Best Flour Poems

Life was hard in the money department
My parents had what was called a paid job
Just over basics it was evident
Someone else ate the corn, they got the cob

Life was grand, week to week we ate biscuits
There was sidemeat on our plate with syrup
The salt made...

Continue reading...

Mother was a genius when it came to recyclin' flowery flour sacks,
Durin' The Great Depression to provide duds for her family's backs!
With her trusty pedal Singer Sewin' Machine she turned out a horde,
Of decent apparel that we could ill afford from Montgomery-Ward!

In gym class I...

Continue reading...

My Father grew up on a farm many years ago,
they never had very much this I do know.
During the depression times were really tough,
clothes made from flour sacks worked well enough.
My Aunt had a dress, my father a shirt,
Father was just a little guy just...

Continue reading...

	Memories
	of
	Sugar Cakes & Flour Sacks
	Written: by Tom Wright
	9/1/99
	
	Sitting in prayer at Mothers door
	As she lay in deepest sleep.
	Her face, embedded with hand prints of time,
	Told of a life, upon reflection,
	That made me weep.
	
	Near her bedside death had crept
	Which would not be denied.
	Life hadn't prepared me...

Continue reading...

Flour
Makes a great paste
Tortes, scones, cobblers, muffins
Cinnamon and sugar crust, yum!
Cakes and pies would be nothing without it
Donut making relies on it
Throw in some sugar please
Necessary
Flour...

Continue reading...

The flour sack, the flour sack!
To my childhood it harkens back...

With the flour at last gone
Mom would use it to sew upon..

Dish towels, aprons , and who knows what
No complaints, our mouths remained firmly shut!

I wouldn't, shouldn't say that we were poor
But  flour sack...

Continue reading...

Flour sacks I remember you so well
full of golden grain, bran or flour
a slight but delightful musty smell
perambulating the atmosphere 

Sacks cut up for all sorts of things
cloth shoes and dresses even trousers
rough coats that did not keep one warm
scarecrows dressed in sacks 

Vegetables stored...

Continue reading...

Oh, yes! I recall them well,
those pretty prints as flour sacks.
They only needed hemming
added to Mom's dishtowel stacks.

I don't remember dresses 
made from them for Sis or me.
Sewed together for table cloths,
they were pretty as could be.

They brightened the old kitchen 
when hung as window...

Continue reading...

Music is God
and songs worship
Music.
In appreciation of the
composers skills
one might look to
God for inspiration.
False Gods collaborate
throught
the concentration of plagiarism
they look to speak to many
and gather the attention of all
in worship of both
Music and song
they structure
melonic hamonies
in music intro,
lyric chourus and in 
lyric prechorus
with sounds that...

Continue reading...

Me bum is flat coz as a graphic designer I sat
Crushed it, didn't allow for expansion, it's a fact
Guess it's not a bad thing
No need to put it in a sling
Or walk around wearing a flour sack!...

Continue reading...

Dust gathers on the shelf,
To fill the empty spaces.
There is a time and place, 
To accept final defeat.
She survived the lions den.
Dancing the dance with her sisters
To the tune of hypocrisy.
A masquerade to mislead them all.
The crime of the century, is still written on her...

Continue reading...

Flour, who needs it?
I do! The cupcakes yell.
And me! Agreed the pie crust.
Me! Hollered brownies.
Me! Me! Me! The chili screamed.

Why do you need flour? Questioned the tomatoes.
The other soups snickered.
We all have to have flour for thickening, silly!
This was said by Potato Soup who is...

Continue reading...

Flour is a blessed 
To feed the whole floor 
The lives men and plus 
Flour is the flow of this floor...

Continue reading...

Elsie, Lucy, Olive, this small boy's remarkable old aunts.
Oh, how they rubbed their hands.
But with glee or sorrow? Or even anger?

Elsie had a strict-looking expression - 
when not rubbing her hands.
Lucy wore spectacles that pinched her nose
and, oh, had such a thin smile -
when not...

Continue reading...

The real woman cries for flower.
A handed one makes her tower.
The much uplifted that hour!
Giver has but lent her power;
Just nothing would the day sour.

A woman, then free to glower,
If you'd promised her a flower
And it she saw not next hour;
As a replacement Bakers Flour...

Such...

Continue reading...