Long Cookies Poems
Long Cookies Poems. Below are the most popular long Cookies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cookies poems by poem length and keyword.
INDUSTRY OF CHRISTMAS
Cut down the pine! That one’s for me.
Lovely needles — so fresh and free.
A s p r i t z of h o l i d a y esprit.
O Christmas tree! O Christmas tree!
Harness him with silver bell rows -
Dear Rudolph, master of blind-snow.
In dark W i n t e r, oh how it glows.
A red-red nose! A red-red nose!
While we repose, he rides the chutes,
Working, down the chimney he scoots.
S a n t a in his h o l i d a y s u i t
And fur-lined boots! And fur-lined boots!
A m e r r y, smiling, k i n d l y bloke,
Loves with great fervor the poor folk.
Smells of cookies, milk and nog yolk.
And chimney smoke! And chimney smoke!
Elves polish the sleigh and explore.
Dear old S a n t a, as their mentor,
Jumps in and teaches them to soar.
With gifts galore! With gifts galore!
12/2/2017
Monotetra Form
Wherever I go it’s easy to celebrate all the beauty in front of me…
the sunsets, the trees, the flowers, the ocean…
all those things my eyes can see.
But every now and then this impulse surfaces in me…
that makes me want to stop and celebrate
all the things I cannot see.
I cannot see the wind…I can only feel her breeze
I cannot see the crickets who serenade me in the morning
or the birds singing from the darkness of their trees.
I cannot see the aroma of fresh baked cookies, cake or bread.
I cannot see how far in life one act of kindness or giving will spread.
I cannot see the air I breathe…but I know it’s there.
I cannot see, unless you show me, just how much you care.
I cannot see the music when I hear my favorite song.
I cannot see the actual bonds that make a marriage strong.
I cannot see your sadness without first seeing your tears…
I cannot see your words of love as they travel to my ears.
Yes, with my eyes open I am constantly amazed
at all the beauty I observe in front of me…
but every now and then I like to close my eyes
and think about
all those things I cannot see.
Christmas eaves’ drop - red and green leaves of pre-December.
The snow-white clouds, the beard of Santa Claus’ pre-remember.
The elves are surely hammering
whilst Mrs. Claus is yammering.
The yawning of maples and oaks ‘fore their pre-sugar-plum dream.
Boughs with wrappings held high in the pre-burr of holiday theme.
The silver bells are jingling
whilst Mrs. Claus is mingling.
The squirrels gathering chestnuts - heading for the pre-open fire.
This is the time of cheer when old white men are on pre-hire.
Elves in the North Pole, serious
whilst Mrs. Claus is merrily delirious.
Milk, cookies, hot chocolate - cupped, shaped, pre-bakes.
The crisp, grim, lake of late Autumn leaves, Daddy rakes.
From bed, whoops an early “ho-ho-ho!”
whilst Mrs. Claus helps Santa glow.
11/4/2022
These days I often find myself
lying on my pristine rock, hard bed
thinking about why the world would
ever care about someone like me.
I wonder how my thoughts ever drifted
this far. Maybe social media?
Or my own self-conceit, brimming with
forbidden passions even van Gogh or Picasso
couldn't imagine. Yet, I only say that
because I can't imagen them either.
I'm a washed up never-has-been.
What I can't figure out is why I even
care. Daring to dream is supposed to be
a good thing, or so my childhood memories
tell me. Then why is it that these days
dreams only come in the form of nightmares?
They cloak themselves in fire-roasted
s'mores, the smell of freshly baked homemade
bread, and thin mint girl scout cookies.
But underneath that mouth-rotting exterior
is a rotting interior - evidence of one of
life's well known facts - the exterior tends
to exude what the interior feels. My interior
switches between the kind of fear that would
make a grown man go numb, and the kind of
numbness that even Elsa couldn't create.
