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Mother Food Poems | Mother Poems About Food

These Mother Food poems are examples of Mother poems about Food. These are the best examples of Mother Food poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Christmas, Minus One

We said our goodbyes in June,
and the months since blur into mist.
At unexpected moments, awareness
of loss hits; tears spill unbidden.

Family gathering, Christmas Eve 
as usual . . . minus one.
We quietly exchanged gifts, 
found flowers from her funeral 
crafted into hand-made jewelry, 
kaleidoscopes, treasured mementoes.

I cooked grapes today, dark muscadines.
I extracted seeds and peelings, 
and measured life-sustaining juice 
through the metal funnel she used 
from the day of her marriage.
It came to me dented and bent, 
like her body had been at 93.

I still taste those fresh-from-the-oven 
chocolate rolls after school, 
garden tomatoes warmed by the sun, 
hot biscuits with apple jelly, 
squeezed from the peelings after 
she baked crisp slices in cinnamon-rich pie.

I'm glad I didn't know then,
about being allergic to Cinnamon.


Details | Sestina | |

MIRACLE AT DAWN

No mother would fill up her eyes with tears of woman...
if it weren't for God performing a miracle at dawn,
as she cried out in joy and held her baby in trembling arms
but shed many sweet tears hearing his laughter so loud;
oh, he couldn't see her mommy's face through his tiny eyes,
and it will be long before he'll will utter the first word, " Mom." 

Now that baby sleeps under the attentive look of his mom,
who's too young to become a mature woman;
many visions of this birth crossed her gleeful eyes
she dreamed of the very same words whispered at each dawn,
repeating them in her silly head as if they sounded too loud...
while cradling a pretty doll in her folded arms.

Will she be welcomed home by her parents opening their arms?
Will they reprimand her and not consider her a legal mom?
Perhaps they will not be angry and speak not so loud:
girls are supposed to be girls, not suddenly turn into woman...
So this innocent girl, deceived by a bad boy, must wake up at dawn
when her baby cries and feed him with scary, childish eyes?

Nights seem longer for her, trying to stay awake rubbing her eyes,
what she beheld in those exciting eyes, now it's a burden in her weary arms;
she remembers that pain was too unbearable, but joy more sublime at dawn...
how will she learn how to care for the infant by watching her mom?
She must have seen a nursery or read a book how to think like a real woman,
and can anyone imagine how she keeps that secret instead of revealing it loud?

She must gather enough courage inside to feed her baby who can't cry loud,
but for now she must carry that baby without sighs of distress into her bright eyes;
and her parents can see the changes making her a loving person already woman;
they may ask questions to why she has gained weight and holds dolls in her arms...
no, they aren't anticipating great news and in doubt, they await a splendid dawn.

Mother and daughter closely together amazed by the coming dawn,
any concealed secret can be easily spoken...somewhat joyful and loud;
they imagine the infant's futures will be part of grandma and mom!
Their reunited hearts come together to show love in their delighted eyes,
and they'll take turns feeding the new-born, tenderly lulling him in their arms;
what if forgiveness hadn't been there to deny her all of the joys of woman?

Would a mother deny her daughter compassion as a good woman?
Even God hurried dawn to offer that gift into her gracious, tender arms...
and those arms accepted it with the gentleness and kindness of mom.




Details | Rhyme | |

MAMMA ANNA MADE THE BEST BABBA' AL RHUM

Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum,
you should have seen me how it made me slightly drunk;
and jumping and screaming I danced to the beats of a drum...
then grandma joined in and she sang a classical song!


And the sweet cream was on my lips and cheeks, 
the Babba' al Rhum was delicious and I topped it with chocolate;
everybody began shouting, "It came from Paris,
but we Neapolitans reinvented it by improving its shape and taste!"


Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum, soaking it in that liqueur much longer;
and Papa' always told me to eat more of it...saying with a suppressing laughter,
"It's a man's dessert, after you eat it, you'll be strong!"
Oh, did he really tell me the truth? No, he was wrong!


It's so very sad that they aren't here,
and I am eating pretzels and drink a beer,
the harmony that stirred their passion can't possibly return...
as they danced on the terrace to celebrate the day I was born!


Mamma Anna knew how to make the best Babba' al Rhum,
and I licked the dripping rum with my finger...not my tongue!
She spoke calmly...when she should have gotten mad and picked up a broom;
no, she was never mean and rude, or ever said to me, " Go to your room!"


Details | Couplet | |

Teenage Mutant * Ninja Turtles!!

TEEN AGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES!!

One day I came home with the flu.
My mother gave me a bowl of stew

All I can say is that the stew was thick like goo.
I still ate it thinking it was chicken stew.
 
Saturday morning I woke up watching Winnie The Pooh.
Mother made me a sandwich that was hard to chew

In the kitchen I saw 2 strange looking shells
Once I saw them I started getting dizzy spells

Eating turtle soup with out having a clue.
Made my face turn green and blue.

Walked into the living room.
My stomach still felt kind of doom.

My mother was watching the tube and singing along
Singing along to the,"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" song!

          NOW THAT WAS WRONG!!!!!!
____________________________________________
.           
              TWO TURTLE DOVES

During Christmas, I always go hunting in the woods
I set out traps to catch me some goods

I caught two turtle in my first trap
Poor little things where full of crap.

I was singing "On the first day of Christmas" on my way back.
All I could think of was my Two Turtle (Doves), snack!

I took them inside and dipped them in water
They had no idea they where soon to be slaughter 

My dad told me that turtle soup hits the right spot.
Silly turtles where already in the boiling pot

Looking at the pot one  turtles was swimming around
I can't believe in the hot water he didn't even drown

I had to pull him out, and set him on the rebound.
I'll just cook him on my second round.

I am ready to eat my turtle stew.
Praising this soup with an mm mm thank you!

DARN!! Salt and Pepper was the main thing I forgot
Realizing napkins was the only thing I bought 

I put the napkins on my lap.
I was about to have me some turtle snap.

I started singing my favorite Christmas song.
Suddenly the "Two Turtle Dove" part did not belong.

Singing softly to my favorite line
Eating the stew didn't feel fine.

""On The Second day of Christmas
CCCCCCCCCCCCCChrrriiissstamms

MMMMMMMMMMMy  TRUE LOVVVVEE
Gave to me TWO TURTLE DOVVVVEE

With out having the jolly to sing along.
I had to put the stew to a side and be strong.

     (now)  THAT WAS WRONG!!!!!


((( HAVING FUN WITH MY OWN TURTLE CONTEST )))


Details | Couplet | |

Till We're Dead

There’s taxes on underwear, dresses and ties,
and taxes on ointments your grandmother buys.

There’s taxes on food at your local D.Q.
and taxes on food even good for you too!

You’re taxed on most services; and you are taxed
if you get your most private areas waxed.

You’re taxed every year (it should be a crime)
on the same house and car that you bought just one time!

The plan for which all your work’s taxes went in,
when finally used, you’ll be taxed for again!

You’re taxed more for smoking! You’re taxed if you fly.
Your loved ones get taxed on your stuff when you die!

Rich brats have their loopholes and still get ahead.
But most of us won’t find relief till we’re dead.


Inspired by Carolyn Devonshire's "Taxing Times" Contest


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

Family Grief Family Happiness

  
   Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
        
    My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
        My Mother caring about all five in different ways
      Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays 
     My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
          
      Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John. 
       music  a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !

     Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
          The music  takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "    
      My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
                 My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
        feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food               
         
       the yelling , slamming of doors ,  tempers Flare , passion 
         Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
        
        After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
         Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?

       Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee  
                 No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
          the  Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .  
        Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
             Excited in Chicago !  seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
        Cubs ,  museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
        
       Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
             Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `  
        Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones , 
          scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
        
           ~ That is the Family I Love ,
                     that is the Family I choose to miss ~    
                       
              


Details | Rhyme | |

Rhubarb Pie

Oh for a taste of rhubarb pie!
Home picked, home baked--
Mouth watering, I don’t lie.

A tart and sweet delicious delight;
Tingles, mingles with the tongue.
Mom always cooked it just right!

Some might let theirs go to waste,
But I’ll eat their piece without delay,
I just love that capricious taste!



