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Brent Kincaid Nov 2016
I love chocolate chip cookies
Be they soft or be they crunchy
They are my favorite munchie.
I love them by the pound.
The best snack around.
My love for these cookies
Surpasses my love of ice cream.
They are more than what they seem.
They make my day and then more so.
Even though they make my **** grow.

Chocolate chip cookies
They are my very best friends.
I am sure these cookies
With stick with me to the end.
I can count on them to please me.
Cookies never ever tease me.

I love chocolate chip cookies
Whether they are baked at home
Or just purchased on the roam.
If they are professionally made,
Gifted to me or I have paid.
Nothing else tickles me so much.
I start giggling when I first touch
Those delightful little sweet plops.
Don’t bother calling the calorie cops.

Chocolate chip cookies
They are my very best friends.
I am sure these cookies
With stick with me to the end.
I can count on them to please me.
Cookies never ever tease me.

I love chocolate chip cookies
I know it started when I was a kid;
What those rolls of dough did
To me was transform me instantly
Almost to carbohydrate insanity.
I could eat as many as I touched;
I loved them just exactly that much
And it continued on into adulthood.
Chocolate chip cookies are that good.

Chocolate chip cookies
They are my very best friends.
I am sure these cookies
With stick with me to the end.
I can count on them to please me.
Cookies never ever tease me.
Cookies, Cookies which ones to make?
Cookies, Cookies which ones to bake?
Is it oatmeal for him? sugar for me?
Ooh! these jam ones look scrumptious (in the picture) you see?
Will it be bran for momma, or peanut butter for sis?
Oh, I could cook them all and someone's favorite still miss.....
I could wash, and I could dust & sweep and mop , till i'm dead,
but alas, if you watch, I'll be baking instead because I have cookies in my head.
Cookies, Cookies, which ones to make
Cookis, Cookies, which ones to bake?
Happiness
,
Just a silly poem from years gone by when my miracle son was a toddler, and i was filling the time at home.
bekka walker  May 2014
cookies
bekka walker May 2014
I could just **** as I masochistically type your name into the search bar at the top of the page.  
I want to erase you from my memory,
but my browser catches your cookies.
I don't even know what those cookies are.
the cookies from the jar?
the cookies from my mind?
the cookies from my computer...
the cookies you ate that one time.
Oreos.
Those were your favorite.
Who the **** brought up cookies?
I could just **** as I masochistically type your name into the search bar at the top of the page.
please excuse me while i go ****
SS  Jun 2013
it's not worth it
SS Jun 2013
Buddha (may or may noy have-its controversial) once said, “Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”  I am a strong believer in this statement.  For as long as I can remember, I have never been able to hold a grudge.  The longest timeframe that I have ever been upset with a person was twenty hours.  I counted back the hours because at the time, I realized that the anger was not worth it.  Being angered by people’s thoughts and actions is a frustrating thing, and in my opinion is not worth any of the stress. Anger is a poison to the body, and causes more stress and pain to yourself than to the person you are upset with.  As a relatively positive person, I have managed to stay as happy and grateful as I can no matter the circumstance. However, I was not always this way.
As a toddler I would get easily frustrated with the smallest things. When I would get upset I would begin having labored breaths, and my chest would tighten.  Sweat would begin beading down my face, and my little fists would contract and expand periodically.  The smallest things could set me off, such as not being able to listen to my own cassettes in the car on the way home from church, or rainy days when I would want to play outside.  Bed times and naps made me want to pull my hair out.  Controlled and healthy snack alternatives would make me zip my lips tight and had me throwing away the imaginary key to the lock that secured my lips against the unnaturally orange carrots.
