Lad
There is a young lad over here with some cookies,
And you can have a mouthful of his cookies;
But where will you buy me some bread to eat as well?
And like the hope and the dreams of a land,
For there you sit waiting for my love!
But it seems that it will rain because the sky is dark.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh Those Cookies Made
You hooked me with your looks,
And also cooking, 'bay-bee'.
Your speciality is baking sugar cookies, 'bay-bee'.
And a tasting of your cookies,
Is my favorite crave...
I rush to get to savor.
Because the flavor makes them great...
I've lost my patience to wait.
Oh your cookies made,
Are the best I've ever savored.
Yes your cookies made.
Is a taste that can't get better.
Oh...
Those cookies made,
Are fun to munch in any weather.
Yes,
Those cookies made.
Your cookies made.
Oh...
Oh your cookies made,
Are the best I've ever savored.
Yes your cookies made.
Is a taste that can't get better.
Oh...
Oh those cookies made,
Are fun to munch in any weather.
Yes,
Those cookies made.
Your cookies made.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Christmas Cookies
Chorus:
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, sugar
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
The ones that look like Santa Claus
Christmas trees, and bells, and stars
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
Now Christmas cookies are a special treat
The more she bakes the more I eat
And sometimes I can't get myself to stop
Sometimes she'll wait till I'm asleep
And she'll take the ones I didn't eat
And put those little sprinkly things on top
Chorus:
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, sugar
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
The ones that look like Santa Claus
Christmas trees, and bells, and stars
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
Now those sprinkly things just makes things worse
Cause it makes them taste better than they did at first
And they're absolutely impossible to resist
Some disappear to who knows where
But I make sure I get my share
And those kids just stand there waiting for the ones I miss
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, sugar
Sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
She gets mad that they're all gone
Before she gets the icing put on
Sure do like those Christmas cookies babe
Now there's a benefit to all of this
That you might have overlooked or missed
So now let me tell you the best part of it all
Every time she sticks another batch in the oven
There's 15 minutes for some kissin' and'a huggin'
That's why I eat Christmas cookies all year long!
Ah, Take it away boys
--- Instrumental ---
Chorus:
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, sugar
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
The ones that look like Santa Claus
Christmas trees, and bells, and stars
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe
I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe...
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Misspoke
'Sir...
We clearly have you on videotape
Saying you baked those cookies.
When in actuality,
You did not.
If you are expected to be selected,
As our choice to lead...
We need immediate clarification.'
I must apologize.
On several occasions,
I now admit to saying...
~I baked those cookies.~
You see...
It was many years ago,
When I begged from door to door...
For a taste of homemade chocolate chip cookies,
I was made to feel inadequate.
Until one day...
Out of the blue,
I decided I could and would bake my own cookies!
'But sir...
These are 'not' your cookies.
You might have tasted these cookies.
However...
Your baking them is a false statement.'
Baked, ate...
Tasted!
What difference does it make?
I misspoke.
Can we move on?
There are other more important allegations to lie about.
And besides...
It's just an election.
What's the big deal?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I use nothing but the best ingredients. My cookies are always baked fresh. I price cookies so that you cannot make them at home for any less. And I still give cookies away.
quote by Debbi Fields
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Needn't Switch Your Cookies
You needn't switch your cookies.
To offer them to someone else...
With a giving to me of a preferred substitute.
Your cookies are good...
But they have not seduced.
I was the first to taste the flavor to savor them.
Now you believe the chocolate in your cookies,
You can addict somebody else with to lick...
As you sit back to enjoy the doing.
Who came to turn up the heat in your oven?
My sensitive tongue is unlike any other!
And this you will discover...
When you realize this and come to your senses.
Only I supplied the ingredients you used,
To make your cookies taste as good as they do.
You needn't switch your cookies on me,
To offer them to someone else.
The whipping done on these you give,
With the added spice has been overdone.
And not as good to my tongue as the other ones.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Milk And Cookies
R.E.M.---Milk Cookies
[...Heavy applause.]
ANDY: Since you've all been such good boys and girls,
I would like to take everybody in this entire
audience out for milk and cookies! There are
busses outside! Everybody, follow me!!!
...
