Category: poetry

A map’s a guide to find a world

A map's a guide to find the world

Knitted by angels,plain or pearled.

Yet though you need a map as guide,

Keep your own eyes open wide.


I spent a year caught in a map

Until I found a big enough gap

I crawled out through this exit slit,

So here I am,like some half wit.


Words can act like heroin,

You live so high,where I have been.

But onto earth I gladly fall.

The air, the sun, the rain, is all.


My senses are my lovers long-

My ears,my eyes,my skin my tongue.

The winds caress my naked flesh,

To dwell on earth is all I wish.


I'll live with mice and birds and plants,

I'll share my food with miscreants

I'll keep my words inside a tin,

And only,now and then,go in.


I'll live with cats and spiders three.

And like a wild flower grow quite free.

I' ll give my words to those who hear,

And eventually I'll disappear


Earth to earth then ash to ash

When soaked with rain I shall disperse.

My atoms wing like butterflies,

And to the Flower I'll fly,disguised

Missing

I ‘m missing him like we miss  that lost tooth till the gum heals.
I ‘ve been in the dentist’s chair
Had the anaesthetic but  still  felt the tug  and force.
And the dentist yelled,look at this,
I got it all out in one
You see,the root was very twisted and tangled
I told him,take it away.
I’m missing my other because his absence makes a hole
like that bloody hollow in your jaw but in the soul.
Came home alone from the clinic
Felt that  soul hole.The first time
when he wasn’t here.
God doesn’t do anaesthesia, just burns the bush
I’m missing him because he needed me so much
Now nobody needs me nor notices if I am here except Alfred
Or if I fall over in the garden,will I die and rot down to the earth before
my neighbour recalls he’s not seen me for three weeks.Or maybe five.
I miss J the way you’d miss your flesh
if someone shot you with a rifle and made a tunnel through your body;
took out a lump which would hurtle away and fall to earth.
I’m missing his honey smell.
the knowledge,the feeling  he had of me.
The hole in my space is almost tangible
in this room.
I wake up and wonder what he’d like to eat today.
But the dead don’t eat at our tables do they?
I remember I  am alone at the table and I can eat whatever I like.
Oh,love,why did you down so fast?When you were the one,solid I leaned on.You were my man and you are gone

We don’t know ourselves

Photo0781Oh how I long,I long  to meet with you

Beside the lilac filled with honey dew.

I’d hold you gently in my arms and say

You are me and I’m in love today.

Where is the wickedness in l oving all our self?

Even in the night and when it’s done with stealth?

I dream, I speak and understand myself

Enriched forever with this new and  precious wealth

And then I’ll love my neighbour if he’s very kind

And if he has a free and open mind.

For if we love ourselves we are relaxed

And so we need to make no cold attacks.

was in fragments lying on the ground

Until these bits a passing angel found

I was put into a kiln to bake

Thus now I am a brick or maybe a sponge-cake.

Let’s enjoy our humour as we come and go

And as the laughter starts yet tears may flow.

For I was you and you were me not long ago

Accept our losses as we onward flow…

The river runs,the clouds blow by

The heavens open yet my mouth is dry.

Don’t ask a question that begins with why.

Remember just we live and then we die.

Oh,send me roses and your orchids wild

I have loved flowers since I was a child

So when I die, let them die too

First covering me in scent and fragrant dew.

To mystery and darkness we are sent at last

As nightfall comes and our day has passed.

To dreams of heaven and the long ago

When Eden was on earth and gentle winds did blow

A sentence is heard,

Is the mind quite distinct from the brain?

I ask myself over again.

But answer comes not

To this London hot spot….

I avoid metaphysics in vain

We need to boot up our  own brains.

Limericks can take out  some strain.

Write a cute line

Or a sentence divine..

Then  keep writing   until  you’ve no pain

THOUGHTS

WORDS ARE LIKE BEADS ON A CHAIN

1.
Words are like beads on a chain

Alone they can’t take any strain.

But joined up in gold

A sentence can mold

A prayer is repeated again.

2

Words cluster in larger groups

Waiting for writers to stoop..

Then instead of one word

A sentence is heard,

Some call this poetry soup.

3.

Professors do not create words,

which from the unconscious are lured

They only critique

What you and I speak.

After conversing and writing,that’s third.

In this the world of war

I’m afraid  to read what’s happening

My spirit cries and wails

We can’t go on to war,

Might they read the  News in braille?

