Mrs. Honeycreek woke from her sleep of such slumber
With a wake
and a moan
and a yawn
and a mutter
Her white and grey hair was spread out all with tangles
To form a large cotton mass showing knots from all angles
She rose from her bed of goose feathers and foam
To a room of dust bunnies, dark shadows, her home
She felt oh quite off
Not right
And in shambles
As she realized her head
Was at the foot of her bed
With her pillow tucked under her old creepy ankles
She was frail and quite lonely
bitter of sorts
With crow’s feet for days
And wrinkles hard as quartz
She lived all alone in a wide drafty house
Wooden floors
Peeling doors
And a large pesky mouse
She straightened her back from her bed of great comfort
To figure out why her hands were all sticky
She felt really icky
Knew something was wrong
When she saw handfuls of candy
Clumped up in her palm
Candy corn laid not just in her hands
but all over her floors
Her pillows
And way up on her fans
She felt even more off as she pulled back her covers
To reveal her grey PJs were all in a clutter
Her bottoms were backward
Her button-up wrong
As each button was clasped
It seemed
to a different song
Her top button low
Bottom button missed
And her panties misaligned
An impractical miss
Her white parachute panties
Her grannie jammie essential
Were on the wrong way!
A dementia potential?
“Candy in bed! And an ache in my head!”
She climbed out of bed
And walked down her hall
As a mouse scattered by
And right up her wall
She smelled a bad smell
One burning and black
As she stepped down her stars it hit her with a smack
Plumes of dark smoke had been rising up the stairs
Through the kitchen then the hall
and seeped into her grey hair
She hurried real quick
through smoke fragrant and thick
She looked down on a pan covered with fog
To find eight blacked biscuits
Soaked in dark smog
Burnt to a crisp
A waist of her dough
Who dare cook my biscuits!
She didn’t even know…
She cracked a creaky window
Just slightly more
Let out the dark air
Then walked to her living room and paused in a stair
Her beige couch had flipped over
Her rocking chair moved
Her thick curtains cut up
In shapes and in grooves
her blankets were folded in a neat pile
she looked down to her table
To see a crocodile!
puzzle of course
One creepy and large
Who’s length spread three feet
She had never seen it complete
She moved her pale feet from the spot which they were glued
To walk round her house to find everything skewed
She filled with confusion
anger
And tire
For the cause of this mess, she was the supplier
Mrs. Honeycreek knew
Just in that moment
She must have done it all
traveled her home
To re-arranged and to roamed
She had ruined her curtains
And wasted her dough
She had flipped round her living room
And scattered candy to and fro
She had folded and puzzled and smoked up her home
Nearly started a fire
What else?
Who's to know
Mrs. Honeycreek sighed as she looked at her mess
She was angry yet tired
And wanted to rest
Her back screamed with ache
Her neck skin had stretched
Her ankles
her knees
Her hips all compressed
She dragged her poor feet
Right-back through her house
All the while being followed
By a fat pesky mouse
Right up her stairs
in bedroom
then bed
she flipped round her pillow
And laid down her old cranky head
Then Mrs. Honeycreek woke from her sleep of such slumber
With a wake
and a moan
and a yawn
and a mutter
She repeated this sequence, day in and day out
Of waking
Confusion
Then tire
With doubt
Till the day her old head didn’t rise from her pillow
The mouse chewed burnt biscuits
flies flew through her window
Her room and her home stayed frozen in time
Still
And then lifeless
Sad but sublime
A stench flew with wind
Confused and mislead
And no breath left her body her mouth or her head
Mrs. Honeycreek didn’t wake from her sleep such of slumber
There was no wake
There was no moan, no yawn
And no mutter
With a wake
and a moan
and a yawn
and a mutter
Her white and grey hair was spread out all with tangles
To form a large cotton mass showing knots from all angles
She rose from her bed of goose feathers and foam
To a room of dust bunnies, dark shadows, her home
She felt oh quite off
Not right
And in shambles
As she realized her head
Was at the foot of her bed
With her pillow tucked under her old creepy ankles
She was frail and quite lonely
bitter of sorts
With crow’s feet for days
And wrinkles hard as quartz
She lived all alone in a wide drafty house
Wooden floors
Peeling doors
And a large pesky mouse
She straightened her back from her bed of great comfort
To figure out why her hands were all sticky
She felt really icky
Knew something was wrong
When she saw handfuls of candy
Clumped up in her palm
Candy corn laid not just in her hands
but all over her floors
Her pillows
And way up on her fans
She felt even more off as she pulled back her covers
To reveal her grey PJs were all in a clutter
Her bottoms were backward
Her button-up wrong
As each button was clasped
It seemed
to a different song
Her top button low
Bottom button missed
And her panties misaligned
An impractical miss
Her white parachute panties
Her grannie jammie essential
Were on the wrong way!
A dementia potential?
“Candy in bed! And an ache in my head!”
She climbed out of bed
And walked down her hall
As a mouse scattered by
And right up her wall
She smelled a bad smell
One burning and black
As she stepped down her stars it hit her with a smack
Plumes of dark smoke had been rising up the stairs
Through the kitchen then the hall
and seeped into her grey hair
She hurried real quick
through smoke fragrant and thick
She looked down on a pan covered with fog
To find eight blacked biscuits
Soaked in dark smog
Burnt to a crisp
A waist of her dough
Who dare cook my biscuits!
She didn’t even know…
She cracked a creaky window
Just slightly more
Let out the dark air
Then walked to her living room and paused in a stair
Her beige couch had flipped over
Her rocking chair moved
Her thick curtains cut up
In shapes and in grooves
her blankets were folded in a neat pile
she looked down to her table
To see a crocodile!
puzzle of course
One creepy and large
Who’s length spread three feet
She had never seen it complete
She moved her pale feet from the spot which they were glued
To walk round her house to find everything skewed
She filled with confusion
anger
And tire
For the cause of this mess, she was the supplier
Mrs. Honeycreek knew
Just in that moment
She must have done it all
traveled her home
To re-arranged and to roamed
She had ruined her curtains
And wasted her dough
She had flipped round her living room
And scattered candy to and fro
She had folded and puzzled and smoked up her home
Nearly started a fire
What else?
Who's to know
Mrs. Honeycreek sighed as she looked at her mess
She was angry yet tired
And wanted to rest
Her back screamed with ache
Her neck skin had stretched
Her ankles
her knees
Her hips all compressed
She dragged her poor feet
Right-back through her house
All the while being followed
By a fat pesky mouse
Right up her stairs
in bedroom
then bed
she flipped round her pillow
And laid down her old cranky head
Then Mrs. Honeycreek woke from her sleep of such slumber
With a wake
and a moan
and a yawn
and a mutter
She repeated this sequence, day in and day out
Of waking
Confusion
Then tire
With doubt
Till the day her old head didn’t rise from her pillow
The mouse chewed burnt biscuits
flies flew through her window
Her room and her home stayed frozen in time
Still
And then lifeless
Sad but sublime
A stench flew with wind
Confused and mislead
And no breath left her body her mouth or her head
Mrs. Honeycreek didn’t wake from her sleep such of slumber
There was no wake
There was no moan, no yawn
And no mutter
Artist Statement
Burnt Biscuits was inspired by old age and my family's history of Alzheimer's disease.
Burnt Biscuits was inspired by old age and my family's history of Alzheimer's disease.
