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laura Aug 2018
the cookie is in the cookie jar
the cookie is now a picture
the cookie monster tries to steal the cookie but

the cookie monster is now a kitchen appliance
loading the cookies into it, and pouring the jar
of pictures out into the sink

the cookie monster wants to scream
but his eyes are now made of cookies
and the stars now descend upon the earth

outside the kitchen window
an old man weeps while his son watches
the cookie sun set upon the hills
"hey laura post a weird poem
Victoria Ruth Jul 2014
“An old love will come back to you,”
said my fortune on the table,
but does my fortune cookie know
that I’m emotionally unstable?

“Learn Chinese- Expensive.”
that’s the word my cookie taught
but does my fortune cookie know
I had to sell all I had bought?

“Lucky number 41”
the first number that was listed
the exact amount left in my wallet
now isn’t that twisted?

“Lucky number 5”
the number of deaths I faced,
does my fortune cookie know
they’ll never be erased?

“Lucky number 12”
the 12th glass I am drinking,
does my fortune cookie know
the drunk thoughts I am thinking?

“An old love will come back to you,”
that’s what my fortune said,
but does my fortune cookie know
my only love is dead?
"An old love will come back to you"
LEARN CHINESE- Expensive (guî)
Lucky Numbers 41, 33, 56, 5, 12, 31
Memphis Ghosts Jan 2016
There's something about a cookie cutter that many people like. How perfect it is, how it's handy and controlling, how it's the regular norm for a normal family.

So, they believe, "maybe my kid can be the same". Maybe they can transfer their kids perfectly in life like a cookie cutter can with dough.

But in all reality, not everyone fits that cookie cutter mold. So, they are forced, being shoved into the cutter and broken in the process, leaving them perfect but bruised.

Then once that dough is baked and life is towards its end, they are thrown away as they aren't perfect like all the rest. They are cracked and crumbled. Though, mom still continues, shoving her little dough boy or girl into the cookie cutter, trying to get a new one perfect since she threw away the last... But alas..this one is different too.

In an imaginary world, the mother would have thrown away the cookie cutter and loved the dough the way he or she was.. But instead this is reality, where being cookie cutter perfect is the only option.
Just some thoughts...
dennis gunsteen Aug 2010
i'am saveing  a cookie for santa
on this christmas day
he my special friend.
he bring joy an love
to all us    little boys an girls.
on this christmas day.
so i'll  save a cookie for santa
on this christmas day.
he bring toys an joy,
to a  child heart.
at christmas time,
he my   special angel
hope ,joy an love
so i'll save  some milk an cookie
for santa at christmas time.
he bring joy an love to every
child heart.
he's god special angel .
on this christmas day
so i'll save some cookie an milk
for santa  on this christmas day.
merry christmas  special  my angels
of my heart.
my lovely momy an dady.
i love you  so much  momy  an dady.
thank you being god's  special
angels of hope love  joy
on this christmas day.
so save some cookie for
santa . momy dady.


repeat  verse  4 time that the song.


SHARE THIS WITH EVERYONE
md-writer Mar 9
Up on Grandma's kitchen shelf,
a temptation crocked and lidded
tight:
her cookie jar, it beckons me,
well-worn, once-cracked, now-mended -
not with mud new-daubed,
but gold
in every crack

it gleams;

but that is not the treasure
that has seized my heart.

Nay. The treasure is inside.

One time only did I reach within,
one time many-scolded.

"Not for you," she muttered,
gummy, toothless, ancient hag;
"Not for you," she growled.

"Not for any fingers seeking just to
fill their ******* mouths."

And I wondered as she said it,
as I've wondered always since,
at the force and heart within her words,
for the cookie jar was spent.

Empty. Not a crumb inside
- I felt it all around -
empty, all the cookies gone,
to places I had never trod
- in waking hours at least.

Empty - not a crumb inside, but...
...something brushed by me.
Warm and soft and...
...gentle,
like an angel's kiss, or wing;
the golden glitter of a teardrop as it
hangs in sunlit dream.

That - that feeling
is what brushed against me
(wrist-deep and guilty) in my
Grandma's cookie jar.

She bound the jar with leather
and shelved it up much higher,
and scolded me from morning until night.
But heart aflame and
eye caught in wonder,
the magic had bound me up
tight.

