~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the fabric remembers her hands~
floured fingerprints on crimson petals,
the knot at her waist pulled tight
as she turned from the oven’s glow.
heat curls the edges,
fraying the green leaves
where gravy once splattered~
a stain, a story.
Mother wore it like armor~
against time,
against hunger,
against the silence
of an empty kitchen.
Now it hangs,
a ghost of cinnamon and cloves,
still holding the shape
of her laughter.
We should whisper our prayers tonight
before we go to bed tonight
our souls shall slumber onto the brink of eternity
in God’s home filled with his many mansions
tomorrow morning is coming
time to plan our burial
our hollowed bones and mundane flesh
will be incinerated into a rubble of floured ashes
diffused into the bowels of the ocean’s depths
the residue of our mundane mortality left behind
on the pastures of this broken down, sinful, sadistic world
As a young child
breakfast time was my favorite time of day
Mommy hovered over the flaming stove
as she sizzled a bundle of my favorite meals
tuna, corn beef, sardines , and steamed sausages
served with a side of white grits
dashed with warm butter as gold as a coin
I sat at the table and gobbled down the meal
like a contestant in a pie eating contest!
Fast forward to the present day
as I matured into adulthood
I no longer have the craving desire
for this type of cuisine,
eating grits now gives me
the feeling of indigestion
forcing my stomach to spew it out
like lava from an erupting volcano!
Now I just stick to enjoying
a cup of brewing decaf coffee as hot as the desert
with sprinkles of succulent sugary powder
and a bowl of chicken souse seasoned in high sour lime
and bird peppers as spicy as chili
with light floured coconut Johnny cake!
Enamel finger-smeared thick with butter
Yellow onions, yellow butter, floured and browned
Just add cream
From roux to dream
Now spice to glue that hold my world together
The team assembles for its tasty mission
Cheddar, gouda, mozz and more
Thick sheets of ham
Tubers sliced translucent
Layered, latticed, clothed in white bliss
Sealed deep into my black Dutch Oven
Four hundred twenty-five degrees, twice boiling
Every five minutes, I keep checking
Time warps
seconds are hours
Only half done, removing the covering
Top comes off, melting marbarella muck
Gilded golden gruyere
Splattering over spuds
Swirling cheese seas
Miasmic fragrant fromage tauntingly teased air
Beep! Beep! Beep! It's done!
Don't waste a moment
Too hot to taste
Bubbling lava lake
Slowly crusting cheesy skin emerging from the oven
Finally, the soup solidified, gooey cultured cream
Ready for the fork and spoon
Potatoes caked
Ham baked
Reality as gastro-goodness manifested dream
Onto my plate, my fork, my palette, my bliss
Come along now she'd say to me and then together we would knead
two strong arms and a floured face, this woman had love and speed
It was Christmas Eve, and I will never forget her zeal nor her passion
"Where did daddy hide my birthday cake?" she'd ask with a tiny smile.
She was born on Christmas Eve, so that made her as close to the babe
as anyone could get. In those days we didn't have much money,
mom would always give us pajamas, including dad.
Today as I recall our tiny silver tree, I feel blessed and very glad.
It was the seventies back in the good old days of Montreal,
we were rich in tradition, wealthy with love and laughter. We had
genuine guidance from struggling immigrants who knew the value
of sacrifice and love.
Later in the evening after a good plate of pasta and meatballs, dad
would whisper in my ear, " Figlia, go get your moms cake" and
without being told where it was, I would go to the garage and fish
the cake out of the cantina. " Candles were lit and Christmas was
honored in the family, Happy Birthday mom, Merry
Christmas Jesus!
Wonder how Shakespeare would asked for bread from Poe
In floured bread
the ambers hope
to darken more
never more
red Mexican chilies
hot jalapeno peppers
tasty refried beans
sizzling chicken fajitas
bits of fresh lettuce
scoop of onion
rolled up in a floured burrito
delicacy fit for a queen
FLOURED SHRIMP
======================= ======================
.
.
.
.
. STEAMED CRAWDADS
1 cups of strawberries
1 cup of raspberries
1 packet of cherry Kool-Aid
5 Tablespoons of Amaretto
1/2 cup of sugar
mix well and set aside.....
1 cup of soft goat cheese (milk)
1 cup of cream cheese
1/2 cup of toasted almonds
1/2 cup of black walnuts
1 cup of white chocolate
2 Tablespoons of vanilla
1/2 cup of sugar
mix well and set aside.....