Don't worry, folks! There's enough milk and
cookies for everyone!
[Instrumental]
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cookie Crumbs
Cookies will save the world.
Cookies have saved the world.
Thirteen of them landed on the moon
They called them the Apollo 13 of cookies
Chocolate Chip built the pyramids
And Macadamia painted the Sistine Chapel
The Nile runs with milk
Because the sun is an Oreo
And the sun is the Nile's favorite
Favorite cookie
Superman defeated no one
Super Sugar Cookie did all that
Double Chocolate Jackie Robinson
Was the first Afro-American to play baseball in the majors
And Oatmeal Raison was the first president
Who couldn't tell a lie
Girl Scouts sell cookies
In an effort to save the world
Because that's what cookies do best
I wish I could write more
But my cookie is gone
I ate it while I wrote this poem
My inspiration is now in my tummy
I think we all could save the world
If the world ran on cookies
But now there's nothing left of mine but
Crumbs
poem by Tsunami HiroshiSu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I was not a classic mother. But my kids were never palmed off to boarding school. So, I didn't bake cookies. You can buy cookies, but you can't buy love.
quote by Raquel Welch
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Cookies
Banished by an elixir of blue
The childhood angel
You believe in cookies
You leave me for broken cisterns
My heart is a coral reef
Colors filled with true life
Pain has formed the sea
Love is standing guard
Time rolls like the tide
We are friends with bars
Will you hold me?
I need some cookies
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Based Upon Appearances And Not Technique
As if children fighting over crumbs left,
On plates once stacked with cookies...
No one can get near the kitchen to clean it.
Or restore the cleanliness of its presence.
Since an argument has ensued,
As to who should do what with a doing to do...
To recreate the flavor of the cookies once munched.
And who is best qualified to imitate the recipe.
Based upon appearances and not technique or skills.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If hope could be a colour.
If hope could be a color
It would be baby blue
As blue as the sky
If hope could be a taste
It would be sweet lemonade
If hope could be a smell
It would be fresh baked cookies right out of the oven
If hope could be a sound
It would be the melody of everyday things
If hope could be a feeling
It would be an indescribable love
If hope could be an animal
It would be a baby bird.
poem by Sarina Parsakhian
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Give Us The Cookies
It had been perfectly okay,
For them to do and say...
Exactly as they pleased.
Not just for years.
But for centuries.
A respect was given.
And this had increased.
But a dishonesty became their beast.
This began to feed a greed.
This greed did not cease.
An addiction of it was from them released.
The beast began to roar.
Making demands within its den.
Not only did it begin to offend.
Unwisely it began to destroy...
The goodwill felt,
Amongst its own fellowmen.
Ending all respect that had been given.
'That's a nice story, grandpa.
Can we get another cookie? '
Even the sweet taste of the cookies...
Were slowly suspended,
From the children's memories.
'Tch!
Will you stop teasing, grandpa.
Give us the cookies.'
Even the sweet taste of the cookies...
Were slowly suspended,
From the children's memories.
'Look, old man.
We ain't playing.
Give up the goods! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Happiness
after a hard day's work
you keep all things in order
pack up your things
and close the cabinets
make some notes
for tomorrow's work again
you pass by the bakery
buy some cookies
enough for the little money
you save for the day
you walk you way towards home
and there they are
meeting you
by the door in your little house
waiting
your dogs
with tails swaying
hugging your legs
eating your bread.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of Cookies... and smiling
It’s not the way that
the cookie crumbles that matters….
Nor more important is where
the cookie crumbs scatters
It’s inevitable that
the cookie will shatter
It’s an immutable fact
So what does it matter?
No…Its not the way that
Your cookie crumbles that matters
And only a little more so
Of where the cookie crumbs scatter
What’s most important about cookies…
A fact that is so simple and sublime
Is that the people who get their cookies……often
Seem to Go about smiling… most of the time
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's Very Rare That Cookies Would Leave Lips Unlicked
Desired wishes to keep things the way they are...
Is as foolish as an adult,
Putting dentures under a pillow...
And hoping the tooth fairy will leave,
At least twenty dollars for a row of false teeth.
To be deluded with disappointment,
Is hard to overcome when someone has this belief!
