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Sparrow Jul 23
I remember walking back from school
the tenner for the bus ride in my pocket
There would be a row over why I had taken so long
But I'd gulp the sondesh down, and it'd be forgotten

The grey haired proprietor of the sweetmeat store
wore a perennial smile on his face
And sometimes I wondered if he had ever been sad
How could he with those sweets on his silver trays?

I learned to grasp the concept of gravity
when a piece of sweetmeat went down my throat
And then a lesson on quick mathematics
when the shopkeeper stretched his palm for what I owed

But sadly the chemistry book had no formula for me
to turn sugar and milk to that special treat
The report card was skewed, and the scolding that ensued
Was only remediated by my favourite sweet
Throwback to college days when I used to miss home :(

My love for sweets hasn't faded all this time
I'll just cross my fingers and hope you like this rhyme
Evan Mar 25
welcome to spring
the pastels are
seen everywhere
adults cheer up
the children while
dressing up as white rabbits.
some don’t even
feel that love at home
so they enjoy this
holiday of
chocolate candies,
sugary candies,
and happiness
when they can.
they take their woven baskets,
ready for running on
the grass and
finding plastic
egg shells
filled with goodies.
people don’t even
think about easter
as such a holiday,
some think of it as
a fun day for
sweets and running.
do some people really
miss out on such
activities to hide
the scars they wear
on their body?
sorry, just a thought
Vladimir Dec 2018
She’s bitter-sweet, or maybe sour or sugary;
She’s like a pickle, dipped in chocolate seas;
She’s like an ocean of calm, but often seething,
Like ice cream, mixed with mustard – tasty, surely.

She’s cute as panthers, tame as lions, kind as rhinos;
But whether savage, ornery or sweet –
Of all my lands and kingdoms she’s a Queen;
She is a girl – for “loud out crying…”

The humor is, perhaps, a bit abstract,
But simply put – she’s her, a Queen, a Lady;
And simply perfect – any era, any language,
And lovable, though luckily – not tractable…

To find another – quite impossible, to wit:
She’s more than all the verses on my palette.
For an adventurer’s insatiable palate,
She is a Goddess. We’re Gods – and meant to win!
Kit Scott Dec 2018
It’s like lilacs dancing on your tongue
Like lush, rose-coloured sugar plums
Anya Oct 2018
A glance
The little black figures
words
lines
of endless text
pass me by
my eyes
seeing nothing
but little
black
lines
shapes
dots
stripes
crosses
...
A stick
slathered in
nutella
chocolate, and hazelnut
the sweet
makes
me
numb
The crunch makes me
succumb
...
The sounds
pelting me
commands
inquiries,
things to do
things to hear
So
Much
Noise
Information
being blown away
in the wind
past my
unresponsive
ears
A lone
buzz takes
over
...
The sprite
gluggs down
my
esophagus
Burns
my lungs
A crinkle
from the now,
empty
bottle
...
The led
****** my fingers the
keys click clikety click as I
tap tapety tap
poke
****
the computer keys the
piano keys
ting
tingety ting
as I push
press
Smooth
that little piece of dirt I
rub rub Rub RUB
scratch SCRATCH
...
The frozen
unbelievable painfully
sweet sweetness
numbs my
tongue
cream
cold as
ice freezes
my brain
My brain
My brai
My bra
My br-
My b-
B-
b-
B-
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb
...
...
...
Envelop­ed
in a blanket of
sweetness
my tongue is all I know
as I
Binge
To
Ecstasy
It's a strange feeling I've tried to inscribe onto these pages. A bit dark, obsessive, attempting to numb obligation with food, some OCD in there. But all of these are maybes, interpret it as however you'd like I hope you find it interesting.
rory Oct 2018
anything sweet
is his
kryptonite
it sounded like a rhyme in my head but not anymore? my boyfriend loves sweets more than he loves me sometimes!
Charlotte Aug 2018
I’ve heard that some see the world in poetry,
And that some see the world in prose.
Some stop to cry out “Oh, woe is me!”
Some just think “Welp, that’s just the way life goes.”

Some things just don’t go the way you plan,
Some things just fall apart or they break,
Baked goods aren’t always perfect out of  the pan.
Think your life is bad? Someone else’s may take the cake.

Sometimes life really is awful, it’s okay to complain,
Sometimes the more one runs, the more one tumbles,
We often get bruised and feel all kinds of pain,
But alas, sometimes the ball just fumbles,
And we watch the way the cookie crumbles.

The cookie always crumbles in uneven fragments,
So naturally someone always get a bigger piece,
But I’ve found that life has a way of finding its balance,
And when I am alone at night, it brings me peace.
Bansi Adroja Aug 2018
We were addicted to strawberry creams
And lemon sherbets
Searching for anything with a sugar rush

Our jumpers tied around our waists
Dragging textbooks and revision notes
Across gravel on summer days
Counting down till it would all be over

There was a world out there
With dragons and knights in shining armour
Or pant suits and project meetings
Depending on who you asked
Or who you were at the time

We wore black and talked about death
Or wished the short days wouldn’t end
At the back of the music block where no one would see
The smell of cigarette smoke on our breath
First kisses and first heart breaks were had

A life time ago but we still have strawberry creams
and those lemon sherbets
A Poem a Day : Eight
Ffion Jones May 2018
Everywhere we look,
There are sprinkles scattered across the sky
Marshmallow trees that tower over us
And grass made of fruit laces which
entangles us together, forever.

I pick a flower for you that smells like jelly beans,
Reminding us of our youth, our colour.
Strawberry-scented birds swoop around us,
Laughing and singing in angel delight while
blueberry bees buzz in return.

I turn to look into your chocolate brown eyes which
melt into bliss,
But beware of such sweetness as it can become
so sour.
I wrote this poem years ago and yet it's now become relevant to my personal life... who knew I'd be foreshadowing my own future?
Samantha Mar 2018
How does chocolate come from trees?
Could it be enjoyed by bees?
How would it cause illness to a cat?
Isn't it too tasty to do that?
A rather boring poem, but I wrote this in fifth or sixth grade, so I'm proud of it.
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