Note* I haven’t had a piece of Rhubarb pie
since my dear mom died in ‘94



Details | Rhyme | |

Spitting Watermelon Seeds

Watermelon slices.
That smell so ripe and sweet.
Take me back in time again.
When mother sliced the treat.

Sitting in the kitchen.
With the window opened wide.
Spitting watermelon seeds.
Out to the other side.


Details | Epic | |

GRAND MOMMY'S HOUSE

Loading up the car, on a trip that’s not to far..
to Grand-mommy’s house!
We head up 75, it’s such a lovely drive..
to Grand-mommy’s house!
“Are we there yet?” “Almost, we’re getting really close”..
to Grand-mommy’s house!
On Francis Street we turn, sweet thoughts of past trips return..
at Grand-mommy’s house!

Feelings hard to hide, knowing the joy inside..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
The “I love greetings”, Ah, pressure and stress is fleeting..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
Warm hugs and kisses, from the Mr. and the Mrs..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
Place your bags in the back, time to enjoy a dinner snack..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
Pork sandwiches and tea, something special just for me..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
Sweat aroma fills the air, to the sunroom.. pick your chair..
at Grand-mommy’s house!

Talks from the past, wonderful memories that last..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
Funny stories are told, wow, it never gets old..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
Wisdom to teach, in a way that’s always in reach..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
Kindness and care, so much affection to share..
at Grand-mommy’s house!

When you’ve had to much to eat, you’ll still want a treat..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
Chocolate cake and pie, you’ll want both.. don’t lie..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
To the bathroom to wash your face, so many hearts, lips, love, and lace..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
You’ll wash both your hands, by the light of the lipstick stand..
at Grand-mommy’s house!

So much more to say, and many games to play..
at Grand-mommy’s house! 
The Weather Channel’s on mute, Granddaddy thinks we’re cute..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
It’s getting kind of late, time with the cousins has been great..
 at Grand-mommy’s house!
When you’re feeling beat, head to the second den for some sleep..
at Grand-mommy’s house!

At midmorning we awake, there’s no schedule on the slate..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
Smell those biscuits piping hot, oh.. we like them a lot..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
Come into the kitchen, to see all that Grand-mommy’s fixin’..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
She’s wrapped in Granddaddy’s arms, there’s so much love and charm..
at Grand-mommy’s house!

Warm hands to hold, you’re always treated like gold..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
Love, faith, and trust, spoiling grandkids is a must..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
You’ve helped us all to see, just how good life can be..
at Grand-mommy’s house!
My Grandparent’s endless love, is a gift from God above..
at Grand-mommy’s house!

 


Details | Couplet | |

What Do I Know About Being German

Born American, sixth generation of great-grands all German,
not much liking sausage or sauerkraut, English speaking all the way,

except the Germany of my ancestry was fought over and broken
so I’m a bit of France, Germany, Poland, Hungary all the Holy

Roman empire, dissolved down, fought over, egotized, horrified 
and remade Into some new state where English is as common as German.

We share a love of flowers in the face of cold and rain, I drink less beer
and wine, meet up somewhere, anywhere around the world on a beach.

From my parents and grandparents, I know to serve up too much food
seven sweets, seven sours and drink and whirl the night away to a band.

Hardworking sorts, unafraid of a little dirt, loving dirt, the turnover
and young sprout brought to fruit, wearing overalls and then washing up.

To sit before a pressed linen table cloth, served up on the finest china,
the cha in my father’s name, the uff da, and other exclamations.

The morning rosaries, the blessed churches where we give thanks for all good
and the setting aside of pride while we work together to make our food.

Sure there are aprons for cooking. Shorts for summertime. A dive into any pool.
What do I know of being German, not much, it's just somewhere in my roots.


Details | Burlesque | |

Suburban Spring

Suburban Spring	
(4.15.10)


	Springtime fills the air, 
			like laughing gas.
		(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
	Middle-class houses 
			are starting to dance.
		(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.

			I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
				Confused and intrigued, 
		with a slight urge to pee.

	The father cuts grass, 
			like a sleepwalker.
		(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
	A six pack later, 
			he starts washing his car.
		(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.

	The mother kneels in dirt, 
			tending the garden.
		(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty.  (Figuratively, at least.)
	A sunset later, 
			she cooks family dinner.
		(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)

			I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.

	The son plays war games, 
			dying for fun.
		(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
	A full pitcher later, 
			tweaking on sugar,
		(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.

	The daughter makes a picnic, 
			inviting her toys.
		(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
	After the tea time, 
			she's off picking flowers.
		(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)

		They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
		They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."  
			(And proceed to stuff their face.)

	The dog sits by the boy - 
			Loyal and true.
		(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
	After dinner, 
                     he offers to help with the dishes.
		(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite.  The dog is not surprised.

	Bedtime comes soon after.  
			The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
		(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
	After tucking them in, 
			the parents watch TV.
		(Or maybe they just dream they do, 
					sleeping in its glow.)

	The dog is changing channels, 
			looking for a better show.
				Confused and intrigued, 
		he pees on the carpet below.


Details | Light Poetry | |

The Best Pie Baker

Grandma was the best at baking pies. 
That was a fact nobody denies. 
Apple, rhubarb, sweet potato, cherry, 
pumpkin, pecan, and don't forget blueberry. 
In the kitchen, grandma could be found. 
Her fresh-baked pies were the best around.

inspired by another member's poem


Details | Triolet | |

Pleasures by the Seashore

Pleasures await you by the seashore,
And in the coming months
Invest in your family; today and tomorrow,
Pleasures await you by the seashore.
Your first choice will be the wisest to follow;
Do not put all your stocks in the market.
Pleasures await you by the seashore
And in the coming months...


(1 Year Anniversary Dinner at Sydney's Buffet)


Details | Rhyme | |

Mum's Christmas Dinner

She stays awake for hours, cutting Xs in the sprouts,
Then peels all the tatties, a ton or thereabouts,
Slicing and dicing parsnips is next up in the plan,
Chops up carrots and a swede, and put them in a pan,
Mixes up her sage and onion and stuffs it in the bird,
Along with some pork sausage meat that’s been pre-prepared,
She takes apart the oven, to fit the turkey in,
Hangs it up with bits of string, there’s no room in the tin,
Wraps sausages in bacon, in case they catch a chill,
But makes sure they‘re all cooked thoroughly, so the family won’t get ill,
Cooks the bird for hours, while the table’s being laid,
With all the finest crockery (and some of lower grade),
Makes space around the table, brings in extra chairs,
Adorns the place with candles and other Christmas wares,
Lays out a Christmas cracker in everybody’s place,
Complete with rather tacky joke, no doubt of a straight face,
And brings out all the condiments, the pickles and the sauce,
The salt and pepper, the mustard and radish known as “horse”,
Next she makes the starter, the simplest course by far,
A cocktail made up of prawns and a sauce out of a jar.
The family then all piles in, and argues over seats,
The children are already full of chocolates and treats,
Grandmother is mumbling, “Kids should be seen not heard”,
Meanwhile back in the kitchen Mum’s wrestling with the bird,
She tries to carve up slices, but ends up with turkey chunks,
While Dad and Gramps have become a pair of Christmas drunks,
They start an argument about which wine goes with the meat,
And restless children run around, not staying in their seat,
Mother tries to keep her calm and bravely soldiers on,
But the roasties are all blackened and the sprouts are over done,
Mum enters the dining room looking very puffed,
She throws the turkey down and shouts ,“There you go! Get stuffed!”


18th November 2012


Details | Senryu | |

' Golden Harvest ... ' 40th Senryu

    Golden, Full Moon Shone
On All The Harvest, That’s Grown
    Welcome In Our Home


Details | Haiku | |

grandmother's sweet potato pie haiku

sweet potato pie
my grandmother used to make
i will always miss....


Details | Rhyme | |

An Ordinary Pot

In my kitchen I have an ordinary pot but it's very special to me,
because this pot belonged to my Grandmother you see.
Big and black with handles on the side,
not much to look at with the naked eye.
She could orchestrate the food with a wave of her hand,
just like holding a baton to lead the band.
Now I am the composer of the recipes,
with an ordinary pot that's very special to me.



