the turkey was exquisitely browned to perfection
we saw her take it out of an oven marked convection
what is your secret? we asked the baker of the year
I can’t pinpoint it, she said, this grandmother dear
another old lady was irritated with grandma’s win.
She urged me over so the gossiping could begin.
It’s not even cooked, it is raw inside, she reported.
She painted it with acrylics, she deserves to be deported.
All the ingredients
Aligned in order
Like building
Brick and mortar
Time after time
The recipe fails
Though I have in hand
Boards, hammer, nails
The foundation, laid
The walls in place
Power flowing
Still no space
Can't find the thing
That makes up a home
Tried every avenue
But I'm still alone
If not bread for meal
If not work for peace
If not talk for walk
Then where is there release
I see it now, finally clear
It is the condition of the connection
Lines laden with matter
Is the yeast of convection
...when you just want manna
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-10-2026d
Love finger paints amethyst art on my heart
Illuminates life even if times are onyx dark
I wait for such an artist to brighten my days
Sculpting my mind my tongue with what to say
For a gentle nudge of affection inspires my dreams
Sweet as candy convection is why you stick to me
I feel you are the water so blue waving over
Making wet dreams true the shy red bolder
I have met you in my heart perhaps in another life
Somehow I know we are to find us in due time
Thermal air currents in physics are primarily explained by the Second Law of Thermodynamics which states that heat always flows from a hotter to a colder region, causing the warmer air to rise and cooler air to sink, creating convection currents.
A murmuration
Gliding along on thermals
Starlings ascending
Shower during summer, It is due to convection
by seasonal wind.
Land gets heated up, hot air goes up, pulls up stream from the seas on earth.
Comes in hot summer, settles the dust in the air and cools the high heat.
In the unquiet chamber of a kitchen,
where brittle leaves of thyme and sage sway
in unison, to the hot hum of convection
crooning softly from a stove of iron.
The guests hang waiting, by turns,
for their moment in the simmering cauldron.
Thick, steaming whispers of warmth
curl around the herbs like a secret,
as the ample arms of winter wrap the day,
in a slowing cloak of comfort.
The soup, a slower surrender of spinach,
blooms in the broth—verdant and tender at first,
then shrinking away, like sunlight at solstice.
Wilted strings of greens tie memory
in their tendrils, mingling with the earthy echo
and unrushed tones of rosemary.
Garlic, its own pungent alchemy, intrudes
as a perfume, lingering like an unpaid mistress,
an alabastered addition to the elixir, a liquid hymn,
of patience.
Bones simmered to capitulation,
cradled spoonsful of succumbing, each sip
an immersion into the gentle resignation of day.
Ladle gently circles the pot and the world slows,
even more, as though time, too, seeks refuge
in the simmering depths of the ordinary,
and the richness of the balm, in stillness,
at the center of the supper.
collective mindset
human dots connect
on the Other shore
Augenblicte
David J Walker
The flash frame scene
seemed to last
In a fevered forever
more than 50 years
beyond today's dawn
beyond a horizon that changes
without ever-changing places
and never aging faces
imprinted in vivid color
who says forever is never
and never-never happens
and never neverland
never lands
in the planned races and
planned spaces
faces extinction
the distinction is in
the same time frame
its twilight zone light
replaces convention
and might inoculate conviction
a golden sun sang low & slow
sad songs of convection
yesterdays reflection comes and goes
at night
and borrows against
tomorrows borrowed sunlight
As the song of the River cleanses my mind
I am gently caressed by reflection.
And whilst the Sun's touch softly sinks through my skin
I contemplate Our connection.
As the Spirits of air lightly play with my hair
I embrace their loving convection.
While the voice of a robin dances into my heart
and reminds me of all Life's perfection.
I dreamt I kissed a pastor on the forehead.
His face was black and he backed away.
I was not ashamed, wanting to show affection,
During this time of covid, protest and convection.
I am seeking where to plant my feet.
I’ve been uprooted and shaken up.
God bless all children of God.
A beautiful planting; we are all flawed.
And even our pastors need cheering up.
In this vineyard of sweet and sour grapes.
Let them see our green and purple faces.
Let God’s pulse thrive through all the races.
6/28/2020
The trouble with touch
Is wanting too much
Finger tips tingling
Trite hearts signaling
Your space in-between
Where feelings are seen
If taken one day
You lose your own way
The rush of desire
An embrace on fire
Sparks of connection
Human convection
As all isolate
Some suffer cruel fate
More virus distress
Of touchless duress
Sharing a fresh start
By staying apart
Resisting to touch
Now saves lives as such
Distancing does work
Recovery shall perk
Resources will align
When all forces combine
The best way to touch
Comes through in the clutch
All's said and done
Our world can be one
Smoke rises in every direction,
staining blue skies with pale shades of grey;
Molten coals--they deliver convection,
to the meats laid an orderly way,
busily emanating aromatic bouquets.
Termed 'Barbecues' or 'Pickin's--by plain folk,
toiling sunrise till often sunset;
to dispense the real magic in hot smoke,
produced by mere gas or briquette,
and the labors of pure human sweat.
In the end, wafting smoke teases senses,
anticipating succulence traced;
to 'cookouts' that sometimes mend fences,
tween those who oft gather in haste,
for that scent of 'the good life,' in taste!
Many springs have come and gone,
the city roars and wheezes,
concrete monsters block the prospect
and restrict the balmy breezes.
Summers stifle, streets are steaming,
hydrants bring some small relief,
merchants battle with the street gangs,
struggle on in blind belief.
Canyons strangle, subways throttle,
autumn bleeds in red and gold,
chilly now as winter beckons
with its shroud of killing cold.
Jersey beckons 'cross the river,
yet another frying pan,
in the cauldron of convection,
cradle of the modern man.
The humid Hawaiian heat hobbles my head and heart too,
Hitting as the Humvee high-tails past on the highway,
Sweat seeps steadily south from scalp to shoes
Convection current cooking, keep pedaling, pores crying.
Howling Haleakala Headwinds hammer hard,
Freezing face, fingers, and forehead.
Wistfully watching the warm water Westward;
Blasting breeze’s blows batter my body backward.
Soft saline sea spray spritzes the sunbathers
As the surges' steady smashing against the shore
Rhythmically rocks the run-down revelers
to a sweet, sun-kissed, seaside sleep once more.
For Elements Part 2—Wind Contest (First Place)
Sponsored by Brian Davey
Judged 3/29/16
Many springs have come and gone,
the city roars and wheezes,
concrete monsters block the prospect
and restrict the balmy breezes.
Summers stifle, streets are steaming,
hydrants bring some small relief,
merchants battle with the street gangs,
struggle on in blind belief.
Canyons strangle, subways throttle,
autumn bleeds in red and gold,
freezing now as winter beckons
with its shroud of killing cold.
Jersey beckons 'cross the river,
yet another frying pan,
in the cauldron of convection,
cradle of the modern man.
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