I am tired of talk of foreigners

Aren’t we  passengers inone boat

So  why  not work with our  love and hope

To keep our sacred world afloat.?

We  shout out prayers and litanies;

We fast and we abstain;

But God is looking down his periscope

And he  says  the Way is plain.

I saw the soldiers  ready with their weapons cocked

For millennia and aeons

For men must prove their potency

Again,again,again.

Now the women have to fight as well

And we wear  big plugs inside  our ears

We restrict our gaze without  the need for scarves

And we deny our fears.

Let them read the News in Babylon

Let them collapse in Jericho

Let the walls be ever built anew

To make old animosities re-grow.

Shout the News in Cyber space

Type it on your blog

What worth is this old human race

In this unholy bog?

I  once held my hands out to you

Across  seas and oceans wide

I sang and told my stories

But your  fighting won’t subside.

My hand is getting weary now

I cannot hold it out much more.

I never felt the warmth of you

Saw an image of closed doors…

So,go  shout it in Jerusalem

We  have so many  Wailing Walls

Go shout it out in Syria

Where was man before the Fall?

The lions lived on weetabix

And the tigers  leaves of grass.

The zebras got  their stripes re-done

But all that men surpass.

When I was a  puking baby

They atom  bombed Japan

Already, Europe’s Jews were gone.

Who was it walked  the Walk of Man?

Read with doubt and look for hidden clues;- Then one day you may find The Real News.

A little knowledge cannot cause us harm

So on that base with certainty we build

For learning has a wonder and a charm

As with new words our avid mind is filled

Poetry and songs can  give us voice

For others who with us share this strange earth

To dwell in silence is a  thoughtful choice

Yet sharing may lead on to  creative  birth.

The news is filled with death and with wrong deeds

Our hearts lurch as we read   cruel sentences

Our minds spin with  a  ghastly , whirling speed

Unable to accept these     pretences

Read with doubt and look for hidden clues;

Then  one day you may find out The News.

Love must be so pliant

Love must be so pliant ,
like a blade of grass,

Bowing to the wind,
till the storm has passed.

Love is enigmatic
Like the sphinx’s smile.

Waiting for an answer,
Nothing is on file.

Love is often near us
Yet we do not see.

Sometimes where we are
Is just the place to be

Be an Other lover,today

  • It seems we all have a touch of narcissism
  • As well as paranoia
  • And grief.
Sometimes it’s hard to realise
that other people are our equals
in this existence game;
that they each have a mind and world of their own.
But now I think of this,
Isn’t it wonderful that there are all these worlds
And that I’m not the centre of the universe.
And if God cares for a sparrow
I like Him.
Though what He is
Is not expressible in our language.
How dull life would be
If I were the only real person in it
And if I wanted every one to admire me
And think well of me.
And how sweet it is to love an other,
Eye to eye,
Skin to warm skin.
and how the sun was so red at daybreak
and the bare twigs gleamed in its light.
and how precisely you are different from me
Yet I can understand you, at least in part.
We are all absolutely important
And yet paradoxically unimportant.
And how sweet it can be to lose oneself
to become entranced by creation,
Or by a loved one;
By being with children.
Worlds and worlds unfold.
All we need is respect.
Be an other lover,today
.

Values

There is a sense that permeates our souls

That places value on the good of all.

Humankind is viewed then as a whole.

Blame not allocated to  a Fall.

Shall we believe that God can sulk for aeons

That he will torment  creatures for their sin?

Such theories are dilemmas to our brains

And put us in a  race we cannot win.

Should Eve and Adam still be here on earth

If  on that plum they had not sucked and bit?

It makes our lives seem to have little worth

To take this as a given in Holy Writ.

For  life’s for adults, not for girls and boys.

Do “Christian” theories take the place of toys?

Is it stronger to be cruel

hunted  to hunter,no surprise

see themselves in victims’ eyes

want to heal, they want a cure

inflict suffering,can’t endure.

build new walls, recreate the past

cannot wait,must do it fast

relive history in the now

can’t escape,don’t know the how.

evil passes like a gift

race is offered to the swift

why do humans live like fools?

is it stronger to be cruel?

soon we too  must be away

life is over in a day

but while we live let us perceive

we have selves  and they deceive

A fallen tree

The rain fell and the clouds hung overhead

As I walked on the moors to meet my man.