Details | Verse | |

Mother's Wishbones, No Doubt

MOTHER'S WISHBONES, NO DOUBT

All furculae with not a fragment
of dried-up flesh or sinew 

to despoil their luster — the slew 
of them ranging in size from 

Cornish hen to turkey. Funny,
I’d never noticed her extricate

one, strip it clean, secrete it 
somewhere long-forgotten. 

I took possession of those bones,
pried loose some of my own

from birds broiled, barbequed, 
fried; primed each, applied gold 

leaf. Made more of them
than Mother could’ve ever conceived 

— the gilt, over the generations 
of bones brittling whole, striking

beneath the wait of wishes.


Details | Quatrain | |

Redeye Gravy

Now sits the redeye gravy in the pan
It certainly is not at all like jam
Mom made it years ago  for her man
Fry some country ham, pour  coffee bam

Never knew why it was called redeye
Then my grandson informed me just why
Men who had been out late had bleareye
Who looked like they had been drip-dry

I always thought that it was because
It had dark red color from drippings
In my home it  got an applause
I thought that it was God's blessings

I learned my husband doesn't like it
My grandson doesn't like redeye gravy
When I make it only make a bit
Always redeye gravy left heavy

Today decided to place on grits
Feed to the cats see if they like it
Now cat is running around won't sit
I guess that caffeine gave them lift


Details | Rhyme | |

Lady bug Lady Bug

 
 
Lady bug 

Lady bug lady bug it is fun to play and look at you, 
you seem to increase in size whenever we live in some place new, 
you hide in my toy, you hide in my closet
what am I am going to do with you? 
Lady bug lady bug look at you, when I turn on the lights
you run with your friends and fly away too. 
  
Lady bug Lady Bug 
I am getting tired of you, you run and 
alluding me in to my shoes, even when I am over you,
eating my food, you look and seem
 you want me to bless you to. 
  
Lady bug lady bug I am not having fun with you, 
I am getting my mom and dad to get the 
exterminator to get with you and your crew. 
  
This poem is about a five years old kid who never saw North and 
South American cockroach in his young life.

 Poetry 11/26/10 by Keith K. Relf


Details | Narrative | |

Thanksgiving Is Just That

It's funny how we associate things.  They become one with each other.  Who can imagine an Easter without the bunny, or losing a tooth and not being paid a visit by the tooth fairy.  And Christmas would be unthinkable without Santa.  So that is why, I guess, that I still remember one particular Thanksgiving from my youth.

Back then, turkeys at the market were fresh, not frozen and encased in plastic as they are today.  They also represented an extra expense on an already tight food budget.  So my mother made arrangements with the market manager to set up a layaway of sorts, paying some each week, and they promised to hold one for her.

I remember when, on the afternoon before Thanksgiving day, she sent me over to the grocer to pick up the turkey.  I jumped on my bike and rode downtown to Converse Market.  Walking up to the door, I found it locked.  Shading my eyes, I pressed my nose against the window and saw that all the lights were off.  Turns out they had closed early that day to give their employees a little more time to spend with their families.

When I returned home and told my mother what had happened, the look on her face was one of devastation.  What would Thanksgiving be without a turkey?  I thought my dad would be mad, but instead he just said “we've got food in the house don't we”?  And we did.

So, although the letdown of a Thanksgiving without the traditional bird could have been a disaster,  on that particular day, we chose instead to give thanks for what we had, and, as a family, dived into our pork chops with all the fixings.


11/19/2011


Details | Lyric | |

Trees and Dirt

Trees and dirt I sleep on the earth, the dust the sand, longing to birth.
Oil on skin, bare, 
sweat on your back, 
feels amazing.
Yes! Im back on track.
Sleeping cosy as a worm, 
unencumbered by any material possession or fixed term.
Free to explore, a magical universe, 
I must implore.
No home, no chores, no bills to pay. 
Just water, food gathered and warmth today.
A dusty cave, cute as a button, no slamming door, 
just love in your belly, to the very core.
I love this realm, 
just need more time, 
time to explore.
Trees and dirt  I sleep on the earth, the dust, the sand, longing to birth.
And return once again to mother earth.


Details | Quatrain | |

Song To Mother Earth

Mother Earth spinning on your centre
while revolving around Father Sun
making day and night on your surface
and the different seasons every one  

Your flesh provides the vital substance
on which trees, plants and grasses feed
and become food for birds and animals
who partake of them as they need

Some of those birds and animals 
feed others higher in the food chain
and become part of the eco cycle
which continues full circle again

All living things decay when they die
and return to you dearest mother 
to become substance that feeds plant life
and start off a new eco chapter 

Rain and snow from the sky bring water
that feeds the lakes, seas and rivers
which have a food chain of their own
among all their different creatures

Water from the sea becomes vapour
and rises as a cloud formation 
which precipitates as rain and snow
and water after condensation

Sun and Earth combine in harmony
doing so since before our birth
Thank you for feeding all living things
Our dearest blessed Mother Earth


Details | Free verse | |

VEGGIE SOUP FOR HUNGRY CHILDREN

Soup tastes better
when its ingredients are veggies
with enough noodles
to give it a tempting look.
All the pasta letters of the alphabet
can be stirred in it until they cook well.
I see some children drool,
watching it with hungry eyes, but seeming cool...
while mom warns them of the hot steam,
" Don't stick your nose in that pot...you'll get burned! "
Finally, the veggie soup is ready...
every bowl is filled to the rim, 
" Yummy ", one says licking his lips.
" Dig in, kids...it's mommy's soup, the best ever! "
She tells them with a thrill that delights them all.
" One thing you've forgotten to say...
what was your letter? " Mine is A, " I yelled.
" Good, boy...I am going to reward with another bowl of soup!" 


Details | Limerick | |

A BOWL OF LUCKY CHARMS

Mom, give me a bowl of Lucky Charms,
I'll grow as you raise my arms...
see a taller me,
or much sillier me.
Mom, get me more of those Lucky Charms!


Details | Light Poetry | |

BABY AND MOTHER FEEDING

its a child
with a smile
who loves mother taste
its not a waste
it not how old
some or just bold
so mother reload
with there seeking
BABY AND MOTHER
FEEDING


Details | Rhyme | |

My Favourite Dish

When mom would make her apple pies, and I was very small I would stand upon a kitchen chair, so that I could see it all She would open up the Crisco can, and a flour canister And soon, before my very eyes, some pie dough would appear She would roll the dough, line her dish, then let me have a try She would save a piece of pastry for a doll sized dish I prized... Side by side, she would show me how, but mine would be a mess!! Her patience was amazing.…. as she sought to grant my wish The petals of her apple slices, layered neatly into rows Most of mine in disarray, some landing on my toes! A sparkling touch of sugar sweet, and some golden butter bows Such praise I got, ....the oven hot, .....then off to bake it goes... We’d watch them turn a golden brown…as love filled up my nose


Details | Rhyme | |

Nature's Single Dads - The Australian Emu

Nature’s Single Dad:
The Australian Emu :
The first 55 days

Emund is busy
preparing his
dance-floor for
partners who’ll put
him to the test. 
His pedigree line
has proven with time

that it is now his
turn, to be best.
He hears them emerge
from the bush as
they gather in
answer to nature’s
call.
They dance, and then
go away, they know
they cannot stay; 
there is not enough
food for them all. 

They dip and they
weave as they mingle
together knowing
that each has a
chance 
With his reputation,
there is no
hesitation; 
he is ready to join
in the dance.
‘Bonk! Bonk,’ comes
the sound of another
arrival, ‘It’s
Emulena!’ he says
with a grin. 
Others move to the
side as he leaves
them mid-stride 
to greet this dancer
as she flounces in.

With sensuous,
rhythmic movement of
hips she fluffs up
her boa, it bounces
in time. 
He matches her mood.
His movements are
smooth 
as they twist and
twirl in their
dancing mime.
He does not fuss
about who takes the
lead, he follows and
their dance now is
ending. 
With steps that are
light he glides to
the right, 	
he meets her, bows
deeply, head
bending.
 	
Emulena says,
“Sorry, we cannot
stay longer, we all
must find paddocks
anew.
It matters not
whether we all stay
together,
we trust you to know
what to do.”
As she speaks, they
deposit their gifts,
and he hears, as in
chorus they say,
“We know you’ll do
magically, what you
do naturally 
to deliver these in
your own way.”