On a different note, my grandfather on my mothers’ side was my babysitter/partner in crime/best friend as a child and he could bake the best sugar cookies on the planet.  I kid you not.  I always loved having them, and whenever I spent the day with my grandfather, we had to bake sugar cookies.  Days spent with him were always good days, and I loved listening to his stories he would make up about grand princesses and strong princes in far off lands.  My grandfather had been diagnosed with a severe form of diabetes and had several heart attacks and seizures as I was a child, and he was told to stay away from all unhealthy snacks and things with high sugary content.  My mother soon turned into a mother bear and would carefully watch over my grandfathers’ diet, because she was frightened she would lose her father.  As a child, I did not understand their conversations fully and never realized that my grandfather stopped baking and eating snacks because he was not allowed to eat these things.  I would throw the biggest tantrums for his cookies, and generally he would give into my constant bickering and give in to his cravings for sugar.  We would bake, and in the end my mother was always upset with my grandfather for eating sugar, and I was told that sugar was bad for Poppy (that was my nickname for him).  I did not understand how sugar could be bad at that age, because it tasted so good.  I constantly craved the way that the cookies practically melted in my mouth after being taken out of the oven.  I did not mind a temporarily scorched tongue if it meant getting my grubby hands onto those cookies as soon as I could.
One Sunday evening, Mommy and Daddy had a church meeting to attend to after the main service, so Poppy was in charge of me for the evening.  He took me home, and was asked to take care of me for the day.  I begged, screamed, twisted, and shouted for the heavenly cookies that I had not had in what seemed like ages to my childish mind, but Poppy did not budge.  “The answer was, is, and will forever remain to be no, pumpkin.” He calmly spoke to me. I could not wrap my mind around the fact that my Poppy had said no to the cookies.  I remember my chest beginning to feel tight, the labored breathing, and the light headedness that came afterwards as if it was yesterday.  Hot tears streamed down my chubby face, my bottom chin popped out, and my lower lip accentuated until I had a full on pout formed.  ‘No’ just was not in my vocabulary, at least not for that day.  I became so upset with my Poppy and my chest began to hurt so badly that I could not bear to see his face any longer.  I shouted at the top of my lungs, “I HATE YOU!”  I ran up my stairs and locked myself in my room for the remainder of the day and did not bother to come out until the next morning. That next morning my mom received a phone call at 7 AM.  My poppy had gotten a heart attack at about 6:20 that morning and was pronounced dead at the hospital at 6:54 AM.  Help was not reached in time to heal him.
The last thing I said to my poppy was that I hated him.  I will always remember that.  The fury I felt over something as trivial as cookies makes me so frustrated with myself, because in the end I only upset myself more.  Being angry with people does not hurt them nearly as much as it hurts you.  People are not always out looking for intentional ways to upset you, and in fact most humans nowadays only seek acceptance from others.  Whenever I am upset with someone, I always try and look through their eyes to see where they are coming from and what made them do such a thing to upset me.  The girl who called me a mean name? She had been abused at home and the only way she could uplift herself was by putting others down.  The boy who did not like me in the seventh grade?  His mother walked out on him as a child, and he has not trusted women since.  People constantly think that the only opinion that is right is their own, and if someone upsets them that person should disappear forever and feel incredibly horrible about upsetting you.  In reality, we should try to realize why they are thinking the way that they do.  Being upset with a person does you no good.  Forgiveness is always the answer, because you may not realize it at the time, but people generally get upset over the most trivial things that they will not remember anything about twenty years from now.  The anger you feel for a person is not nearly as strong as the anger they had for you when they did whatever it is they did to upset you.  
Anger poisons your body and never makes the other person feel any less sympathetic about what they did.  It only makes you worry more about the past things that you can do nothing about.   “Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”  It has been twelve years since my Poppy passed away, and no matter who actually said it, I am still a strong believer in that statement.
This isn't really a poem.  I just needed to let this out somewhere.  Thank you for reading, who ever you are.
John Niederbuhl  Dec 2017
Cookies
John Niederbuhl Dec 2017
Soft shapes touch a child's finger,
Memories of their sweetness linger--
Helping grandma roll the dough
In her kitchen long ago.

