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.
All cooki-cutter comments, say the same thing!
But to blind you, they toss God's name in the ring.
Stay away from me, please!
Hang your comment on another poet's tree.
Dishonesty and I are an explosive mix.
Find someone else to lie to, and get your fix!
4/28//2021
COOKIE CUTTER LEAVES
dark green cookie
cutter leaves -
so many
they shouldn’t matter?
do we love one more
than the other?
if each one gained
an inferiority complex
cut their wrists
from the old oak tree
and flew away
to who knows why
leaving us
with broken branches
would rain run
mascara from our eyes
produce raging rivers?
would Spring become
a painful season?
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
This is a cookie cutter culture
We all must think the same
If you're outside the PC box
Talking heads call you insane
You better hold all their values
Zombie minds.. must be lead
Christians are old fashioned
Everyone knows, God is dead
There are no absolutes today
What counts are opinion polls
Kiss the ring of our great king
Or you might end up in a hole
Blinded by group arrogance
In ignorance we all pledge
To follow cultural relevance
As we step closer to the ledge
I'm about to go James Dean
A rebel who can think and feel
Quit trying to program me
Your perfect utopia isn't real
Driving through the broken, potholed streets
Lined with houses spanning decades
Each with a thousandfold more character
than that of the cookie cutter impostors they call homes
I appreciate the creaks and groans
Much more than the sheen of granite stones
Value comes down to values.
What are yours?
COOKIE—CUTTER VERSION
true confession time stands and gears
itself to concede in honest declaration
the guilt of heeding to the scrutiny of
veiled opinion from self-seeking minds
the process is set in motion as worldly
influences pull you to match the mould
and modify yourself pleasing their moral
principles tweaking your uniqueness dry
one of a kind we are inimitable and rare
our essence blends our behaviour and
appearances selected in singular specs
rarely the ‘cookie-cutter’ version we
perceive
© Kim van Breda—May 2014
On a whim,
a demon will grab a fistful of mind.
Slap it down- roll it out- sprinkle it with lye.
Then pull out its cookie cutter heart.
Press down hard...real hard...
Feed pieces of sanity to its hoard.
Half devoured, they crap you out.
Into the shadow of an indigo night.
Clear the eyes of the craggy miles.
Slug down a cup of fog.
What is that sharp pain, that dull sound?
Just beyond the cobbled soul...
Something just isn't right.
Stroke the cat
Sweep the floor
Croak "good mornings"
shower
Wash away that crazy gray.
Snakes are in the showerhead...again.
Go for a long walk.
Pick some daisies.
Hissing is in the swaying veins of the leaves.
The locust eats throat-deep into peace.
Stagger toward home into a hearth of talking bones.
Read the daily dread.
Stroke the cat again.
Take another nap.
Pray for a warm breeze dream to move the bloom of life.
Back into its golden vase heart to temper the pendulum.
Sweep the suckling demons from the chest...
Where the hell is my rolling pin God in all this f fin mess?
The new age believers talk about us being ourselves,
Yet, when we are the people we truly want to be,
The Elitists create controversy by ripping uniqueness
to threads,
Cookie Cutter Images are what is expected in this society,
Women who parade around as if they are Stepford Wives,
Men who believe that their only place is the kitchen,
A utopia pleasing to the eyes of Leftists spies,
Women are ostracized if they have a mind of their
own,
Or God forbid, if they are caught witchin',
They become overwhelmed by judgemental frowns,
Perfection is an impossibe task to attain,
Since the Creator wanted us to be ourselves
filled with errors and mistakes,
Regardless if we cause disdain,
Sometimes it is the only way that
human beings develop change,
or are able to get through life without
become insane.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.