and popped in Guitar Hero
In which I jammed out to Stevie Wonder’s Superstitious
While performing Riverdance on my hardwood floor
The neighbors below me added a nice, rhythmic sound with their broomsticks.
After my Pilates workout, I decided to strip off my clothes
So I can feel FREE like a Tree-hugging barn swallow
And fill my bathtub with a bottle of Tickle Me Elmo Bubble Bath liquid,
Which I also bought off Bob
Shortly after, I yelled “THIS IS SPARTA!” and performed a belly flop into the tub…
After waking up from my concussion, I laughed maniacally
With my face underwater
My laughs were heard through the popping bubbles rising to water’s surface
I passed out again with a drumming thud against my porcelain dreams.
Second attempt at recovery, SUCCESS!
I gathered all my utility bills
A filled, plastic gas tank, another purchase from Bob
And a Jerry Garcia branded lighter
As inferno warmed my screaming loins,
Blasting John Lennon’s “Imagine” on my 8-Track,
The local Fire department sliced my front door
With titanium axe and an inscription: “Here’s Johnny”
As hundreds of angry firemen & neighbors stampede into my child-like day
3pm, Day Unknown:
I awaken with lines imprinted on my Latin cheeks
From wooden office desk
Strange stares from coworkers
With “I’m all out of Love” playing on the faded, company radio
And a post-it note, “Come see me in my office”,
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013
Face to face at last
Perpetual gaze is held
No words are spoken
Hands reaching out with purpose
You grab the last cookie first
Copyright © Sharon Ruebel | Year Posted 2011
Scrambling tooth and nail for a patterned fate
I approached the lofty mansion of Learning's Gate.
All cued up for a slip of paper - the one they call Degree,
halfway convinced that I hallucinated humanity.
For who under their own free will would venture
into this spiraling sameness:
this illustriously-in-debt, this Regal Club
of the Nameless?
I bellowed my voice into the air
(This great atrocity!).
But not a single student seemed to care:
So well fashioned they were,
adorned in their prized medals of mediocrity.
Along with their unwillingness to ever stray,
all too content to be but rainbows dreaming of gray.
I hung my head in such morose emptiness.
As I fashioned myself: the uniquely ubiquitous.
And what a fool I was to join the crowd - and yet so halfheartedly.
Striving for the cirrus clouds, the silver moon, and then the galaxy.
For my actions didn't match my cerebral creativity
I was statue still cursed with a meandering mind
(and other such extremities).
Exploding with hopes large enough for two
I sat clearly convinced languid leaps would do.
But one cannot daintily decide to dream the Dream
for it is merely the seed, another earthly deed.
You're not allowed to walk away, gandering as it grows,
for we are likened as the summer sun - keeping the rivers a'flow.
"Picturing profits in your hands
do not till the all too ready land"
explained the elderly gent with leathered palms,
"Someday soon you will understand."
And though we aim to be ourselves
brings us to the grid.
Imagination like a heavy rain;
we the paper people
so helplessly hid.
But fear not ye denizens
of the cherished cubbyhole:
where you keep under lock and key
your dust-laden soul.
If one burgeoning blunder
tore it all asunder
surely one single spirited spark
could heal even the most
dormant of hearts.
So fare thee well oh Cookie Cutter Coop -
Another day on that wretched plain, and I'd surely die.
I'm glad just to sever sameness in one fell swoop
by hanging on a star in the midnight sky.
NOTE: I always enjoyed using alliteration when I could... and with this particular one I went a little bit nutty... but I think it turned out okay.
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2014
I am a fat oriole from Baltimore
With baseball cap and baseball mitt
I became a star cause well I could really hit
Made my money, to build my nest
Never grew up, cause I was born with good luck
I am a big fat Oriole I say to you
Now I am retired
So I sit in by chair
Eating my Oreos, double stuffed flair
Oriole oriole eating my oreos
I am fat cookie, a Baltimore storio
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
Behind the rough and gruff facade,
amongst the sternness and the pride.