If only we had found a heather bed.

We’d would have done what men and women can.

The sun was absent anf the trees all bowed down

The wettest winter for a hundred years…

Yet full of love ,my face displayed no frown…

My heart was full,and absent any fears.

The moon too was watching as I ran

Her silver crescent pierced the clouds with joy.

I could not wait to meet my loving man.

And with his hands and face I longed to toy.

But when I reached the spot where he would be,

Nothing waited but a fallen tree.

In summertime I love to meditate

How sweet to sit among these luscious trees

Protected from the sun’s too powerful heat

To hear the distant humming of the bees

And for our loving eyes to swiftly meet.

In summertime I love to meditate

to count the breaths as I receive the world

To be united with all beings in this state

The flags of joy are light and soon unfurled

These summer days are long and filled with light

Though storms may come and fill the sky with rage

Small birds then gather for a sudden flight

As I write sentences across this page.

For every season has its light and shade

And for such states we humans are well made

Why do poppies cover the battlefields so politely

P1000207 3

We have to be breathing right to hear
the silence from which all song arises;
we have to be breathing slow
and gently
We have to be breathing right to feel it,
the tenderness in which we are held by nature.
We have to be breathing quiet
and soft
and to be looking receptively,

No desire for  objects

We have to be breathing right to recall it
the music we heard when there was silence.
We have to be being breathed
by the world
We have to be part of the whole..

and so,we forget  it as we are pounded

with  the noise of radios and traffic
and people talking loudly on cell phones
walking by the green fields and river
past the secret heron
and the coots nest
past the daisies

When I am dying I shall think,
Why was I not breathing right?
Why was I scarcely breathing?
Why did I forget those moments?
Why did I not live more deeply?
Why did i not sing more sweetly?
Why did I nor love more dearly?
Why did i not listen more carefully?

Why did I not sing more sweetly?
why did I not see more completely?

Why don’t we talk more gently?
Why don’t we look more intently?

Why were the poppies growing so wildly?
Why were the battlefields growing nightly?
Why did we murder  men so lightly?
Why did we not love more rightly?
Why are the poppies  covering the soil  so  politely?
When did the young  soldiers   leave so frightfully?

Why are we not here  more quietly?

In the land that dreams dwell in

In the land which dreams dwell in

where love and joy and life begin;

how swiftly the deep rivers flow

from those lost lands of long ago.

I wander through wild poppy fields

Underfoot the dark earth yields….

I see the flowering fruit trees start

Their blossoms gather round my heart…

I hear the sparrows sing with joy

And bees their busy wings employ.

In those lost lands I saw your face

And now I long for your embrace.

Are you real,am I deceived?

From this earth we all must leave.

Earth to earth and ash to ash

Glory,pride and boasting pass.

Leave me now,my dearest one

Soon I too will be called on.

Nothing lasts but truth is real

Keep the truth and your ideals..

Earth to earth, we rest in clay

We must give all self away

Softly on this earth I roam

Seeking still my love and home,

for until the very end

Love and kindnss may descend.

Soft as wings of butterflies

Tears well up and wet my eyes.

My heart has melted into yours

Thus we grow and die like flowers

Wednesday limericks

I once fell in love with a Scot.

He made love every hour on the dot.

When I asked for time off

He stifled his wrath.

And  began to drink tea from my pot

I said,in England we drink tea from mugs.

And we keep our milk in a milk jug.

We take sugar too

If we feel super -blue.

Then we go,glug,glug,glug,glug.

Gentlemen like blondes   it is said

Though I prefer jam on my bread.

Men, I adore.

Need I say more?

But now my old man is quite dead.

What makes a poem a poem?

When I was writing this,I could feel myself as a bird  up in the sky looking down at the earth,the hills and the lakes.And I still feel that now.However in my opinion it is not a real poem unless other people also feel something of that when they read it.I find it’s so easy to think you have written something good because you feel  so good  during or after the writing.But that does not mean it is good,objectively.I might feel good mixing up eggs, flour,sugar and butter but if I don’t know how to bake it will  probably not become a cake however good the making feels.I know it’s not exactly the same but I hope you can grasp the point.I suppose it might be true of love as well…Feelings alone are insufficient.