After completing her
task, Emulena stands
tall and she fluffs
up her feathers once
more.
They follow her lead
in twos, and in
threes, 
and promenade across
the dance floor.
Left all alone, he
goes back to his
duties and looks
closely at each pale
green shell.
He checks all for
defects. He sees
they are perfect, 
so with care he
covers every one
well.

He sticks to his
task for fifty-five
days in sunshine,
strong winds and
some showers.
He values each
treasure and tends
them with pleasure 
as he, turns each
egg every three
hours.
Through his long
lashes he sees
danger coming. He
drops his neck down
like a log.
Feathers flying on
high and red fur
prowls near-by; 
he needs to fool
both bird and dog.

The shells have now
turned a dark bluey
green, there’s an
infertile egg in the
batch. 
This egg will be
food for his hungry
brood; 
but he won’t eat or
drink, ‘til they
hatch.
Each day he looks
up, and turns his
head to the sun as
it rises each
morning.
He’ll sit day and
night until the
time’s right.
He knows, that time
comes without
warning.

to be continued...


Details | Couplet | |

Mother

“Mother…for whom love was enough”


Love and a sense of humor were Mother’s tools of trade
and a judicial wisdom with every judgment made.

She used no threats, no whips nor straps to discipline her brood.
No swear words or shouts did she employ to force us to be good.

We each were quickly sorry, if misbehaviors or our lies
brought signs of disappointment to her beautiful gray eyes.

Daddy and Mama were a team and didn’t sabotage each other.
His one firm rule that he enforced was a simple “Mind your mother”.

My mother’s meals were evidence of her enduring love,
She turned out her delectables on an ornery old iron stove.

No one ever had to be called twice to one of Mama’s meals.
We came eagerly anticipating the treat each bowl reveals. 

We were so happy at that table, with Daddy at its head,
as we sat thinking of the food, throughout the prayer he led.

She cooked to please our daddy with  Pennsylvania Dutch dishes
And on our birthdays pampered us with our selective wishes.

When we were sick our mama used her love potion to kill
all of the foolish bacteria that had dared to make us ill.

She never was too busy to attend our little bruises,
to wipe our tears with her clean apron, one of its many uses.

She raised her seven children in those days when times were tough.
We didn’t miss the luxuries. She had taught us, “Love’s enough”.

By: Joyce Johnson 8/25/11      For Constance’s contest “Mother”


Won #5












Details | Light Poetry | |

Always I Miss You

When I'm home sick, sulking half the day because your not here,
 And getting sadder if I say madder because your not there,
 I remind myself in an unusual way theres worse fared,
 If you don't mind being compared,
 
Repeating the many ways you cared,
 The experiences fondly replayed in many ways,
 Thoughts and memories that make me gay,
 Every recipe, every taste,
 Looking back it all seems in an awkward haste,
 
Now it is what I use to fill my plate,
 It's what I use so I won't be late,
 Staying here learning to appreciate,
 All the miles, trucks caring freight..
 
For your Christmas gifts the children just can't wait,
 But if you visit my mind would quake.


Details | Quatrain | |

Jars Full of Summer


Marching across my pantry shelf
Jars filled with summer's bounty sweet
Jams and jellies, and all kinds of fruit
But much more than just a savory treat 

The effort to reap nature's gifts
Something so satisfying for me
Appreciating all the earth gives
Food and satisfaction, nearly free



1/18/12


Details | Couplet | |

When the Kids Went With Dad

Chicken, potatoes, and cold pumpkin pies
The food on the table is covered with flies

White ones and red ones and black ones and blue
Just look at that mountain of laundry to do

Dishes and pot lids and pans that are green
Oh, look at this pile of dishes to clean

Here there is carpet but there there is none
I wish that this pile of garbage was done

Smudges on windows and dents in the doors
Remains from the hundreds of food fights and wars

Couches all tattered and furred by the cats
A mound of cracked snow boots and sweaty old hats

Dishes or laundry or piles of goo
I have me a plan and I know what to do

Toss 'em out windows or down the front stairs
I know this is cheating but who really cares?

Out goes the laundry and stashes of junk
From Adam's green apron to gramma's old trunk

There go the dishes all covered in mold
Along with some food that is forty years old

Off with that chair and "The Three Little Pigs"
Things that are broken and "How to Grow Figs."

Off with this junk that my kids left behind
This statue of rocks and a petrified rind


Details | Free verse | |

Crackers ‘n' Cheese

I was a-munchin’ ‘n’ a-crunchin’ on some crackers ‘n’ cheese
When a-someone or a-somethin’ came ‘n’ tickled my knees –

With her tail up in the air in a question mark tease,
‘Twas my little grey kitten mewin’ wide-green eyed pleas –

Beggin’ of her human, “Oh kind human, please
Won’t you let me share in yer crackers ‘n’ cheese?”

I looked into her tiny face ‘n’ made the choice with ease –
Doncha know that to my heart this kitten holds the keys?

I felt her purrs flow past me, a gentle, liltin’ breeze,
 ‘N’ now my kitten’s doin’ the munchin’ on my crackers ‘n’ cheese!


Details | Cowboy | |

Untitled

Tainted love 
or tired love?
Smug attitudes
and weak games
Look at you!
Your such a lame!
Me cry?! Ha! Not no more!
NOT EVER!
Five point five years
What a joke?!
All you do is lie
Keep smoking your life away!
Wake up before its too late!
Before this love turns into hate!
Your too old to act this way!
Your too comfortable
You cant stay!
In my life!
In my way!
Goodbye to you!!!


Details | Rhyme | |

THERE'S NO ESCAPE FROM CERTAIN THINGS

Checking the lights on the dashboard when they flash and stay red:
it's the oil that needs to be changed or the engine that requires
maintenance, and in frigid temperatures who would venture outside and get frostbites?
A car is a necessity, a commodity and besides daily pleasure, it may cost a lot indeed.



Running to the grocery store through the backdoor when milk is low,
and guests wait for a fresh coffee pot and you put on a face not so mellow,
and much worse when you forget the roast in the oven...the bird you admire, 
and smoke fills your kitchen...you just dial 911 and scream, " My house in on fire! "


But the worst one that can send you into havoc...
when the mean kid down the block throws a rock
and your window shatters and the cat flees with the swiftest animal beat,
but the dog gets vicious and runs after him by exposing his sharp teeth. 



Ever forgot to send your mom a Christmas or Easter card?
She'll call you the same day knowing that the Post office won't deliver,
and what her voice will sound like? Soft or harsh, or angry as a bard? 
I can imagine the words she will say, " Have you forgotten something, dear? "



These are just few of them that can drive you crazy like wild kids who love to fight
and make you head spin and ache until you sit down and take a break by a lamplight,  
" Ouch!" You got burned from the splashing water while draining your steamy pasta...
you complain,"It's overcooked and not al dente!" And like mother you exclaim,"Basta!"



* The word "Basta" in Italian means " It's enough "


Details | Footle | |

Cupcakes

Mum makes,
Cupcakes.

No sugar,
Oh B****r!


Details | Light Poetry | |

Yummy talks

Bread baked with love
Talks
This poem of mom
In belly
Is yummy


Details | Free verse | |

Supermarket Daze

SUPERMARKET DAZE

Gross overweight    reflections

gleam off stainless steal

 bins, filled with frozen TV dinners.

Obese mothers Jam

peppermint suckers down

 children’s tearful mouths

-temporary peace.

Hamburger helper, pepsi-lite

National Inquirer  , Rovers dog food

-frantic search for penny full bargains.

Torn pantyhose

wheel aisle after aisle.

 mountains of pot pies, ice cream, potato chips, red chips, blue chips 

freeido chips

Must hurry.

Get more. 

Get more of  those treats 

need  more meat .

Shopping daze fever

cart wheel out the street.


Details | Free verse | |

A battered old saucepan

It may seem strange to write about a battered old saucepan
but this was no ordinary one 
it sprung a leak the other day
sadly without thinking
I threw it away
and now it's gone.

It had been in my family
before I was born
and it was used every day
it broke my heart after
to throw it away.

For all the delicious soups goulash and past
it had contained
the mouth watering delectable smells
from the kitchen
the shouts from my parents

''Come on now set the table dinners made''.