And this is the crisis...
Although exaggerated,
Some employing these devices face.
They have been abandoned to deal with unexpected realitlies,
Even though signs of them coming...
Had been quickly from their minds erased.
Leaving those with preferances...
With choices to dunk their cookies,
In fresh white milk!
Or secret wishes to dip into chocolate,
Day or night.
And no one to recommend which to dismiss.
And 'if' sins committed can be exposed for what they are,
From pulpits!
And such activities found delicious and admitted...
Whether or not consented and/or sneaked!
Then why must a thrusting done and covered up,
Can not be happily enjoyed under wet and heated sheets?
Without a guilt that comes to disturb one's sleep.
'I don't understand this at all! '
Cookies tasted in the dark...
Delivers a spark better enjoyed,
When the absence of light prevents a thorough examination.
It's very rare that cookies would leave lips unlicked,
And the beauty of mystery,
Is to let it sit until it finally disconnects from a mysteriousness...
If allowed to be left alone!
'Oh...
I see!
That is as clear as roasted pudding! '
Roasted pudding?
Ugh.
'Turn off the light.
Goodnight! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I can't convince you to put the drink down if you're an alcoholic, you have to want to do that. I can't convince you to stop eating the cookies when you're a diabetic. You have to do that. And that takes responsibility.
What if it rains?
A farmer sows the seed
Even if he doesn't know whether it will rain or not
He waits for the rain,
Patiently hoping that the clouds will come
That the rain will come
What if it doesn't rain?
It is painful to wait for the dark without clouds
You never know whether you should continue waiting or not
As the dark approaches without the cloud,
You can't help but ask yourself one question,
What if it doesn't rain?
What if it rains?
What if the seed becomes a tree?
What if the fruit grows and the birds build nests
What if the cooing of doves is heard in the land?
The dark is without clouds
But the farmer continues waiting
Hoping it will rain
If it does not rain
The seed will eventually die but the farmer will not
poem by Philani Zincume
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The Heavy Rain
the heavy rain makes you stop
and you knock on my door
and i open it, and then we
talk about a lot of things about
us, our family, our lands and
ways of surviving the hardships
of this present day life, i offer
you coffee and cookies and
we talk some more about
the future, politics and economics
and religion and philosophy and
poetry. And then the rain stops.
the conversation ends. You
say thank you.You are leaving
now. You are like the rain.
I am like the door. We are
like the conversations. And
we know when to stop and
where to begin again. It is
the heavy rain. It stopped.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Til' Santa's Gone
now i'm only five years old
I've got to do just what i'm told
'cause santa claus is gonna be dropping in on me
Now is there something i might have missed
I had quite a few things on my list
I hope he can fit it all under that christmas tree.
Now i know what he like for a late night snack
For years now it's been bringing him back
Milk and cookies
He'll come and go without a sound again
But how in the world does he get in
Ain't got a chimney
Close my eyes and concentrate
Try to sleep it's getting late
All night long i lie awake
Till santa's gone i just can't wait
Now is there something i might have missed
I had quite a few things on my list
I hope he can get it all under that christmas tree.
Sneak a peek down the hall
I've got to check now i don't recall
The milk and cookies
I think i'm sure i got it all
Stockings hung a-long the wall
Ain't got a chimney
Close my eyes and concentrate
I gotta sleep now it's getting late
All night long i lie awake
Till santa's gone i just can't wait
Just can't wait, just can't wait
Could there be something i might have missed
I had quite a few things on my list
I hope he can fit it all under that christmas tree.
I hope he can fit it all under my christmas tree.
Spoken:
Let's see, i know he can fit...he can fit the airplane under there. he can
Get the bicycle in there
And the...and the gum ball machine and don't know what he's gonna do with
That horse.
song performed by by Clint Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Land Called Hope
Far across the sea of suffering
lies, a land called hope
where our dreams lay sleeping
waiting for our wake up call.
We rise and stretch every morning,
hoping to stretch across that sea
and grasp one of our sleeping dreams
from that land called hope.
Each day we fail to reach it
while it is only inches away,
but our day will come.
Our arms will stretch
far within its shore
and pluck one
of our sleeping dreams
from that land called hope.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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