Here is a useful website

http://www.dailywritingtips.com/telling-a-good-poem-from-a-bad-one/

THE LARK

Freed from her trap
Bird soared into air,and hovered
And floated, resting;
And flew higher, singing as she flew,
And higher again,
Till there was only her song,
Left in the silence,
Trembling.
Up on the wide,stump topped hill,
I felt the lark inside my heart
And heard her singing.
And flying up with her,
I saw gold sun and silver moon,
Moors of heather ,and sheep grazing
Green hills,
And shimmering lakes,
Clouds ,sun and sky in watery mirrors.
And sang ,and dipped,and dropped,
And curled
Up the blue
Bright heaven, and rested
On the wind.
All that day
I was a lark singing.
I shall always have a vision of
A bird
That flew upwards,
Rejoicing and free
Into a deep blue sky, and high
And higher
Beyond high
Into a place, beyond eye even,
But music still sending.
I wish I were back on that heathery moor,
With the nibbling sheep and the bees sweetly humming,
Hearing again
The poignant song
Of the skylark,
A prisoner,freed by a magician,
From her trap,
So happy to be free,
So wonderful to see.
Do it again,
For me,

Seen with love

 P1000253

They lay down in awe and fear,

Of what their love was bringing near.
They gazed into each other’s eyes
And so did rhapsodise.

They lay down to gaze into
the eyes and soul and heart so true.
They gazed until,when overcome,
They were united into one.

Their souls and bodies were conjoined,
And thus their hearts were well entwined;
As honeysuckle on the walls,
In joy’s sweet arbours does grow tall.

Their loving lips and eyes and hands
Gave pause to time’s soft flowing sands;
And while they touched and gazed so long,
The birds sang out in glorious songs.

The eyes are mirrors to the soul,
and love will make us grow more whole.
Gaze lovingly on humankind..
And hold care in your mind

All constraints torment me with the blues.

How like a prison is my cublicle..

An open office split by folding walls,

The cries of co-workers,unmusical,

Upon my pained ears unsweetly fall.

I hear them mutter,cough;I hear them fart,

These sounds soothe not my isolated soul

For though I hear them, well  we are apart.

I see no face nor gesture to console.

And should perchance I need to take a piss

I’m loth as I’ve adapted to my bonds.

An ensuite lavatory would be  true bliss;

And save me frightening ducks on yonder pond.

Yet if not this jail, which jail would I choose?

All constraints torment me with the blues.

And if you want to make sweet love ,don’t go where we have gone

Down by the House of Commons
My love and I did roam
We were looking for a Monet
To decorate our home

Down by the Palace Gardens
We went a-walking next
As we believed that in that green
It was good to have sex.

We were caught by the police!
My wife was quite displeased.
“Oh,can we plead not guilty ,sir.
We don’t know where we are!”

Down in the court of magistrates
We were accused of sin.
We stood there in the dock
And hoped that we would win

I thought sin was not a crime!
We crossed that narrow line
But in this country there’s a link
Sin and crime are synched!

We asked to go to Westminster
To confess to a Catholic priest.
We could just take a penance

From him or the police

But the judge was feeling lazy
He sentenced us to death.
And we are going to die because
We wandered from the path.

If you want to get a Monet,
Buy a print from Amazon.
And if you want to make sweet love
Don’t go where we have gone.

For safety lies at home

On a mattress of pure foam

Sheets of cotton newly washed

Like wheat we are all thrashed

Po

Death and loss and grief

When death and loss and grief fill up my heart
And behind an icy wall I am entrapped
Where should my work of holy healing start
Where is the hidden place where loss is mapped?
As on the earth I walk amongst the trees
And on the grass I lay my sleeping head
I make my friends from stinging wasps and bees
Who comfort me on this my own deathbed.
Yet do not sun and moon still shine as bright?
Do not men and women tender lie.
Does not this small glowworm give me light?
Do not courting tom cats saunter by?
With wider vision spreading from my eyes
I see more clearly where my comfort lies

It’s called love

I run my fingers tentatively

down your cheek,

asking you a question

with my eyes.

looking at each other,

you touch me too.

This is my skin

my boundary.

Yours is thicker,

like rubber.

I run my fingers down your chin.

what is this little bone?

I like it.

I like your skin

I like your bones.

I like you.

you please me.

you are tasty.

I like your taste,

your skin,your eyelids.

I like your eye here,

and your other eye too.

Nice one!

I like this hair on your head.