All the red hot broths and porridge we'd scoff
before school on a winters day
all the laughs tears and conversations around
the dinner table before it was was washed
and put away.

It was more than a simple saucepan
because it held a lot of family memories
now my parents sadly passed away
it was one of the last things to remind me
of how things used to be
and mow I have to buy a new one
and accept it's demise
like my family
it's gone forever.

Peter Dome.copyright.2012.


Details | Shape | |

' Scents ... (or Tea - Baby) '

S                                      S
                                           C
                                                E
                                                     N
                                                    T
                                                  S
          I So, Love  The  Scent,  of A Fresh, Cup Of  Tea
         Like,  I  Love The Smell, of  A  Fresh-Bathed Baby
         Both,  Are So Very Delicate, Soothing &        Sweet
         Both,  Are  A Unique, Fragile-Moment       Complete
         And  With  Rose  Petals  and  Soft  Lavender Scents
         And Apple-Blossoms, Honey and Fresh Peppermint
          All  Come In Lotions Or Talc-Powder  For Baby
           And In My Teacup, These Aromas Are Tasty
            I So Love The Scent of Steeped-Leaf Tea
               And A Fresh -Bathed, Gurgling Baby
                Come, Sip A Cup  of Tea With Me
                   While I Hold & Sniff The Baby


Details | Couplet | |

No Warmth In The Kitchen

 Loose are the oven mitts that covered mama's hands. 
 Cold are her rustic pots and pans. 

 Stained are the pages of her favorite cookbook. 
 Lull hangs her ladle on its metal hook. 

 Hiding on the ceiling is the once dancing steam 
 of beef stroganoff's sour cream. 

 Silent is the spatula that served family guests. 
 Quietly the food processor rests. 

 Daddy can only cook up a sweat, 
 and I'm too young to read a recipe yet. 

 There's no warmth in the kitchen since mama's decease. 
 These objects are resting, but not in grease.


Details | Free verse | |

Mum's Dinner

The boy rides on the pavement 
on his mountain bike
across cracked slabs 
and tarmac patches
bumps and holes 
make him hold tight 
whilst cycling home 
for his dinner 
he pedals faster 
dreaming of pizza
or maybe its chips 
or possibly both
he's nearly back 
in time for his feast 
ice cream for afters 
or chocolate cake he thinks
his appetite builds
finally he's home 
The front door opens
the smell wafts out
Its mum's shepherds pie again
The boy gets back on his bike


Details | Rhyme | |

Poetry About Poetry

Shades of color bounce within
Singing their hues dancing in place
Vivid lines colored outside
Rules broken with empty space
A midnights dream heard and seen
Gleaming from the twinkle of a eye
Wings touched flown and plucked
Gliding like a bird up in the sky
Wishes from pennies thrown into tears
The reservoir over flowing with pigments of pain
Drowning from the shadows 
The flood paints the day
Words speak volumes of silence hidden
Their sounds blind to what they see
Mirrors of nouns and verbs 
Their meaning and secrets lost at sea
Emotions ruled by laws of language
Spelled in boxes of glass
Melted from sands inside
That voices strangle to grasp


Details | Blank verse | |

broremann the angler

Broremann the Angler

On the pier where fishing vessels were tied up my brother 
sat fishing all the while seagulls kept swooping and shrieking, 
he blissfully ignored them. He had no hook at the end of his 
line and when asked why he said, I don´t like to hurt the fish. 
 But crafty little Broremann was not as innocent as you may 
think, he didn´t like fish, all those horrible tiny bones, 
his mother had sent him down to the pier to try catch some 
fish for lunch. He liked sausages with mashed potatoes and 
stewed peas, now he could go home tell his mother fish didn´t
bite today, but made sure to put the hook on the line so his 
mother could see he was really trying. An old fisherman gave
him two sardines wrapped in a newspaper, but wouldn´t you 
know it the pair of sardines somehow slipped out of the paper
and made their way back to the sea. 


Details | Narrative | |

My Birthday Wish

I sit on the floor and wait from dusk to dawn, for a new day will soon be reborn. I count all 
the blooming flowers, and count down the long hours, while mum takes her shower. 
Today's the day, for it's my birthday. I hope I get A car, or A guitar or maybe even become 
A movie star, but that's asking A bit too much of me. I walk around singing out A loud, 
acting proud feeling as if my heads in A cloud. To my surprise I start stumbling over my 
words and begin mumbling. Maybe mum just forgot about me, or are they just hiding the 
presents from me? I walk through the hall, with my head dragging looking at the floor, 
and go to bed with my heart feeling torn. It's getting late and I can no longer wait. I turn 
off my light, and close my eyes and cry having so much things go through my mind. I 
drift to sleep but then I see, mum walking in my room in the middle of the night with A 
light. It's so bright. She raises my heart like A kite, taking of it flight and she says, good 
night, and turns of the lights. She raised my hopes high and then shot them out of the 
sky. I break down and cry, it feels as if I've just died. No one remembered why today was 
A special day for it was my birthday. I look at the sky and wonder why? I light my candle 
and close my eyes, tears dripping down onto my thighs, and I start to whisper in my 
mind. "I don't want A car, or even A guitar. I don't even want to become A movie star. I 
just want to be free of this disease called poverty, I just want people to stop running away 
from me. Free me of aids so I can stop feeling afraid. Stop me from being poor, so I can 
afford to stop sleeping on the floor. Make me smile for there is no reason to smile, but 
please make my life worth while. Take me away from Africa, for all I see is people being 
raped and all the kids hearts filled with hate, I'm loosing my faith for I am living each day 
even though there is nothing to live for". A Tear drops on my candle, And puts out the 
flame I whisper in pain,This is "My Birthday Wish"
 
We wish for luxuries that only money can afford. They wish for water for they are poor. 
People need to learn to smile, for kids living in poverty have A legitimate reason not too. 
Be happy for what we have, and never complain for what we don't have.
 
- Wiko Te Maru


Details | Haiku | |

saturday morning feast haiku

grits, eggs, and bacon
made home fresh by grandma's hands
making my start fresh


Details | Free verse | |

CREAMY ALFREDO WITH CHICKEN AND SPINACH

Chilled Pinot Grigio and Chianti
on each side of the long table,
twenty seats for twenty guests;
Antipasto with zesty dressing...
colorful vegetables with chunks
of sharp provolone and hard salami...
to be served with crunchy bread,
the kind that grandmother used to bake.
 

Oh, wait the Creamy Alfredo with chicken and spinach
is steaming on a huge serving plate...what a work of art!
Oh, the aroma of the Parmesan cheese
fills the nostrils with the urge to start;
one by one, the well-dressed guests walk
into the dining room...who said they are guests?


It's family: grandpa, grandma, uncles, aunts and cousins!
we'll surely enjoy this Sunday dinner as last week.
What about dessert? Sweet pastries and chocolate Tiramisu
with a strong cup of espresso and a shot of Sanbuca Romana;
would you like to join us and meet the friendly chef Mario? 
There's plenty of food for everyone...Buon Appetito!


Details | Rhyme | |

The random pumpkin

The flyer through the letterbox claimed 'pumpkins now half price'
I'll make a pie for Ma-in-law, for once do something nice
I was told to bring a wheelbarrow, maybe a pair of wellies
But all this preparation, still did not prepare me
For when I reached the pumpkin patch, behold, there dazzling bright
Were twenty seven pumpkins, none orange, but white!
I rubbed my eyes and scratched my head, but still they didnt change
And thought inside my muddled mind 'the grower must be strange'
But still I paid  the buying fee for my rare and freaky fruit
Rolled it in my barrow and squelched home in my boots
Then when I got it home I sat and stared an hour or two
I wanted orange pumpkin pie but white will have to do
I dont know yet how I'll explain this to my Ma-in law
She'll take one look at anaemic pie and laugh me out the door!
But beggars can't be choosers, I'm just gonna have to blag it
And next time I want pumpkin pie, go to the supermarket

27th October 2011


Details | Quatrain | |

Resourceful Mama

A little whiff of cinnamon
is quite enough to make me cry,
to think I never more will taste
Mama's delicious sweet milk pie.

Made from her love and little else,
she could bake the delightful treat.
A great chef who's lacking nothing
would find her milk pie hard to beat.


