Somewhere in the distant past, it stole my heart;
Time before it’s eating added to my girth.
It is not a fancy cupcake, pie, or tart.
Could it almost be the best dessert on earth?
Kings and Queens, I hear, they eat it on the sly.
Yattering with little princes over Chai.
Tasted better how my grandma used to make
On our weekly Sunday visits to her house
Following a juicy barbecue of steak;
Films of Western heroes, and of Mickey Mouse.
Every other Sunday, we all did the same.
Except when I was ill, which was such a shame.
Perhaps these were the favorite times I knew;
University was sticky pudding-free.
Darkened days in military eating stew;
Diet of a beer and pizza on settee
In a cold and dreary bedsit south of Kew.
Now, these days, I can consume it when I wish;
Grandma’s famous sticky toffee pudding dish.
Tangled beard
hair-bear needs coffee
needs Taffy toffee
needs snooze then booze,
gets only coffee.
Bare bones bundled in a fat recliner.
He used to read the newspaper
now the Net begets
same old lies though.
Mother Mary
pray for more cheaper dinners.
Followed a cat back home last night;
we were prowling the backyard
the stars were so bright
made my ursine eye-balls tingle.
Late night glass of Jack Danial's
then once more
into the dream,
where hair-bear is young
and still chasing the sun around the world
his blood-curdling laughter
bursting fake bubbles,
and no need for coffee
to fuel his bad bouncing joy.
I want to go to Jar Ducks Toffee, he said.
I thought he was lisping and he meant the coffee place.
The one I despise, because their coffee twists my bowels up.
After drinking stuff from this place I am in pain.
I cannot go there, I tell him.
I am sorry, I love you, but not that place.
He is surprised, because I am his grandma, and I love him.
And now there really is a Jar Ducks Toffee place here.
There was a caramel smell about her
She tasted rich and gooey
He held on to her warmth throughout his tour
Dreams brought her warm Bambi eyes, and her sweet tasting lips
He woke up smacking his lips more days than not.
Her name was Toffee, and she lived up to it.
He always saw her in that white sun dress with the lace.
The one that showed off her long pretty legs.
Her hair flowed like the mane of a horse running its best race.
His dreams were full of her, and her caramel smell
And her rich gooey warmth.
Toffee was her name.
Toffee
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
Once upon a time
A Cape Town where they live
This windy place where it is cold
His name is Gwynne glee
Her name is Phyllis glow
A little shy was he
To ask on her
Her hand in love
She pride herself
And would not
Listen to his cry
She would not trip
Like biscuit on his catch
Little did she know that
On his lucky day
A windy blow came by
And combed her hair
In her eyes
And in orbit
She was falling down
With breath and length
Of hand he winged her up
On nearly hitting ground
Her first time smile
Glowed his face a while
In his pocket was a toffee
He handed her
Which let him smile
For a lifetime..
Little did she know
She would fall
For him.
Cecilia has set me a challenge – to order my favourite pud
If I can say sticky toffee pudding it would be oh so good
But I may make another error and it could come out so bad
If I said stiffy cockie pudding again it would make me oh so sad
But a thought has just occurred to me – I don’t need to use my voice
My husband can order for me, then I’ll get the pudding of my choice!
1st October 2015
A little boy had a big lick
Of a toffee apple on a stick,
His tongue got stuck
When he had a huge suck,
Poor little red-tongued Rick.
Sitting through this gloomy day
I sit and stare and wait.
My mind begins to wonder still
with whats to come to date.
I sniff the air like a pack of wolves
in search of scent and smell.
My eye's scan round this dismal room
but its only me I tell.
So lets try something new this time
and hope its better yet,
I laugh at this my crazy mind,
I think he wants a bet.
Come on now this could be fun
you might just find a mate.
Let your fingers be your guide
and hope its not to late.
Well here we are the game at last,
he thinks he stands a chance.
What is it then this stench we have?
Or can you guess without a glance?
He tastes the air and fills his lungs
and shouts its apple toffee,
but he lacks a tongue to taste it all,
I plainly say its coffee.
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.