Best Cutters Poems
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
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
catastasis of emotions spiral down
until the pain magnifies itself
too hard to breathe, she takes a knife
touches it against her flesh, slices deep
emotions bleed themselves dry
release the pain from within
she puts on her fake smile and hides the deed
(inspired by a conversation with Timothy Hicks, I know much about that topic because that was me at the age of 10, when my grandmother died and i was forced to be at home, unloved...a cinderella as my God parents called me...I learned how to bleed in poetry as a release, but cutting is an actual disease and they do not know how to release the pain, the pain of the cut releases something that makes them feel good...temporarily, no one ever knows the wounds, they hide them well behind layers of clothes and fake smiles!)
Here's the doodle, way out West
mind's a noodle, not depressed,
searched the Pantry's, not to guess
where's the boot, hat, cowboy's vest!
Fair and Rodeo, next month soon,
all the young'uns needing room
their vacation, munching's boom
cupcakes, chips, the same old tune!
This might work, the cattle breaks
and roping tricks combine to make
the Western motif for land's sake
I'll do their garments as a bake!
Sprig some chocolate on the boots
and colored bits, the vests light up,
and say that Cowboy hat, iced blue,
who can resist this interlude!
While calves are tangled by tossed ropes
these plates of cookies will win folks
and on the fair grounds, horses broke
will highlight ranching moments told!
And at the Bake Shop, not to boast
their pastry goodies had before,
ranch style brings my feelings high,
the colors bouncing upwards score!
Now grab a plate, this will be fun
maybe an entry, I should make
these charming cookies Number One,
should bring the biggest hungry down!
Why do we long to conform to a defined ideal?
And why is that ideal so stagnant and predictable?
The patchwork quilt holds many more stories than the plain sheet
And yet a celebrity will die trying to maintain an image
How do we truly treasure the creative, entertaining snags that only visit on rare occasions?
Let’s bend the cookie cutters a bit.
I thought I saw Santa flying and landing right on my roof
Then someone said, it can’t be true, so I needed proof
He was there, I swear, then suddenly he went ‘poof’
Even my dog saw him as she ran to the window, woof!
All I could see when I looked then, was a red dot in the sky
Someone asked, what was in my egg nog, I asked why?
Because that night, it wasn’t Christmas time just yet
So then I replied, and made with them a kind of bet
I said, he was just scoping the area, he will be back
Sure enough on Christmas Eve, he returned with a sack
He was standing right in the middle of the town square
They even yanked on his beard assuming fake, he did wear
But it was real, just as he was, with all of his sweet care
Sharing cookies with cookie cutters and warm hot cocoa
While an angel in the night, hovered above in falling snow
Heidi Sands
12/3/17
Each day that I go to work,
I feel like I’m a zombie…
The smiling faces I put on are all just an act.
At the end of the day my jaw hurts from putting on these fake smiles,
The smile that seemed to be permanently glued to my face…slowly fades.
I’m tired of making petty conversation, when I couldn’t give a damn…
But I guess it could be worse…
I could be that girl, the one I used to see every Thursday…
The one with razor-blade scars on her arms that made my stomach coil…
I’d ask her for her bonus card, casually, like everything was okay…perfectly normal…
She would hand it to me…cautiously, her hands always shaking.
I felt sorry for her…
No…I will not show her pity…
She’s probably sick of hearing everybody’s sympathetic nonsense…
No one can really understand unless they’ve been through it…
I can only imagine…but I too have felt like ending my own misery…
Sometimes I think of how I could change it all…
How I could change this ridiculous routine that I call my life…
But then I think twice and remember what I have…
And then I thank my lucky stars that I’m smart enough to reconsider this…
Something so selfish and cowardice as suicide…
Then, my smile becomes real…
No more fake, happy-masks…I do give a damn…
I am truly thankful for what I have…
I am grateful for the job, home and loving family that I have …
I am also thankful that I have enough faith in God…
Enough faith that I would never take the life that was given to me…
Faith is not something to be taken lightly.
It’s something not all people have…
Something that this girl may not have had…
This job…only temporary,
I know I can move on…my life could be worse, but it isn’t,
I’ve taken so much for granted, its time to say “thanks.”
These words, their meaning, it flows freely.
Its as if these words bleed from me, fast and hard as red as blood.
Sometimes it hurts like an angry cut when you go to deep.
These words, misenturprted, scary, wanting, needing, living, breathing.
They have a mind of their own. Their independant of me.
These words leave me dazed, falling behind in watever action i chose.
Some how they are killing me making me cut, drink, they will reach their goal.
These words are cruel, inhumane, empty, suicidal, scandalist, genderist.
I want to slash these words in half, instead they cut right through me.
These words are my enemy, used agaisnt me, mocking me, taunting me.
I want to change them, make them duller, instead they grow sharper.
These words haunt me, stalk me, drug me, cut me, bleed into me.
No matter what I know the truth these words sing a lullaby, as i begin to believe
These words serenade me, leaving me drifting, finally succumbing to slumber.
They leave me tossing and turning till I wake screaming.
These words make me cut deeper and deeper till finally I hit bone..