Puddings Poems | Examples

No Stress Christmas

There's no stocking stuffed with presents
No punch bowl filled with  cheer
We haven't got the tree,  that 
We didn't buy this year


No,  turkey or a Ham
Nor chestnuts on the fire
No cookies filled with jam
Or puddings to desire


Chorus
No friends and no family
We're all alone at last
No ghost from Christmas Future
 Present or the Past

 Christmas Past

instrumental

No sleigh and no Santa
Perhaps we went to far
So, let us get our hats and coats
And come to where you are.

Chorus
No friends and no family
We're all alone at last
No ghost from Christmas Future
 Present or the Past

People Beg Me to Not Cook

When I want to cook others beg me to stop.
I once baked a cake that when rolled could hop.
We made it into balls and watched it go down the walk.
Some of it was whisked away by a determined chicken hawk.

Hope that bird does not die, my sister said.
She loves to cook, can make pies, puddings and bread.
If I try to make a hamburger, it scorches black in the pan.
I am the worst cook in Kansas, you can ask my man.

Out of desperation he learned to cook.
He is a really great chef, can maneuver the nook.
Which is to say the kitchen which I begged the builder to leave out.
That put his knickers in a knot, the man swore and gave a shout.

She does not cook, she is really bad at it, my husband explained.
I was going to try cookies yesterday, but everyone complained.
They have cleaned up my messes, and none wanted to do it again.
Luckily I live close to my baking, cooking sister; she is my twin.

You're Invited

You're all invited to my party.
No, not Jack or Jill or Marty. 
I'm inviting apple strudels,
pies and tarts, the whole caboodle, 
custards, puddings, buttered scones 
(with muffins and bagels, I'm not alone), 
cookies, croissants, an eclair,
and my lovely baklava, so dear.

whipped cream

puddings jello and fruit pies
great on a dessert
whipped into a frothy cream
full of sweet sugar
puffy and frothy
with sweetener
milk

epigenic?

Epigenetics?

I don't understand, but I wonder how come
I dream and remember things that happened
before I was born
perhaps caused when I am in my pram lay
absorbed without knowing what
the adults were talking about
my great-grandfather was a famed baker 
who specialized in cakes and puddings 
he had his own business, which his son my
grandfather squandered
I was drawn to the catering business
I no longer dream of my sister or my brother
they died young and have disappeared into
mythology
My mother I remember with fondness and
sadness, a hard-working woman with fierce
political opinions.
In later years, she succumbed to drinking and
took little interest in things around her
Of my father, I remember nothing
like looking into a blank wall, as my mother
once remarked I looked like my father
and she bore a secret smile.
One ominous thing is alcohol has played
and cast dark shadows through several 
generations 
I have myself suffered from this soul-eating
illness, I overcome by living far away and
in my writing 
The addiction tendency is genetic 
"Neglect is the biggest disease."

Pigging Out Part 2

He would eat puddings and pies galore

And kept swelling and swelling some more 

So when his stitches popped

That's when his britches dropped 

Rumpled and crumpled up on the floor

Growing Up

Candles and nightlights flickering bright,
blackout curtains shutting out the moonlight.
Snuggle down cosy with blankets tight,
perhaps the war will end to-night.

Dripping setting from Sunday's roast,
spread so thick on Monday's toast.
Meat bones simmer on the old gas ring,
Pa's homemade soup,the 'real thing'.

Paper chains cut and glued,
beer in glass bottles brewed.
Christmas puddings with threepenny bits,
the Meccano present made to fit.

Sunday school outings upto Coombe hill,
my first ever train ride,so quite a thrill.
Walks over corn fields  to the Bugle Horn,
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn.

A weekly soak in a round tin bath,
towelling off by a fire in the hearth.
A viewpoint from childhood scene,
 growing up at sixteen,Beech green.

I Reach For Pudding

What do I reach for first? the rule of my land….
Pudding, and I quite honestly do not care what brand.
I love chocolate, caramel, and butterscotch too.
Adding whipped cream. M and M’s? Maybe a few.

I warm the pudding up in the microwave of course.
Remembering Mom’s pudding, it was such a sweet source.
If there is left over cake, I will put my pudding on that.
Pudding widens my smile, with a zip and a zap!

They have coconut cream now? What? You are kidding me!
Another snack, which brings my favorites to one, two and three.
Chocolate, and vanilla, wait, I love lemon pudding too!
If I had to narrow down the puddings, I would not know what to do.