Details | Haiku | |

Mother Earth

Out of Mothers' breasts 
Flow the essence of all life
Come drink thrive and live



Entered in Raul Moreno’s Contest-Rhythm of the Falls


Details | Bio | |

my sister

My sister is one of a kind and I know shes always by my side I know we fight.

and sometime dont get along my sister and I are like a song.

The bond between us will never break she's my best friend 
.
and it will never change I love my sister


Details | Haiku | |

Nature's Table Haiku

terra cotta earth 
baking in sun's open kiln 
large empty table 

drops of kindness fall 
nourishing new sprouts with hope 
earthen mother heals 

lively greens abound 
nature's plentiful banquet 
offers of herself


Details | Rhyme | |

A MASSIVE LIST OF RECIPES

My cooking skills changed my sad mood,
I learned them by watching patient mom in relentless motion
as she put much passion in her tasty food...
who could resist not giving it a try and carry on that devotion? 


In the steamy kitchen, she spent a lifetime inventing great, exquisite recipes;
a self-made chief in her own right with neat apron and white cap;
one must have thought she was on the way to the Emmy's nomination festivities 
to pick up her golden trophy...oh, I still laugh remembering that! 


"Don't stick your finger in my batter, son...raw eggs might make
 you sick!" mother ordered. " Wait until it's baked,
then you can eat as much as you like!" I froze, thinking of no trick...
oh, that spoon dripping with sweet batter I licked!


Mom no longer could prepare large meals for our hungry family,
she succumbed to grave illness, hoping I would take up that unbroken tradition...
and it made her so glad, sensing the bond of her precious legacy;
a massive list of recpes was the everlasting gift to me with profound affection.
   


Details | Elegy | |

Elegy With Sarong 1

Her paintings of sarongs I'm going to see

will be there for two months, 

I  think, at Lake Of The Clouds

Arts. I heard this in the news:  Layers died last week.

Native Brown Bear got studied thoroughly.

It has been exonerated. The Killer Brown

has been exonerated, according to the news.

According to some searching I find out the layers

are just mist...

Paintings by the girl are hung

around the den.

Her mother uses it as the favorite

of my wrongs.

She paints bears and she is a rising

Mars.  The mother brown bear ate spoiled food we had.

We left that food out in saran wrap.

 I am unwrapping in the layers of mist

unrolling in the folds of rayon.

The girl's mother hated that sarong

that people on the lake gave

to the young artist  before the lake died.   And no one

denies giving her the sarong

and her paintings of bears and of sarongs

are with her at the opening at the Lake Arts tonight...


Details | Epulaeryu | |

SWEET APPLE PIES

They were bright yellow and red
ma loved to bake apple pies
every Sunday morn
so hot out of the oven
with cinnamon scent
steaming as fresh bread
to delight
me.
 





Details | ABC | |

angel

A is for apple her favourite food.
N is for nelly fortado her favourite singer.
G is for green her favourite colour.
E is for easter her favourite holiday.
L is for lilly her  favourite flower.


Details | ABC | |

Spudly Love

Mashed potatoes are a drug
each bite tastes better than than the first
ladled in hot pork gravy 
puddled in the middle of the dollop
and dripping slowly down the sides

soft and warm they slide down my throat
a little salt a little pepper
every bite I feel the pleasure 
everything is simple when I eat mashed potatoes
I am in the NOW when I eat them... 

I'm nurtured by the texture and the creamy warmth and flavor
of that fat spud who I think loves me as much as I love it.

Food is love and  "love is a drug"

I heard that love is a drug in a song by the New York Dolls.



Details | Blank verse | |

Anaclitic misery

Collective and permanent-
In these steps to eliminate, I advance.
Concern soley for the initial incision-the swell beneath lefthand placement and pressure.
Natural movements restricted, the right conducts it's glide across taught purpose.
 Our eyes widen to mirror the separation of her skin.
Warm nourishment begins to flood, I settle beside and case over the lips,
preventing the taste from draining down my chin.
A plentiful volume of ejecta sets the air.
 Collective and permanent- our labors deliver each other entirely from inherent hunger; mine defined by her final cry, dangles above human teeth, instincts screaming against ignorant memory-against these plastic hands which I've soaked heavily.
The creature of all my passion, each and every constant, bears your name as well.
 At this, a plentiful volume of ejecta had set the air. A powerful aroma to compliment my dinner.


Details | Acrostic | |

living candle

                                                             Living candle 
What is a living candle . People thoughts that that the great man of the world is the living candle how gave lights and happiness to the world with his blood like mathma gandi  , neru and 
Bagant singh etc. but can we miss  some body the most important and valuable person in our life’s . who make our  life better and happy  with his blood and his life . think about it who is this person . 
            In my point of view we miss the main person in our life’s.  our mothers who always play a very big role in our life’s  . mothers always treat the children with his blood . we can say that the mother is the other name of living candle who burn herself and give the light of happiness .
          Is our mother refuse any thing or any work that we demand in our homes  or in our life’s . 
I always see my mother while she is  working and rest of his life she always think about success and a good life of his children’s  . I told you a very most important and a very bad moment in my life  . After my father death our fine national conduction of our family is not so good . In dinner and also breakfast  my mother took food in last .  but why. I tell you the reason of this 
She thinks that’s  firstly  her children’s fulfill his demand of food and after that my mother eats a very low amount of food and she told us that her stomach fain  during the large amount of  food  but that is not true I tell you truth it is not the pain of large amount it is pain of hunger . I see many times that my mother eat nothing . it is morality and love of mother for his children’s
So plz thanks your mother giving you  a very happy and good life .. 
                                                                                                                       WRITTEN BY :- TARUN DABAS
                                                                                                               EMAIL:-dabastarun2@gmail.com


Details | Free verse | |

A Mother of Many

Over cooked. 
No one eats it. 
It becomes a Mother.
A nurturing feast.
of Maggots. 
At least it has more heart than you.


Details | Quatrain | |

A DELICIOUS SPLIT-PEA SOUP

Green peas and all kinds of beans
are split open to release their seeds,
like those peas in a green pod,
that mother cooked in a huge pot!


One of my dad's friends who wore a veteran's brooch, 
would shamelessly cheat to get a delicious split-pea soup;
mom didn't know he was a cheater, and surely would have hit him
with the wooden dough roller when he peaked with a grim!   


And mom slowly stirred the vegetable soup,
she used to say, " The longer it cooks, the better it tastes! '
And my mouth was drooling to taste those soft peas...
that I took out of the seeds' casings without miscue! 


Mother rushed in the kitchen with a roar of an enraged lion,
" That idiot is playing no fair game! He is a menace to all!
And he passes glasses of brandy to get everybody drunk! " 
" He wants to win no matter what the cost...oh, clever maven! "


The split-pea soup steams like a hot volcano erupting,
the cover of the pot blows off, " What a mess on my stove! " mom  screams...
" It's all his fault that I am in this state! " she continues yelling...
" I still hear his big mouth mocking...wait 'till I have finished cooking these peas! "


Entered in Nathan's Laccese contest, " Two peas in a pod " 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | I do not know? | |

Gift of Poverty

My mother would sit there, 
And watched as we ate,
She lied about eating,
As we cleaned our plate...
The clothes that we wore,
Were ones that she made,
Since she couldn’t afford,
After bills were all paid...
And I still remember,
Me shoveling coal,
While others used oil,
For heat through the cold...
So the room that we shared,
Would always stay warm,
While plastic taped windows,
Would hold back the storm...
Many will tell you,
That I grew up poor,
But poverty blessed us,
With gifts that meant more...
 
( Thank you mom now I see )
 


Details | Light Poetry | |

A soul food dish...

What you need to add is a pinch of flavor...

Maybe add some spicy herbs to enhance it's 

flavor? You can add a slice of pure hot peppers 

and maybe a small sprinkle of ginger to enrich its 

taste. If you happen to be feeling a little froggy? Maybe add 

just a little pinch of salt, but be very careful when 

you use that stuff. This dish is rich and 

full of flavor and not for everyone to eat. Did I 

forget to tell you its name? You may have had 

of it before; it's a southern fried Cajun catfish 

dinner, maybe served with a little greens or mashed 

potatoes? Some people call it the dirty fish, some 

people call it by its other name: blacken cat fish 

dinner, but were I come from? 

We just simply call it a soul food dinner.