I sigh (something I also do a lot of these days)
and close my eyes, and hope to dream of dreams
better than the reality I call Hansel and Gretel
When I think back on the tattered pages of my life, I find so much sadness and
sorrow. But there was a time way back when life was truly perfect, before Susan
was killed by a truck walking home from school one winter day. She was six and I
was four and we were sisters who were loved very deeply. Our parents were
hardworking and wonderful to us. But that day changed everything, nothing was
ever the same.
I can remember quite far back, it seems amazing that I can recall being fed in a
high chair, the train was coming and I had to open my mouth. I can still hear
mother laughing when I got food all over my face. She liked to dress the two of us
like twins. I was big for my age and Susan was small for hers. We were adorable,
everyone said so. Many days we went for walks around the neighbourhood and
sometimes we played in this beautiful wooded park that had a pond with ducks
and swans. I remember we would put our feet in the cold water and shriek our joy.
Sometimes we went to the beach dressed in our blue satin swimsuits and
everyone said we were sweet with our shiny hair and of course, we adored the
attention. I recall going to a fair with games and rides. We had ice-cream and
candy floss and went on amusement rides. We especially loved the ponies. Once I
was photographed by the local newspaper with the caption, "tot enjoys the fair," I
still have that photo of me with a big candy floss in my face.
We had dolls and teddy bears and grandma gave us a real tea pot and cups to
to use for our tea parties in the back yard, she even made us peanut butter
cookies, oh, it was lovely. Dad made us a little table with two chairs and a cupboard
for our dishes. We would dress up in grandma's old hats and stuff and even invited
the cat, it is a beautiful memory. Then Susan died and I had two of everything
like clothes, teddy bears, dolls and toys. Life was never the same.
_____________________________
March 31, 2015
Poetry/Prose/The Beautiful Days
Copyright Protected, ID 03-658-687-31
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the Standard contest, Golden Days,
sponsor, Rob Carmack, Judged 04/2015
10th Place
THE BELLS OF CHRISTMAS
ARE RINGING
PEOPLE THE WORLD OVER
ARE SINGING
WE WHISPER OUR WANTS
TO OUR FREINDS
THEY GO SHOPPING AGAIN
EGGNOG AND PARTIES ARE SWEET
COOKIES AND CAKES FOR TREATS
WE GO CORALING, SINGING
CHRISTMAS SONGS
SNOUTING WHISKEY,
AND SINGING ALONG
I BOUGHT MISELTOE FOR KISSING
AND A CAMERA FOR REMINISING
BRING YOUR MITTENS
IT'S GONNA BE COLD
SOME TISSUES TO WIPE YOUR
NOSE.
I PACKED A BASKET WITH SANDWICHES
AND STUFF
SOME COSSEINIPS FOR HER
AND THAT OLE' RASCEL PUFF.CIGARS TO SAY CONGRADULATION
CHAMPENGE FOR TOASTING AND SAYING
THANKGIVING TURKEYS ARE EATIN AND GONE
THE BIRDS FOR CHRISTMAS
JUST KEEP COMING ALONG
CUMNIPPING AND SALUTATING
WHILE SCROOGES AND CORALER DEBATING
RUM, TUM, RUM AH-LOG DEW WITTY DEW
A CARD FOR MY PREACHER
AND A BIG KISS FOR YOU
SPICE IN SEASON ARE ALL AROUND
BUTS AND PUDDINGS ARE BAKING
SEASON GREETINGS AMNND SALTATIONS
SANTA'S GONNA SAY "HO, HO, HO"
PEOPLE WILL SAY SHE -AH DOOZEY CHEERY
SI OH !
