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Eating Grits

Out on the porch in the still morn
Looking at the foggy damp knoll
As I think about being reborn
And eat grits from the new soup bowl

Neighbor's roosters sing their morn's song
Fog's moisture down the Oak leaves roll
All seems right and we get along
And eat grits from the new soup bowl

All is not right many unrests
Wars and fightings many lost souls
Those sad thoughts burn within my breast
As I eat grits from the new soup bowl

What can I do and still exsist
And eat my grits from new soup bowl

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Poet Destroyer A

Date: 12/12/2012 10:24:00 PM

Hello Sara, love the grits/..... sounds good to me... morning here i come...pd

Joe Maverick

Date: 12/11/2012 12:25:00 AM

So the bowl is dual purpose 'eh Sara.." Love the serenity of the surrounds You show me also))

Andrea Dietrich

Date: 12/10/2012 10:20:00 PM

Sara, I think I failed to grasp your complete meaning the first time I read this because of the name grits and how it sounds like something gritty. I think I may have tasted them when I had a best friend one time from alabama. I didn't like them. But yes, I can see what you were telling me in the soupmail!!

Heather Ober

Date: 12/9/2012 10:04:00 PM

Oh, Sara, I really love this one. It reminds me so much of stories my grandmother has told me. I agree with Russell that this is a very powerful poem. I'm going to add it as one of my favourites. Keep up the excellent writes!

Andrea Dietrich

Date: 12/9/2012 7:02:00 PM

wow, a cool symbolic poem, Sara. And to call it "grits" hahaha. Makes it sound not always so appetizing. But I know what you mean, when the bad stuff happens and causes some nice souls to leave our merry group. I enjoyed this.

Russell Sivey

Date: 12/9/2012 12:37:00 PM

This is a very powerful and intriguing write my friend! I really enjoyed reading this illustrious and dynamic poem here this afternoon! What an amazing piece Sara, Great Work!!

Linda-Marie Sweetheart

Date: 12/9/2012 8:42:00 AM

a delightful country setting topped with tasty grits .. sounds amazing Sara .. when I lived in Cleveland a neighbor of mine made grits every Sunday ..