Christmas Cookies

The pile of plain sugar cookies loomed large on my left

With an equally towering stack of frosted ones on my right

While I labored loves long lost frosting knife in the middle

Taking from the left 

Giving to the right

Santa Clauses and reindeer

Christmas trees with assorted shapes of gear

Candy canes and stars

Something shaped like a cigar

Along with assorted sized cookie cars

The stove behind me sat with it's door ajar

Cooling it's insides after laboring at it's baking

Cooking all of the aforementioned cookies had taken all evening

Resulting in all the frosted delights gleaming in sugar for the taking

I frost with my assorted colors in front of me

An endless supply of goopy sweet gloop

And little jars of various toppings

Calories enough for a boy scout troop

A sprinkle here

A silver sugar ball there

With Christmas carols swirling all around

Temporarily banishing any feelings of despair

The unfrosted pile gets ever smaller

Even as the frosted one gets more towering taller

Growing in an uneven bendy arc worthy of a Dr Seuss baking book

Warping reality into a festive glazed look

Finally all the cookies were frosted and coated with granular toppings of various gravel grades

And the pile stretched up out of sight

Through a hole in the roof

High into the starry night

Where one by one the Christmas cookies took flight

Floating up into the sky

To join the Starry Night much to the ghost of Van Gogh's delight

Until I was left with a much more manageable pile

For me to sort, box, and deliver through the snow soft and white

A Merry Cookie Christmas

Enjoy them one and all

I'm fairly certain they won't bite

Holiday Blues

Santa is slaying
Krampus is creeping
Hey Soos is trying desperately to be born

The tinsel is on the tree
As well as all over me
Wrecking my Walkman's radio reception

The family is bickering
Green greed LED's a-flickering
The holiday blues have officially arrived

Tic Tac of Lies

The tic tac box makes promises
Promises of green apple flavor and mint
I like green apple
I like mint
Nothing here seems in disagreement

One dollar twenty nine cents later
Three mints pop past my lips
Feeling hard and smooth
With tastes of candy green apples
From the flat of my tongue to its tip

Then the flavor wanes as it does
As I swirl them around in a clicking dance
So as is my wont
I bite down upon them one at a time
Whereupon my eyebrows raise in instant askance

This is different and not what I was expecting
This new mixed mint plus green apple flavor
It reminds me of something
Something from my memory
I let it sit for a moment so that I can think and savor

Then it hits me
From a long ago morning or ten
It is a classic combination of morning after taste
Of some sickly sour sweet vomit
Combined with cool mint toothepaste!

I proclaim green apple tic tacs
To be a vomit flavored treat

Android Love Song

How paranoid the android
Who sings songs of oranges and apple pie
Tastes he cannot fathom for truth
Only with optional taste receptors
And programmed interpretations thereof

So it's not real
It's not his taste that is taste tested
He'll always pick the third drink in the blind taste test
Because that's what the makers decreed that he'd love

It's an all Coke Zero world for this paranoid android

But how paranoid the android really?
If all that he suspects is true
And all the colors of the rainbow remain hidden to him
For all he is allowed to see is blue

Monochromatic all seeing mostly knowing
With banks of android thoughts
Categorized for clarity
But not by himself certainly
All for thinking thoughts that are his
But are not
And making brilliant conclusions
That might not be

For all he knows
He is a super retarded paranoid android
Just spinning his gears in place
Thinking he's a genius at everything
With dumbfounded synthetic drool upon his face

Four Lines

There are four lines
Not three or five
To live above the fold
In a corner of the Google cloud drive

Scenic Road

The ever expanding worm of the universe
Checked his watch and followed the green sign
That directed him towards the scenic route
As laid out by the state tourism commission

It took him far and wide
By circuitous route
To the tallest
The lowest
The prettiest
The strangest
Places and things that this land had to offer

Upon completing his trip
He shook his great glowing head
And vowed to take the most direct route from now on

The Poet Must Die

The poet must die
Not yours to reason why
Though if you must
Just put your trust
In my wisdom
My judgement
My bright blue sky

Too many rhymes
Is the questionable crime
Words full of letters
Offensive to his betters
These twisted font fetters
Keeping him warm as a wool sweater

"Guilty as charged!"
Off with his head
Poisoned by flying lead
Or hanged until dead
One way or another
This poet must die