Cookiecutter Shark
Deep in the ocean, where shadows reside,
A small, sleek hunter, with nowhere to hide.
The cookiecutter shark, a name so absurd,
For a creature whose bite is truly assured.
No great white's terror, no hammerhead's might,
But a circular cut, in the dark of the night.
With a mouth like a scoop, and teeth sharp and keen,
It carves out its meals, a remarkable scene.
From whales to tuna, no creature is safe,
From the alien mark, a peculiar chafe.
A perfect round wound, left on muscle and skin,
A testament to where the small hunter has been.
It lurks in the deep, a cryptic design,
A parasite predator, truly divine.
So next time you swim in the ocean so wide,
Remember the cookiecutter, and where it might hide.
peanut butter cookies are easy for me
one cup of sugar wild and free
one egg stirred as I mutter
one cup of any old peanut butter
wonderful if baked ten minutes, truly nifty
be sure and set the over to three fifty
Why do we do the things we do
of all the everything under the sun
why do all those crazy things can’t ever be undone
it's beyond belief if it's not one thing it's another
between you and me don't know why I bother
sometimes we slip stumble and fall
trip tumble and fumble the ball
that's the way the cookie crumbles
why do we say the things we say
when there's everything else instead
why use such stupid words can’t ever be unsaid
until you go out on a limb you’ll never know the view
it's nice from far but far from nice
true from far yet oh so far from true
when thunder rumbles here comes the rain
no umbrella soaking wet again
that's the way the cookie crumbles
why do we choose the things we do
with all the everything else to choose
why decide on pointless wrongs can't ever hope to use
it's beyond belief if it's not one thing then it's another
and sometimes it's both why do I even bother
be it ever-so humble as if that's not all
give it the gas and the car will stall
hey that's the way the cookie crumbles
I baked some cookies, fresh and warm,
Their smell, a perfect, sugary storm.
I turned my back for just a beat,
And came back to a missing treat!
The culprit’s clear, though no one speaks—
It’s furry paws and whiskered cheeks.
A trail of crumbs leads down the hall,
A guilty cat, too proud to call.
I chase him down, he gives a stare,
Like, "What? I'm innocent, I swear!"
But crumbs are clinging to his tail,
And I know well, I’ve lost this tale.
So next time I bake, I’ll make a stand—
Lock the cookies in a jar, so grand!
But for now, I’ll laugh and sigh,
That sneaky cat’s the cookie guy!
Did you see how that cookie crumbled,
and then tumbled, and tumbled, and tumbled,
from the tabletop down to the floor,
and then tumbled and tumbled some more,
and did you hear the "Oh no!" that she fearfully mumbled?
My cat’s name is Cookie
Cookie is a cute silly little cat
She is a grey tabby mix
Cookie loves to play with her toy rat
She always sits in the open window
She watches the birds fly by
The sun is her companion
When it shines in the bright blue sky
At night she relaxes on my warm laptop
Cookie tends to go a bit crazy
She loves to cuddle next to me
When she does we get a bit lazy
Once I ate a defective Oreo
I’d imported from Lower Borneo
I’d spent too much money
My stomach felt funny
Then my 'plumbing' gave it the old heave-ho
There’s a peace that whispers soft
when I step beneath the open sky,
trees stretching in green prayer,
branches swaying like the hands
of a thousand saints, lifting their weight
toward something higher.
In moments when I’m alone,
that wide sky pulls me in close—
a blue blanket tucked around shoulders
on a night lit only by stars.
Crickets keep time, their gentle song
finding rhythm with my heart.
I think of the quiet crack of a baseball bat,
the ball arcing high, a promise carried on the wind,
a flight so clear it feels like love.
In a way, it's the same—a swing of hope,
the reach for connection,
the leap toward something more.
And isn’t that like a prayer, too?
Those small moments when I feel Him,
like sunlight slipping through autumn leaves,
or in the crisp warmth of pajamas fresh from the line,
or the sacred stillness of a Sunday afternoon.
Nature wraps around me like comfort,
reminding me I am never truly alone,
even when no one’s near—
because in each bird’s song, each gust of wind,
each blade of grass bending beneath my feet,
there is something holy, something here.
Arecib-O
Radar N-Oted
cause f-Or its size.
Ponce is -A
nice sort-A place
at -Our south point.
Puerto Ric-O
I am h-Ome at
last, O-h I'm blest.
San Juan is stil-L
so a-Live like
mobi-Le peppers.
Onboard the P-lane
it was sh-Aking
a B-it scary.
Nice aeria-L
shows centra-L parts
home-Land of mines.
At the airpor-T
used credi-T card
buy firs-T class seat.
Went to first clas-S
lounge for drink-S of
their Hou-Se Champagne.
A special-Ty
license pla-Te had
been sen-T to him.
He was ve-Ry
pleased with I-t when
the sh-Ipment came.
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.
best peanut butter cookie
three ingredients
peanut butter and sugar
a cup of each one
and one chopped up egg
best ever
treat
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