I dared not take it down again,
I dared not wrest it's slumber
with another groping, clumsy
hand;
but my eye and heart were on it
and as years passed,
hunger grew.

+

When Grandma died - a miracle,
considering her spells -
at last I dared to keep the jar,
up on my own cook-shelf.
And slowly I unbound it,
leather strap by leather strap,
as the days turned into winter
and the star-symphony danced.

Three years it took to free that
crock
(her spells had hardened
by some brew brought on by
death),
and when it sat untarnished, free,
once more the gold
did glew.

Humble earthen vessel, uplifted
by destruction
and the searing introduction of a molten,
fiery grace:
a simple cookie jar it was,
(this I knew)
and empty as a floor too-swept and clean.

Yet still I longed to feel the
brush of life once more,
glimmering like a secret in
the depth of that fair jar.

So I dipped one little finger in,
crossed the plane marked by it's mouth,
and waited for the magic of
the past.

It came near by gradual nibbles, a skitter-fly
ashamed
to be acknowledged, so it seemed;
but gradually one finger became two,
two three,
and three a hand.

Skitter-fly no longer, the golden pulse
it surged,
stronger by a hundred-fold
than ever I felt before;
and coiled betwixt my fingers
like a honey-snake
and warm.

I knew it then, the cookie jar,
and the cookie jar knew me.

Desire birthed and twirling,
fostered long, but now set free.

I sighed and let the crocken lid
fall back down in its place,
plunged once more the jar in black, and
emptied now for me, it sat
up on my cook-*** stack,
and winked no more
- no more for me.

After that I set a rule up,
for small-kin in my home,
that the cookie jar was sacred,
as it was in Grandma's time.
And any hand that snatched from it,
would turn-about be smacked.

+

And then I sat and waited
for a grubby little hand,
to reach down into empty space
and spark again
the gloam.
PrttyBrd Aug 2010
Gramma always had cookies in her cookie jar
No one ever ate them but me
The jar was her self-portrait
The silvery bun was it's lid
The slight clanging of it as it opened or closed
The smell of it
Even the thought of it,
filled me with joyous anticipation
of its internal goodness
When I was sad, or did a good job
When I worked hard, or was a good helper
When I was sick, or had a rough day
But particularly when I was in trouble
That is when it was most special
She would sneak me off to the kitchen
With a steady hand, like that of a surgeon
She would lift that lid slow and steady without a sound
A feat I have yet to accomplish
Then, in silent winks and sideways glances
When the coast was clear
I got to choose a decidedly undeserved treat
It was in the belly of that cookie jar
That I learned that she would always love me
No matter what

That cookie jar, abandoned and dusty upon a shelf
Recently found and cleaned
Laid in wait upon the table
It had been weeks sitting silent before my visit
I noticed it the moment Ma opened the door
Before the hugs, "hello"
We reminisced about that old empty jar
The jar that never matched her kitchen
The one that was poorly painted by hand
To her its beauty was hideous
She obviously did not know the secrets it held
Our secrets, mine and Gramma's
Happy to be rid of it,
The torch has been passed
As it takes its place of honor in the center of the counter
I notice that its yellow dress and red apron
Match my yellow walls and the red flecks in my curtains
It is at home in my kitchen
Even if my kitchen was purple
Now, its lessons of unconditional, eternal love
Are to be bestowed, unknowingly to my children
They will learn just how much a cookie can fix
And the secrets that are kept deep within
The belly of the cookie jar
copyright©PrttyBrd 18/08/2010
Lee  Sep 2011
Cookie Cut Outs
Lee Sep 2011
originality. its become a long lost art

so don’t expect this to come from my heart

all the cookie cut out people, with their cookie cut out jobs

and their cookie cut out problems, their cookie cut out sobs

i’m not a real person, and neither are you

its a ***** to admit, but you know its true

we’re all raised to grow up and get paid

so one day a girl will show up to get laid

have a few kids, and the love starts to fade

it makes me want to puke, and call out for aid

but i’m bakin’ in the oven, can’t ******’ see out

so i’ll try to keep on lovin’, and try not to pout

tears start to pour, like god turned on the spout

cause i can’t figure out what this life’s about

so god if you hear this i think i’m about done cookin’

but i bet your almighty nothingness aint even lookin’

cause we’re all alone in this world, trying to find our way

and if we’re lucky, we’ll make it thru to the end of the day

an accountant or some ****, man whatever pays

this hypocritical cookie’s getting lost in a maze

there’s no need for creativity when all that matters is productivity

and i’ll speak but won’t dare to act, is that a product of inactivity?