May I touch your hair?

do you like hair?

hair makes me laugh.

I have a fondness for laughing.

I love to laugh.

I enjoy laughter

I love your laughter.

If not, smiling is good also.

Or a gleam in the eyes,

showing the inside smile,

the smiling heart.

I like your inside,

Outside

and possibly

your backside.

your upside and downside.

your side sides.

I snuggle you all around with soft wool.

I knit you into my scarf.

I’ll have to wear you round my neck now!

How unusual

How flexible.

How charming.

How alarming

How creative

How interesting.

What an idea!

what a notion

but you are too big for me to knit

So I’ll just touch your hand

with my fingers.

and you touch my hand

with your fingers.

What good hands we have

with such fingers.

fingers are for touch.

fingers are keen to touch.

I like touch.

what would we do

without fingers?

I like your skin.

skin is good

We love skin

We love.

We.

I want skin to be ours

and yours

is mine

and mine

is yours

where is the edge of the world?

skin has no end

it’s infinity

au naturel.

what order!

what design!

What wonder.

what awe.

where is the world’s skin?

tenderly we touch the world

as the world embraces us.

It’s called love.

Love

Power or love

One’s motivation may be  either love or power.

In truth, it’s there and  plain for all to see.

They  first  admire and plead a lengthy hour

About how sweet one’s offerings would be.

When   persuaded that they are open and  sincere

One sends them poems like the  poems they praised.

Yet their minds  are altered ,and in fear

They shows repulsion where they fondly gazed.

 

To double bind another human soul

To knot    barbed  wire around their  only mind

This action seems not from a human whole

But from a being split and  thence unkind

 

Believe not those who are too quick to praise

Conceal yourself from  charmers and their gaze

How like a bird’s nest is my unmade bed

  • WisleyFeeding

    Photo courtesy of Mike Flemming,Copyright 2015

    How like a bird’s nest is my unmade bed
    As twigs and feathers from my feet did fall.
    I ought to take my shoes off, but instead
    I leave them on or hurl them at the wall.

    As for a lady’s nightgown I do lack,
    And wear old vests my dear husband once loved.
    For ladies’ garments often have no back.
    And fit too tightly, like a rubber glove.

    For pain and torment some will undergo,
    To gain attention from a handsome man .
    Yet love is like a fearsome heavy blow
    Survive it like an act of God unplanned.

    So take life lightly though you are enchained
    As it is short and everything remains

A sound poem

6339939_f520

Ersatz raps

This is meant to be read aloud… it’s a sound poem.I made up some words too..

Source: K

Oh,I see the wolf listening..he’s so gentle or is he decentral?
Oh,Ah,kerbumplof.
Shrieks,calling for mate
Bang my soul up
In your bedroom
Ker pluf
Thor.War
Storms of lightning
Hail you
AAAAAAhhhhhhhhh
Me,oh,me oh,me stuck here in my groove
Give me electric shocks;the silent treatment.Sulk for me, please,Argentina.
Screech,scream,I felt you watching.
Touch me with a feather
Dust me!
Glug!
I see the wasps round your coat
They hug you and nip your neck
Bong!
Don’t come near me again
wolves are not
Well come!
I sigh for mein mutter
she’s a nutter,
utter
Sob
Scream
nightmare
Thud!
You hate me!
Never call again when you’re already here
You are not welcome.
I close my door
on your foot boot
Oh,yes.
Thunder and lightening
Go home now
This is a poem as likely
ill conceived
Eagle flies while I am
Falling down a mountain…
Scree burning.
I never want to see you again,babe.My duck.
Please be a love and leave me.Cheers
That’s ok.I understand you.
Asp,gasp
Per bot fly!
No thud
No dach
sunds whimper.
It’s time for my tea and biscuit
I cooked it twice
but you were
ab ab a aaab aa absent aahaa
sent!
No.No.no
I can’t believe you!
Cut this string and let it all hang out again
Oh,bloggers.Go to bed
Now
How
Mein eschreitschzung.Flightschzung.Nachtschzung
blung.blung
blot me out
I’m an ink stain.
I like your fingers, so clean and curving
I’ll mark you and give you homework
Och,aye
It’s well come
Crooning mouse traps
See Rockefeller
drop out and
Bring a bag of sylvia plath’s
scrap paper.
did she know?
Did she know?
Did she sweat
Bang?
Thud.My sky fell in onto the millpond
Don’t smoke near me
I’ll get burned
For I hate you
Or just want your hat and an E for
flatness
Droom,droom
Dee
Bag
bug
Ted went to bed
where he spent his honeymoon
with another woman
Not with the second one
Mathilda
It’s finished us all off
Brang.Blong
Eschreitchzung
Fleightschztung
Herr Meightschrung

Cherries

  • If we see ripe cherries
    Hanging from a branch
    We’ll pick the fruit and eat them
    It is our last chance

    When our end is nearing
    We must live far more
    Like the dust motes dancing
    In the sun,in joy.