I like the shape your cookies take
When they spread out as they bake,
Like the changing shapes of crowds,
Melting snow or summer clouds.

Oven-hot and placed on racks,
Lined up , lying on their backs,
Coming from a single batch,
But none of them a perfect match.

Toll house cookies, soft, convex,
Each perfection, like the next:
Chocolate chips their surface grace--
Freckles on a child's face.

Pecan ball aren't perfect spheres,
But they're gentle little dears:
Bottoms flat, sides dented slightly,
With white sugar sprinkled lightly.

Sugar cookies cold days cheer,
Shaped like angles and reindeer
Glazed with frosting sweet and white,
Decked with sprinkles all delight.  

Santa's Whiskers, coconut rolled,
Long fat logs of sugared dough,
Cut in portions smooth and round,
Pecan bits, cherries abound.  

Molasses crinkles' faces lined
Like old men's--the friendly kind--
With lines like back roads on a map,
Dunked in milk before a nap.

Oatmeal cookies, shapes amorphous
Juicy raisins budge enormous,
Semi-blobs, their texture rough,
Sometimes packed with nuts and stuff.

So many cookies through our life,
Since we became husband and wife,
In their sweet aroma and taste
Years rushed by like cars in a race.

Looking at their shapes diverse
Reminds me of our love at first:
We weren't sure just where we'd go
And all we had was cookie dough.
For my wife, who was born this time of year
Raven Aug 2018
Normally
Cookies
Are seen as sweet
As something
For a child to enjoy
Or at least that's the stereotype

And normally
Wine
Is seen as bitter
And something
For grown ups to enjoy
Or at least that's the stereotype

But
Children are now drinking wine
And
Adults are eating cookies

Adults look the other way about the children
With wine

And children look the other way about parents
Eating cookies they can't have

Why have things turned around?

Why have things changed?

Maybe because the children saw adults
Using wine
To dull pain
And so they tried it
Even though the aftermath
Was also painful
It was less painful than the rest of the world

And maybe because parents realized that if they put *** in their cookies
The children would stop stealing
And sneaking them

But both have backfired

Because now the children have more problems than before
August/23/2018
Chris Schop  Apr 2014
Bar-Cookies
Chris Schop Apr 2014
Grandma's in the kitchen today
With a bunch of dough and butter.
I see the dough, so there I stay,
Watching her cut the dough with a cutter.
I knew what she was making now,
A batch of cookies, for the house.
I instantly thought about the 'wows'
Which would come from all over the house.

But as I looked at the cookies,
They seemed to be square, and very thick.
"I know!", I thought with a big smile,
"Grandma's making some bar-cookies!"
So with a big grin, I sat down,
And indulged with joy, not a frown.
A poem about bar-cookies (The square, thick, delicious ones). It's in a form of a sonnet, but it isn't so musical. Or is it?
Sometime everybody's gonna throw you down
Talk **** and look at you as a clown
Life is just a big bowl of soup
Everyone's in a group and I'm siting in ****
Well I couldn't give a ****
And I wouldn't give a ****
People spike their ego and stick to it

There wasn't a clue
Not a person knew
Emotions were starving
When I needed help, I used to look for you

It's like you didn't exist
Not a single trace
Wish I could still say a lil' somethin' to your face

Always when I needed you, you were never there
You were living a dream and I was in a nightmare
Everyone is never who they seem
You and I were never on the same team
Just sugar coat it with cream

My milk and cookies are there for me
No one else is around
To pick me up off the ground
But I don't give a ****
Cause I got milk and cookies

It's been a while since I heard
Last time it somehow resembled a ****
Things used to be so great
Right before I walked out that gate

This was only a one way ticket
After that all I heard was a cricket

But I still wanted to hold on
I turned to look back but you were gone

This problem was never solved
All my friendships dissolved
Guess I didn't fall in orbit to revolve

My milk and cookies are there for me
No one else is around
To pick me up off the ground
But I don't give a ****
Cause I got milk and cookies

I'll never submit
Cause you'll never admit
To all the *******
These cries seem unfit
all rights reserved
Della N Alcorn  Apr 2014
Cookies
Della N Alcorn Apr 2014
Dipped in milk

Or eaten plain

Chocolate like silk

Cookies&Cream;

Peanut butter

****** Butter

Oreo's

Who to blame

Sneaking in the night

Only for a bite

Sweet and touchy

Creamy and crunchy

Let the sugar rush come

Oh, now hand me a tum

Upset tummy

My nose is runny

What's this i hear?

I can't take sweets as I please?

Oh, come on...

You can't blame the cookies!
This is really childish, so sorry if you don't like it.
Felicia C Jul 2014
You tip my femininity when you scratch my back with your stubble before you shave in the mornings and it is so lovely to be near one who can cry.

You wear heavy boots with the tip of the steel toe showing to match the glint of mischief bouncing off your eyeglass frames and i stand on your toes to kiss you goodnight on my porch in the snow where you brought me oatmeal cookies to talk with you about foundations.

I don’t know if you needed help with that paper, but I certainly needed the cookies.
January 2013
Alma Nkemla Oct 2013
Oh, Cookies
You are the best ever
You have manage to beat icecream
And now you're in my life
Even though I've tasted you once
I knew you were the one for me
Oh cookies
You've changed my life
From boring to loving you
I love you cookies
And I know we'll forever be together
Cookies are powerful things.
Spun of sugar and creams
Passions and dreams
Say yes to the cookie    
I offered t bake them for you
bait - sweet minty chew
Say YES to the cookie
You know I will bring it by
leave the door open like before
I can find you on either floor
Let me know if we need milk
But you must say yes to the cookies
Cause the  Dragon will give you hella munchies!
So please ..say yes to the cookies wink

— The End —