Memories Fresh As Yesterday

CANDLES&NIGHTLIGHTS
Candles and nightlights flickering bright,
blackout curtains shutting out the moonlight.
Snuggle down cosy with blankets tight,
perhaps the war will end to-night.
Dripping setting from Sunday's roast,
spread so thick on Monday's toast.
Meat bones simmer on the old gas ring,
Pa's homemade soup,the 'real thing'.
Paper chains cut and glued,
beer in glass bottles brewed.
Christmas puddings with threepenny bits,
the Meccano present made to fit.
Sunday school outings upto Coombe hill,
my first ever train ride,so quite a thrill.
Walks over corn fields  to the Bugle Horn,
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn.
A weekly soak in a round tin bath,
towelling off by a fire in the hearth

Black Skinned Beauties

Always later than I'd like, richness in their cells when ripe
Backberry with Apple pie delight, once to taste is not my style
I've also found them there, at times and whiles, and tasted also before 
I'm home.' and now I've opened up the tome, the one on puddings; basin filled.'
Mullberry and plum, raspberry and kiwi, gooseberry and Logan 
Make pages of colour, that one could dote on' But I'll admit and without 
Duress, blackberries in August are the very best, their deep rich taste
Is always smooth, enhancing many mealtimes; theyre comfort imbued.'
The pot is on; the apples peeled, blackberries tender swiftly yeild
Aroma rich, perfumes the air; there are paintings of them on my spiral stair
All in all, I must profess they are a real forte; in culinary prowess.'

Blackberry Bush

I am a blackberry fruit 
Dark and shiny and plump
Growing wildly on the roadside 
Sprawled on an old tree stump 

I'm fragrant and enticing 
Admit it, I know you fancy me 
You just can't resist my charms 
I'm a tasty bite and free 

Think jams, puddings and pies 
Sweet treats galore I proffer 
Come over here, why don't you 
And see what I have to offer 

It's a bit of a tangle, I know
I'm behind a lot of vines 
Tucked behind some prickly thorns
Ones with very long spines 

What's that? You pricked your finger 
That's a shame, but never mind 
Stretch a little bit further over here 
The vines are less entwined... 

And now, of course, he's fallen in
He was psychologically pushed - 
Never underestimate the cunning 
Of a blackberry bush.. ambush!

Full As a Tick

The neighborhood buffet boasted 
fried chicken and biscuits, toasted, 

creamy gravy, and smashed taters. 
You can serve yourself, no waiters. 

Into the long line you will strut
more than ready to fill your glut.

Bypass the green salads and soup; 
run quickly, to the fried foods swoop 

all you can eat for one price cheap. 
Pile your plate high in one big heap. 

If one plate full is not enough, 
get back in line and your mouth stuff

with fried okra and sweet cornbread,  
rice, beans, pasta, and liver spread.  

Undo your belt a notch or two
so one more bite you can chew.

Desserts abound, cookies and cakes,
puddings, custards, tarts, and milk shakes.

Round out the meal with soft ice cream. 
Maybe two cones won’t burst a seam.

You leave, with a bloated waist thick, 
well-sated, and full as a tick.

The Chocolate Baker

The Chocolate Baker is a lady of stature so grand,
She bakes the best cookies and cakes over the lands.
Other bakers dishes are tasteless and utterly bland,
Sensationally goodness are the works from her hands.

Miraculous wonders from her oven every day appear,
Close to my palate her talents have become very dear.
Cakes, brownies, fudge, puddings and chocolate pies,
Scrumptious delectable aromas bring tears to my eyes.

As Chocolate is a part of my menu almost every day,
Living near the bakery would be a wise choice I’d say.
So a house I found with a little effort and a bit of labor,
Now the Chocolate Baker, a grand lady is my neighbor.

Author Eileen Clark

Goodbye Innisfree

To dream of a place
Where I can be.
Four doors and four walls 
Are all that I need.

An Island with trees on
A friend to each season
A home who would love me like wind.

I'd split a tree
And build breakfasts in spring
Raising a cabin from earth and cut reeds
Eggs and smoked bacon and hands round hot tea
Dew wet in pollentops, sewing bright seeds.

I'd dig a well
And pack lunches in summer
Guarding the garden by light of warm moons
Strawberries, cream sauce, beer and fried mussels
Adventures in woodshades, and haze on dark dunes.

I'd weave warm clothes
An do dinner in autumn
Harvest brown beans as the green skies blow thin
Dark stews with mushrooms, blackberries and sloes
Shortening days, I store piles of dead things.

I'd make a bed
And sleep for the winter
Wind wrecks my made things as days disappear
Dreaming of puddings as my cabin's tested
Shooting a bird, my last meal of the year.

Slimerick

I heard of this snazzy new diet
It looked so good I thought I’d try it
You eat what you like
No exercise bike
Whatever you eat you can fry it

My pizza edge has cheese right through it
I eat cakes and puddings and suet
This diet is great
I haven’t lost weight
But I know that I can stick to it

• Short Puddings Poems
• Famous Puddings Poems
• Best Puddings Poems
• Read Puddings Poems
• Long Puddings Poems
• Puddings Quotes