Cakey Yum Yum

Just some Saturday silliness…

Cakey Yum Yum

One lost pea on a cinnamon tree
Two giggle-bunnies on a hill (hee hee)
Three French fish in a factory
And a slice of cake for me! (Yum yum)

Four small boys singing baba-doo-dee
Five little bites from a flea (what flea?)
Six grains of sand playing chicken with the sea
And a slice of cake for me! (Yum yum)

Seven posh pigs strutting stylishly
Eight awkward aunts on a bus (Coo-ee!)
Nine black holes – oh catastrophe!
And a slice of cake for me! (Yum yum)

“What ho!” says the vicar, “Will you have another slice?”
“Ooh YES,” I reply, “How nice.” (Yum yum)

 

 

Geek notes: This one exists thanks to my fabulously creative friend Caren Krutsinger, who (jokingly) challenged me to write a poem about peas in a cinnamon tree. 🙂

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Photo by Karly Gomez on Unsplash

I Am Your Pudding

Something for you if you’re about to have your Sunday dinner with a nice bit of pud.

Repeat after me:

Puddings are not evil.

I am worth it.

I Am Your Pudding

I am your pudding – dive in and demolish me!
I bring you ecstacy, yet you admonish me,
“BAD!” you say, “FAT!” you say, “GUILT!” you say, “CALORIES!”
Who wants a life though that’s rice-cake-and-salady?

Scream it! You want me, with all of my tawdriness,
Scoop me up! Bundle your lips round my naughtiness!
Life is a struggle – so just put your trust in me –
Throw off your hang-ups – it’s time to get custardy!

 

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Photo by Pablo Merchán Montes on Unsplash

The smell of the weekend (a tale from my childhood)

It is said that smell is the very best sense for evoking memories. But can words evoke the smell?

I picked a very favourite smell from my childhood – the smell of custard bubbling in the pan – to try to find out. For me, custard is intertwined with happiness, family, and that wonderful “happy belly feeling”. Maybe it might take you back to Sunday puddings too.

The Smell of the Weekend

A tale from my childhood

Weekends. A lie in. Some morning TV,
A trip to the library, a dash to the shop,
Some football to watch or some good friends to see,
And a hot, milky pan that would bubble and pop,
Cos weekends meant pudding – with custard on top.

The anticipation was always a killer!
I’d trawl through my homework, my nose ever twitching,
Awaiting the blanket-soft scent of vanilla,
Velvet-cream thoughts so distracting, bewitching.
And then – yes! – a sweet, silky smell from the kitchen.

So I’d chomp through my meat and potatoes and veg,
(Or whatever our prelude to pudding that day),
The waft from the stove setting senses on edge,
Til finally! Pudding! And all was OK…
I’d open my mouth and slide sweetly away.

 

©️Nina Parmenter 2018

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If I open the Matchmakers, that will be it

Well, here we are, coming towards that end of that magical / terrible time between Christmas and New Year. Nearly time to contemplate the dull, saintly times that lie ahead and wave farewell to guilt-free scoffing. But just about time to open one last box of choccies… I mean it can’t do any harm…

If I open the Matchmakers, that will be it

Well then, my friends, it’s the end of December,
I’ve eaten more goodies than I can remember,
And left in the cupboard, one last chocolate hit,

If I open the Matchmakers, that will be it.

I’ve eaten the Roses, the After Eight Mints,
The Pringles, the Wine Gums, the Lindor by Lindt,
The time will soon come to (ugh) cut down a bit,

If I open the Matchmakers, that will be it.

I’ve eaten Fruit Pastilles, and hummus and brie,
And portions of pud that are too big for me,
My jeans are quite tight, but – yay – PJs still fit,

If I open the Matchmakers, that will be it.

So sod off, New Year, and the cry to “get fit”,
Cos naughty food’s yummy and healthy food’s shit.
But my stomach IS sticking out more that my tits…

I’ll open the Matchmakers. That will be it.

Honest.

©️ Nina Parmenter 2017

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