Jay Andrew Anderson-Taylor 

Copyright ©2008 Jay Andrew Anderson-Taylor


Details | Narrative | |

Gratitude

Birthdays come but once a year
A day we celebrate, a day to cheer
We all know the day we're born and our age
For birthdays bring us joy or change of stage

The day I celebrated my fourty-ninth year
On the other side of the world fear
Horror for a young girl named Heather
Who was swimming in ocean waters from boat tethered

Swimming around the ocean deep 
Working up an appetitate for something to eat
Was a great white shark fourteen feet, whopper
Jaws powerful enough to bite through copper

At home I thought I had turned fifty
I figured this year would be very nifty
My father who was in his nineties
Reminded me that I was only fourty-ninty

In a land way down yonder
A girl named Heather was pulled under
Great white figured she was good meat
Nice and tender a very tasty treat

A girl named Heather was saved
That very day lived to be one to praise
People who worked to keep her alive
She praised God who lives in hearts and on high

Sara lived many years
Saw her grandsons through tears
She was the strength and glue
Who saw her family's problems through

Just in recent years in a land down under
A fourteen foot great white shark did blunder
Caught in a fisherman's net
He'll probably live this mistake regret

No, the fisherman cuts the lines
Frees his catch and shark from bind
Now the shark he named Cindy
Follows him around even when windy

Follows him everywhere he goes
Let's him pet her on her nose
Rub her belly and dorsal fin
She even grunts and tries to grin

Which of these do you think is the most grateful
Heather who is now disable
The shark who was spared his life
Or Sara the mother, grandmother, and wife


(The story about Heather is true. The shark circled and bit her right leg.  Then circled and 
grabbed her left leg.  The people on the boat were hitting the shark and try to pull her into 
the boat and the shark took her whole left leg off.  She was only attended by a nurse who 
was on the boat and radioed a doctor on shore as to what to do.  She was 20 hours away 
from the nearest doctor.  She was lifeflighted to a hospital in California where she had to 
have multiple surgeries and now has an artificial leg.     The story about the shark caught in 
a fisherman's net was really not true.  The grandmother here was a true story.)


Details | Quatrain | |

ONLY WHEN GOD IS WALKING DOWN MY PATH

I may look very naive and vulnerable,
hiding the pangs of my distress so well,
looking normal and walking too brisk...
only when God is walking down my path.


I seem to look away and shun the troubles,
but inside I am hurting like anybody else,
who dreams of a coming universal peace...
only when God is walking down my path. 


I nourish my body and thank my Creator
for every slice of bread and drink of water,
the essential things that not everyone has...
only when God is walking down my path.


Since my birth, I have been sheltered by a roof top,
feeling no rain, hearing no wind, bearing no bitter cold;
blessings are added daily, not taken away by wrath,
all this is possible...only when God is walking down my path.


I was given a loving mother who cared for my daily needs 
watched me grow and I spiritually grew to praise Him in my hymns; 
and her unforgettable and soft words still echo, as when I knelt down and wept,
not making me stray from my course...only when God walked down my path. 


I have been fortunate enough to have lived and survived
this long and witnessed may events that have shaped
a changing world in constant turmoil, unwilling to get rid of ugly hate;
I feel very sound and safe...only when God is walking down my path.


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Free verse | |

omelette

really, i’m really starving 

from the frame of my room’s window 
afternoon sun looks like an omelette 
wonderful, well-fried, big and wide

but that omelette has been divided,
slaughter by neighbors’ tv antennas 
by phone and electronics cables 
and without a few for my stomach 

i try to make my tears not to drops 
remind me again my mom’s omelette 
i used to be find one, a whole one,
as her love with her children

with continues fallen saliva 
i see that omelette without wink 
but only few seconds then 
it is gone ravenous-dine 
by whom i don’t know 
and then left sky alone 
like dirty-grubby plate 

tonight when dark covers the space 
night lamps one by one wake 
i will crawl go out from my room 
then silently lick the sky-plate 
before cleaned by rain or dew
only to entertain my hunger stomach 
then sleep and dream about an omelette


Details | Haiku | |

Smoke Rings

Caring parent feeds. Babe takes in food. Pretty smoke rings for dessert


Details | I do not know? | |

I Wouldn't Trade Those Mornings

I love to wake up early but stay in bed awhile.
I just lie still and listen to the sounds that make me smile.

I hear their muffled voices as they think I'm still asleep.
They try to be so quiet...through the house they slowly creep.

I hear the clang of dishes and I know they have a plan.
They'll make the wildest breakfast ever known to man.

I smell the bacon cooking and I know it won't be long.
They find my favorite station as they turn the music on.

I listen as they're coming nearer to my door.
They have to think I'm sleeping so I fake a gentle snore.

They wake me up with kisses...you know I have to grin.
With kids like this I know that life's a game I'm going to win! 


Details | Narrative | |

SCARCE HARVEST

War World II was raging over this
southern Italian town* spared by a miracle...
a deluge that suddenly occurred: 
a night of blasting sounds, of rising flames 
as American planes bombarded its buildings;
the Nazis fled to occupied Naples.
In the North, the Fascits were executed,
as the Dictator Mussolini himself was. 


The farms could not be furrowed deep and neat,
fear hung over the farmers' shoulders;
and wheat couldn't grow abundantly to make bread,
and brazen women to a distant granary they went, 
risking their lives to grind the wheat kernels;
they were no young men in town, or the older ones
who had gone to war for a concept so deceptive.
Many youngsters and soldiers were kidnapped by the Nazis, 
to be taken to Germany as prisoners of war...who would have 
challenged the Third Reich, or disobeyed?


Old women with handkerchiefs on their heads, weeping loudly
and mourning the tranquil town it once was...so lovely and happy, 
and their cry was too bitter and inconsolable to be hushed;
now, even bread was taken away from them,
damning the cruel Duce, who had betrayed them for vanity...
why did he bring prosperity to Africa, not to Italy?
Why was his ego so manipulated by Hitler's cleverness...
that he could have conquered peoples and lands?


Ruins and dead kindred...a scenery of dread and abomination,
and the lively memory of begonias on their sunny balconies 
brought a sweet nostalgia in an hour of horror and death;
and gathered among the crumbled walls, their rosaries  
recited with graceful whispers, gave them 
the strength and the courage to desperately grieve:
"Peace, o beloved peace, have you overlooked
the kindness of such humble and honorable spirits?
 

Darkness brought the silence they had sought under the glittering skies,
to hide the ugliness of the war in their gloomy shadows,
never to reveal the devastation of their town;
and with the new sun rising, hope would have been 
renewed in the sunrise's lasting glow.
They would have seen those wheat golden kernels 
bend under their heavy weight and bow.... 
and heard themselves saying," Mercy, o mercy
of our righteous God, let prosperity abound...
as the misty rain slowly comes down!"   

Southern Italian Town:  Baiano

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Rhyme | |

A Toast To Mom

oh the weather outside is frightful
and having snowball fights were so delightful

getting hit in the butt and head
then laughing cause you start seeing red

hooking on car bumpers for a little ride
wearing tennis shoes we did slip and slide

mama yelling to get off or you'll be dead
we never listened to what she had said

socks for gloves to keep little hands warm
even amidst a blizzards storm

soaked from head to foot
looking like santa's outfit full of soot

but what I remember about fun the most
was waiting for mama's hot coco and apple butter toast


on that speical Christmas morning day
before the Lord had came and taken her away


   {R.I.P. Mama}


Happy Holidays All
Love Kathy And Jenny

Also Entry For 
Deborah Guzzi's
Holiday Songs In Poem Form
Gl All


Details | Free verse | |

Lunch

Mom always made his lunch before she was off to work. 
Sometimes dad made it. 
Mom knew exactly how to fold the paper bag. 
She put his name on it
just so. 
Not too big 
so the other kids would notice. 

The bag was folded down once, 
twice, 
three times 
to make a perfect seal 
and perfect handle.
  
Inside, a sandwich 
on dark rye or wheat bread.  
Sometimes it was left-over meatloaf 
from Sunday dinner, 
with lots of ketchup 
and a slice  of lettuce.
Fresh.  
Other times, liverwurst on rye 
with spicy mustard 
and a slice of lettuce.
Fresh.  