**** the world, man i say tupac had it right

thats all i can say, already given-up this fight
mk  Jan 2017
breakfast
mk Jan 2017
We order a mushroom-cheese omelet

Now see you’re the kind of guy who eats jam on toast
And I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t eat toast as all
So when the plate comes, I give you both pieces of toast
And you spread the strawberry jam on it
While I’m busy cutting the omelet in half
But before taking a bite of anything
We both pick up a hashbrown simultaneously
As if somehow we’d planned the entire thing
And we both take a bite of it and
We love it
It’s cooked to perfection and potatoes are my weakness
Back to the omlet though,
So I’m not that great at cutting
And the omelet cut unevenly in half
So you take the smaller piece
Even though you’re bigger than me
And I steal the bigger piece
Even though I’m smaller than you
And you eat your half in three bites
While I’m struggling with mine
And the string cheese is caught somewhere between
My fingers, my mouth and the plate
And it takes me a while to eat
About twenty bites in, there’s no way I can eat more
So I ask you to eat what’s leftover
I guess I should have given you the bigger half to begin with
But I guess that’s just how we work
Where you’ll always take the smaller portion
But end up eating most of the food
Because I’ll always take the bigger portion
And leave most of it untouched
You eat my leftovers in two bites
And the coffee arrives
I almost knock over your espresso
While reaching for the complimentary cookie
I eat my cookie
And then I eat half of yours too
And by this time I’m pretty full
But I see a sign for a free cookie
And I want it
You don’t really care for it but you laugh
Because you haven’t seen me want anything as bad
As the cookie (it's free!)
And so you get me the free cookie
And I’m too full to eat it
So I put it in my bag
Very proudly; it’s my success for the day
I finish my Americano faster than you finish your single shot espresso
So you give me a sip of yours
But you drop a few drops on me
And now my pants look like they have blood stains
And I smell of espresso
And you’re trying to clean it with a tissue
But the waiter thinks we’re doing something naughty
So I tell you to stop
And even if we were doing something naughty
Who’s the waiter to say anything anyways
Anyways
So we finish out coffee and we call for an uber
And my pants are stained
And I’m carrying my cookie
And I don’t think I’ve ever been happier
While we wait for the uber
You steal my glasses
And you try them on
They look funny on you
I like them on you
I think I like you
And you can’t see anything
And I can’t see anything either
Except for your outline
That’s enough for me
So the uber comes
And he calls us
And we’re leaving
At the counter you pay
And I see a Nutella cookie in the window
I want it
But you just paid for breakfast
So I’ll keep quiet
We sit in the car
And I put on pomegranate lipbalm
And I give you some too
Your lips look nice and soft now
And I think today has been a really great day
And I think you fit me well
Because you love toast and I leave toast
And it works out
(except for that baked tomato no one ate)
But look the point is
Is that we work
Well.
And we squish in the back of an uber
And guess what?
The seat was made for two.

We ordered a mushroom-cheese omelet
It was a good day
-***
--- Sep 2013
I run from love
I run to love.
I run from hate
Yet I accept it all the same.
Love is always good
And hate is always bad.
Wouldn't you agree?
Love is complete joy and acceptance
Willing to sacrifice yourself
And that's not even necessarily your life.
Jumping in front of a bullet isn't easy
But it's easier than changing your schedule
At times.
Hate is always bad
So why is it acceptable to hate
The people who've hated the most?
We can't learn from mistakes
Or just move on without acknowledging them?
Well, I'm a firm believer
That cookie dough is always good.
Except when it makes you sick.
Tastes like salmonella.
But cookie dough is still always good.
Except when it makes you fat.
But
Cookie dough is still always good.
Except when you don't get any cookies.
Cookie dough tastes better anyway.
Simoun Pelagio Dec 2014
Cookie Crumble, why are thee sad?
Rookie Rumble, are you the one  responsible?
Yes, i have i did everything that made Cookie Crumble sad
Why Rookie Rumble, why did you make Cookie Crumble sad?

- - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -- - - -- - -   -- - - - -- - - --  - -- - - -- - - -- - - -- - - - -- - - - -- - -

" beacuse i've always loved you , Cookie Crumble

— The End —