Along with calloused hands and the scars
A little boy still resides.
in spite of responsibilities,
the hard days, daily grind.
There within a man full grown,
that little boy still hides.
In the crooked grin, stuck out chin,
mischievous twinkle of the eyes.
Crazy antics, chances taken,
a little boy joy rides.
Eat one more cookie before dinner,
spend all weekend, playing outside.
Put off mowing the lawn one more day,
that little boy decides.
Work extra hours to pay the bills,
don't let that "Honey do" list slide.
Do anything to see me smile,
His little boy is justified.
For the contest; Anything
Sponsored by Matt Caliri
Copyright © Paula Swanson | Year Posted 2011
Bathwater and bubbles are waiting,
but my child is nowhere near.
Yet, I can see from cookie crumbs,
he's crawled from here to there.
Oh, yes! he's been in the kitchen.
I see his crooked crumb trail,
which leads to our white kitten,
with a chocolate, sticky tail!
In every room I search
for my little chocolate mess.
Then, I find him in the my bedroom,
with his hands on my new dress!
Copyright © Darlene Gifford | Year Posted 2014
SMITTEN OLD MAN
High school year book, 47
I’m not a gad looking guy –
Short hair, sport coat, tie
This remembered as I gaze across the room
She’s sitting at a table near the wall,
Lap top open, ear phones, late and all
She wears a sleeveless blouse
On a cookie now I’m nibbling,
But, my God, her arm! What’s that scribbling?
From distance the appendage looks solid black
Is she weird, some sort of voodoo?
“No, you idiot!” I laugh. “Just a tattoo.”
Through her tangled blond hair a streak of purple,
No cosmetics improve the sallow face,
Clothes, by 40s standards, a national disgrace
I’m smitten – chair seat a bed of nails,
Arthritis rebels, bony hands clutch -
This modern generation, it’s just too much!
Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2014
Do you know exactly how to eat and Oreo,
Well to do it you,
You unscrew it.....very fast.
'Cause a kid will eat the middle of an Oreo first;
And save the chocolate cookie outside for last.
Sing Me A Jingle Contest
Copyright © Daisy Marie Yant | Year Posted 2015
the ice cream truck
do you remember in fourth grade when it was the end of the school year?
kids running around in class, volunteer parents planning for field day events, teachers grading tests.
a year's worth of crafts and colorful displays filled the walls like wallpaper.
you can hear singing from the kids in room 4b, ms. mcdonald's class.
the weather outside was a balmy 80 on this june day.
text books, paint brushes, and the obligatory pre-chewed bubble gum filled the desk cavity.
the assistant principle announces something inaudible on the speaker system.
and we are fast approaching the anticipated summer break.
summer. that's when spring lovers finally kiss and the butterflies leave their cocoon.
birds singing and the flowers are saturated with their red, blue, and pink hues.
the last day of school is finally here and the children ride the bus for the last time.
vacations. swimming pools. ocean city. the smell of hot dogs, grass and humidity.
jersey summers are hot. really hot where i grew up. you sweat just by looking out the window.
then one day, the familiar sound of circus-like music faintly approaches town.
louder and louder until everyone knows its the ice cream truck turning the street corner.
the famous mr. softee, or good humor truck, or some local self employed bearded man.
whatever it was, ice cream in all kinds, flavors, colors, and shapes was 25 yards and 25 cents away.
the music kept playing as children seemingly sprayed out of their homes in rapid succession.
a gathering soon followed with parents and children standing all against that delicious truck.
chocolate. peanut butter. vanilla. strawberry. cookies and cream. cookie dough.
sandwiches. bowls. cones. smoothies. sundays. sprinkles. nuts. oh so yummy!
i miss that ice cream truck. i miss those days...
...and i miss you just as much.
Copyright © Joey Foto | Year Posted 2013