    See the clouds all blowing…
    Where is it they go?
    Like the leaves and flowers
    Like the rivers flow.

    See the face beloved
    Known,not understood.
    See the human mystery
    Feel how love can flood.

    See the smoke blow upwards
    See the children gaze
    Innocence and beauty
    New born every day.

    The first time our eyes were open
    We saw a human face.
    The last time we close them
    Let us then embrace.

    Though the day is ending
    Do not cut it short.
    Live each moment till the last
    In love as we were taught

Belated

  • Photo0688

    Belated thanks, long overdue,
    Are flying from me straight to you.
    So take heart and stand
    but not on my hand.
    Nor on Alfred who if startled goes “Mioaw”

    You see Alfred is a very hot cat
    He hates to sit down on my mat.
    He likes my warm lap
    And wears a small cap
    To show he’s real holy,howzat?

  • Merriam Webster word of the day:Belated

    Did You Know?

    Long ago, there was a verb belate, which meant “to make late.” From the beginning, belate tended to mostly turn up in the form of its past participle belated. Eventually, belate itself fell out of use, leaving behind belated as an adjective that preserved the original notion of delay. As you may have guessed, belate and its descendant belated derive from the adjective late; belate was formed by simply combining the prefix be- (“to cause to be”) with late. Belated was also once used in the sense “overtaken by night,” as in “belated travelers seeking lodging for the night.” This sense was in fact the first meaning of the adjective but it too fell out of use.

Yet by some grace

Not love nor money should we seek to steal;
Nor for self praise and honor be in need
For these things cannot ever truly heal.
And onto a wrong path may often lead.

Not to vice nor virtue must our wills be tied;
Yet by some grace we gently may be led
Our will directs attention which denied
May let our pride control our thoughtless head.

Not good nor bad can track the vane of God
Far from our sightless eyes are his affairs.
Yet Faith and Hope can be a dowsing rod
With Love the force to trace the Spirit bare.

Oh,come down,Spirit,take me as your wife
Fill me with holy grace and with new life

Each life is an art made with craft

Dancing eyes attract men of note
Who often grand music have wrote,
If you don’t like my tenses
Pay my expenses
Just look deeper into whatever I’ve quote.

Fortune may favour the brave
But Red Indians are asleep in their graves.
These pat cute expressionss
No doubt have their lessons;
But in the main, life is how we behave.

What we pay attention to grows.
Whilst our other seeds lie here unsown.
The evil tree towers,
Over the bankers ill powers.
It’s a haven for vultures and crows.

Let us examine our gifts.
The race is not all to the swift.
We each have our talents
With patience to balance
Each life is an art made with craft

The oxymoron class

There is a sentence often spoke
In jest or repartee:
“See how the cookie crumbles,mate.
Why don’t you have more tea?”

But my cookies don’t crumble
They bend in multi-ways.
Why here are some I made for you
Only yesterday.

You want to know why cookies bend?
Well,mine are made from rubber.
They look impressive on the plate…
As good as any other.

But when you pick one up to start
And press it in your hands
It does not crumble,but just falls
Into a thousand rubber bands.

The guests suffer embarrassment
As they gaze down in dismay.
But the children and the dogs and cats
are happy as they play.

I gave my lover,one cookie
I gave him three or four
But he was never satisfied
Until I gave him more.

Then when I met him later on
He seemed to be in pain…
And claims his doctor told him off
For eating food again.

So now I’m having lessons
In how to bake real fakes.
It’s called the Oxymoron Class
And you should see our cakes.

I made one,I made two,
I made fifty four.
But now the freezer’s full right up
So I can’t make no more.

I want some crumbly cookies,
But mother doesn’t know.
She has gone to heaven…
Oh,how I miss her dough!