SPEAKING OF THIS SPEACAIL CHRISTMAS
MOMA AND DADDY WILL MISS US
SOME WILL BE CATCHING CHATERED FLIGHTS
OR FLYING THE CHEAPSEATS
WON'T THAT BE NICE
WE WILL SING MERRY CHRISTMAS
AND IF THE NEIGHBORS ACT LIKE THEY DON'T HEAR US
WE'LL GO CHORALING SINGING OUR SONG
WE'LL PRACTICE ALL DAY SO WE WON'T SING IT WRONG
SPECAIL PRESENTS WILL BRING A TEAR,
THIS TO ALL
A MERY CHRISTMAS
AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!
watching the leaves fall
sitting in the parking lot of an abandoned mall
memories are flooding my modern existence wall to wall
i am wishing that i could give a certain person a call
waterfront imagination in a poor man's dream
trying to find the greatest common denominator in this scheme
how i long for the feeling of the taste of cookies n cream
maybe then i will figure out the concept of how to redeem
loneliness lives with me everywhere i go
oblivious solo living is technique of which i am a pro
my air of mystery black charm always steals the show
what the flip side of it all feels like i will never know
it's summertime something in a winterized shade
for the inner unpredictableness i was perfectly made
for some reason the creation of me halted at middle grade
however knowing you once existed dissipates every barricade
My yard harbors lots of big trees
And in them live squirrels, with ease
In comfy twig nests
They do what is best
To live and survive as they please.
I feed them some nuts every day
And watch how they run 'round and play
They know me so well
And come 'ring my bell'
By tapping the window this way:
They come to the back kitchen door
Jump up on the rail from the floor
On the window sill
They sit very still
With paws against, glass beg for more.
I push up the window with glee
They know I'm their friend, for you see
My hand holds their prize
They watch with bright eyes
And take nut away tenderly.
Now, one day I thought I would try
To give something new, and so I
Supplied day-old bread
With smooth peanut spread
They loved it so much, with a sigh,
I made little sandwiches soon
On bread, spread nut butter by spoon,
A new treat for them
But so surprised when
I saw chunks of bread below- strewn!
They learned how to get at their prize
Nut butter between, and so wise,
With paws, they would pry
The bread part would fly
Enjoyed just the spread- I surmised,
Like kids open cookies to get
The cream that's inside, never fret
To throw rest away
Enjoy them that way-
The squirrels saw their need was met!
Too nutty, these squirrels taught me
They're smarter than I thought they'd be
They do things their way
With we humans play-
Together we live happily!
October 13, 2015
~1st Place~
Contest: "N" New Or Old Poetry Contest Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Judged: 09/21/2021
Theme Chosen: Nutty
my fingers are vital for almost everything I do
including combing my hair, and picking up my dog’s poo
I use them to sweep, vacuum, and sort the mail
to live without them would be worse than a day in jail
Fingers bake cookies, for they hold the spoon
They also steady telescopes, so I can see the moon
Fingers are handy for wiping extra paint on my shirt
They put on make-up expertly, ask my pal Mert.
My fingers like to type up poems, stories and such.
I like these tiny appendages very very very much.
Tonight when I go to bed I am going to thank God for them
Unless I forget, because when I am tired I can get rather dim.
Christmas time was the best memory under the pine tree.
In South Africa we do not have a snowman and reindeers,
Instead we celebrated it with cookies and ginger beer.
Days before Christmas we will make wreaths,
Out of cinnamon cookies and sweet treats.
Passing houses in the street, you will hear Bonny M
Singing on the beat of the drummer boy I will stomp my feet.
Baking cookies with mum, I had so much fun.
Three days before Christmas Eve, we will decorate our pine tree.
A star will be put on top that was always my job.
On Christmas Eve we will dress up,
and wait till midnight for the ticky band with a 5 cent in our hand.
All dress up in black and white,
They will sing O Holy Night,
And under the tree we will end with Silent Night.
The night won’t stop there, because presents must still be shared.
You cannot wait till they call your name,
Presents was a week before on your brain.
I received a red, plastic dialing phone,
First toy I could call my own.
Christmas under the tree,
Was my sweet memory.
Date: 7/5/21
Contest: A 3-6-9
Sponsor: Emile Pinet