There was always some fruit and carrot sticks and maybe 
a little green box of raisins
especially for lunches.
Maybe a little note
that said
Hi, honey.  Have a good day, 
or
There's a surprise in the cupboard
for you when you get home
or
Remember --
feed the dog.


Details | Senryu | |

' Clearly Grace ... ' 42nd Senryu


  Yeah, Can’t Wait To Taste
But, Before We Feed Our Face …
     Get A Glass Of Grace


Details | Free verse | |

Innocent Battle

A soft whistled howl and a mournful cry of pain
Small fox lies dying with a crimson stained fur coat
Its children left to suffer and yet so weak and frail

A content wolf watches its prey from a distance
Claws digging deep within the cold battered land
Tail silently swaying to and fro as desire increases

From the shadows of the shrub a silhouette emerges
A heart shattering cry of pain echoes amid the area
Its small heart seizes to beat within her small chest


Details | Free verse | |

Grandma's Kitchen

The kitchen, on the weekend mornings
When company came for a visit,
Habitually simmered like a cauldron of furious activity.  
Despite a balmy morning on a September day,
The temperature rising by the moment
My  grandmother would stand,
Red faced at her kitchen table
Rubbing flour and butter briskly
Through her fingers into a large mixing bowl
Apples already peeled and sliced would lay
Like pale green petals in the pie plate,
Waiting for the crumbled topping.
She may have fallen asleep the evening before
In her big, fat, over-stuffed chair
Long before her house guests had even
Stifled a lazy yawn
But on this bright, sunny morning
She was as young as a new bride.


Details | I do not know? | |

Maurice McMuffin

Maurice Mc Muffin ate nothing but stuffin’
He wouldn’t eat meat fruit or veg
His mother went potty it turned her quite dotty
And was tipping her over the edge, so

She thought up a plan to provide the young man
With food both nutritious and yummy
Using her skill and determined to fill
That unhealthy space in his tummy

In her kitchen domain she vowed to remain
Whilst weaning him off of his diet
Trying all recipes and hoping to please
And praying that he would just try it

One day she was cooking and when she weren’t lookin’
Young Maurice crept in through the door
He tasted some pud and he found it was good
Saying “Mum can I please have some more”

Mum jumped for joy because her little boy
Found some food that he wanted to eat
Now he’ll scoff anything that his mother can bring
As long as it’s sticky and sweet


Details | Bio | |

my motherII

i have known this lady 
since i was a baby
she took care of me from the womb
not leading me to the tomb
all she gave me was love so pure
of that i am always sure
we do have our differences
but i love her all the same
through thick and thin she's been there
she is my personal angel
my own mother
she is like no other
she's always there when i need her
and i love her more than words can say


Details | Prose Poetry | |

and 'Ladies'

 
  and 'Ladies' young and old
do you even know
when i go into the grocery store
and how they come all around me
and i
not even paying attention
as they watch me squeeze this and
squeeze that
and they being all that you are
some what more and some few less
and they
take my hand and place it there
and in my hand they squeeze it
they squeeze it harder than they should
but i'm not paying attention 
and as i'm thinking about squeezing
that which needs to be squeezed
in my mind i am squeezing it more
and watching some become flushed
there faces grow dark and pink
so many
and so many my head spins around 
looking down as i feel
all of that juice run free
through my hands
and all of my critical thinking
has left me it's gone. 

Is It Poetry 
 
 


Details | Acrostic | |

living candle

                                                             Living candle 
What is a living candle . People thoughts that that the great man of the world is the living candle how gave lights and happiness to the world with his blood like mathma gandi  , neru and 
Bagant singh etc. but can we miss  some body the most important and valuable person in our life’s . who make our  life better and happy  with his blood and his life . think about it who is this person . 
            In my point of view we miss the main person in our life’s.  our mothers who always play a very big role in our life’s  . mothers always treat the children with his blood . we can say that the mother is the other name of living candle who burn herself and give the light of happiness .
          Is our mother refuse any thing or any work that we demand in our homes  or in our life’s . 
I always see my mother while she is  working and rest of his life she always think about success and a good life of his children’s  . I told you a very most important and a very bad moment in my life  . After my father death our fine national conduction of our family is not so good . In dinner and also breakfast  my mother took food in last .  but why. I tell you the reason of this 
She thinks that’s  firstly  her children’s fulfill his demand of food and after that my mother eats a very low amount of food and she told us that her stomach fain  during the large amount of  food  but that is not true I tell you truth it is not the pain of large amount it is pain of hunger . I see many times that my mother eat nothing . it is morality and love of mother for his children’s
So plz thanks your mother giving you  a very happy and good life .. 
                                                                                                                       WRITTEN BY :- TARUN DABAS
                                                                                                               EMAIL:-dabastarun2@gmail.com


Details | Narrative | |

My Memories of Fried Chicken

Memories of my mother and grandmother
 and there fried chicken…

First was my grandmother killing 
the chicken, with a broom stick and bare 
hands (won’t go into details, to gross)…?

As the chicken flopped around the ground
 for awhile bleeding out my grandmother 
would get out the gas burner and prepare 
the boiling water, then the chicken would
 take a nice hot bath, so the feathers
would come out easier…

I watched my grandmother plucking 
its feathers then searing of the pen feathers…

One thing I didn’t like was the smell
 of the wet feathers and the seared pen 
feathers, awful…

After all the prep came out the cast
 iron skillet, Cisco, the floured, salt
 and peppered chicken…

Time seemed so slow when you
 could smell the chicken cooking, but you 
knew dinner wasn’t far off, for by the
 time dad came home from work, washed
 up dinner was on the table…

The deliciously fried chicken, side
 of vegetables and the mashed potatoes 
with pan drippings gravy, 
Oh, soooooooo goooooood.

I am sure making myself hungry…

©2012


Details | Acrostic | |

living candle

                                                             Living candle 
What is a living candle . People thoughts that that the great man of the world is the living candle how gave lights and happiness to the world with his blood like mathma gandi  , neru and 
Bagant singh etc. but can we miss  some body the most important and valuable person in our life’s . who make our  life better and happy  with his blood and his life . think about it who is this person . 
            In my point of view we miss the main person in our life’s.  our mothers who always play a very big role in our life’s  . mothers always treat the children with his blood . we can say that the mother is the other name of living candle who burn herself and give the light of happiness .
          Is our mother refuse any thing or any work that we demand in our homes  or in our life’s . 
I always see my mother while she is  working and rest of his life she always think about success and a good life of his children’s  . I told you a very most important and a very bad moment in my life  . After my father death our fine national conduction of our family is not so good . In dinner and also breakfast  my mother took food in last .  but why. I tell you the reason of this 
She thinks that’s  firstly  her children’s fulfill his demand of food and after that my mother eats a very low amount of food and she told us that her stomach fain  during the large amount of  food  but that is not true I tell you truth it is not the pain of large amount it is pain of hunger . I see many times that my mother eat nothing . it is morality and love of mother for his children’s
So plz thanks your mother giving you  a very happy and good life .. 
                                                                                                                       WRITTEN BY :- TARUN DABAS
                                                                                                               EMAIL:-dabastarun2@gmail.com


Details | Narrative | |

Untitled #21 / Buscuits, gravy, sausage, eggs

Biscuits, gravy
sausage, eggs
salt & pepper
In mama’s kitchen I find
comfort food for my weary soul
a pleasant dinner surprise.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

MORNING DRINK

since am   small
now am tall
but i do recall
from my rout
the south
you get up  and make
this is  not fake
it was cofee
i can still see
how the family would think
and blink and wink
over  this
MORNNING DRINK


Details | Rhyme | |

Under The Bed

Strawberries, Blueberries, Cherries

   all sorts of  berries under my bed

                  why?     why?

                  to make a pie

                  why?      why?

             'cause mommy forgot

             that I haven't been fed

        before she tucked me into bed.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Kichen Poem Prayer

God bless my little kitchen,
I love it's every nook,
And bless me as I do my work,
wash pots and pans and even cook,
and may the that I prepare,
be seasoned from above,
as we partake of earthly food,
thy table for us spread,
we'll not forget to thank thy Lord,
who gives us daily bread,
so bless my little kitchen,
God and those who enter in,
may they find not but joy'n peace
and happiness within,