4 cups of sourdough ( already made and risened)
on a floured board roll the dough, to an even 1/4 inch.
square the edges. spread cream cheese mixture and top with fruits
roll into a log.
cut one inch circles. and bake for about 20 minutes, or until golden brown.
in a bowl.
1 cup of confectionary sugar
2 tablespoons of vanilla
5 tablespoons of water, mix until smooth
add more water if consistency isn't right.
top the sour dough rolls and serve!
Ice cream and water
Why, even bother
Cinnamon peanut, butter
Fresh churn collards
what is the purpose of man
Cooking in saucepans
On the stoves and. . .
candy under the iron
flavored running water, (nobody's trying)
who'd taught us?
taught us
Spring not a well
Floured fishes
Like golden fishes
Pepperidge Farm Goldfish
wHo placed the Carmel on the stove to long
Cause it burn, it's burn
Carmel left on the stove
what do you mean you didn't know
Honey Hut Cheerio's, Sugar Pop's oh! I meant Smacks
who'd taught us?
taught us
Spring not a well
Floured fishes
Like golden fishes
Pepperidge Farm Goldfish
Raisin Bran, Captain Crunch
Ice meltdown to water on the back porch
I didn't even call yo warm turn to boil
Faded brown orange tan sugar syrup
Leaves me with
without ashes. . .
Burnt Molasses
04/3/14
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
Pumpkins orange glowing bright
shine into the darkest night
ghouls and ghosts and all things scary
small werewolves with fingers hairy
Descend upon us once a year
on the eve renown for fear
Be ready quick to pay the ghost
or you'll soon end up as toast
Little taps upon your door
demanding treats or tricks for sure
hurry satisfy their need
replenish them their chocolate feed
Then retire and wait for more
little taps upon your door
remember not to run out quick
as eggs upon your window stick
though floured covered paths and cars
appease the creatures with blood stain scars
So be warned the time is near
these creatures won't respect your fear
here now at your door
from nought to teen
stock up your treats
as 'Arrrrrgh it's Halloween!!'
I guess I was a gift that was never opened, a question that was never answered,
a clever thought that was never utilized, a blessing from God, never realized,
only criticized and recognized, through the temporary owner of the devil’s eyes,
lies vividly visualized, and analyzed, through those who socialize, just listen why
my soul cries, love unveils, hate’s disguise, my heart’s been floured-n-fried, from
those who used it to capitalize, like the ocean’s tides, my temperature rise, even
though I am alive, a part of me just died, that part of me, was a gift that was
never opened, a question never answered, a clever thought, never utilized, now
through severed ties, your blessing from God is realized and recognized, this is
what it sounds like when love dies.
Every year at Chanukah,
Like from divine command,
My grandma made the cookies
All her grandkids would demand.
These humble sugar dainties,
Cut in shapes and rolled out thin,
Served as harbinger that Chanukah
Could finally begin.
But each one, crisp and delicate,
Came with the possibility
That part of it would snap away,
Because of its fragility.
So lions rarely kept their tails
And candles lost their flames.
The sturdy dreidels, still intact,
Were prized for lack of maims.
A colored sugar dusting
Coated each and every shape.
From sugar sparkles on your clothes
You never could escape.
My grandma passed her cutters down
To me, and so I strive,
With floured hands, to help to keep
Her recipe alive.
Today I gamely baked a batch;
My kids made the request.
I picture grandma’s smiling face
And think she’d be impressed.
stand on the podium
stand up for the crowd
you gold medal coffee maker
you champion toll collector
you safety food inspector
take a bow and wave to the people
you road-line painter
you lifetime dishwasher
the national anthem plays a
glory hallelujah salute to you
you topflight tire changer
pump me up! fire ranger,
you game changer with
a new world record
you photo-finish fish filleter
scaling new heights of
perfection, golden dusted
we salute and applaude you
sausage cooker, with mustard
you gold medal floured
over-night baker
you water quality tester
we know you do your best or
why else would we be standing
here now, drinkin' you in
all smiles and elation
our hometown creation
damn! we love you!
we cheer you, we pay homage
you achieve your promise
like sports men and women
who run like a train
who rise with the sun
again, and again, and again
to test themselves
to challange their body
the mettle of their soul
we exalt, we extol,
we give a bouquet,
to those who excel and
grab gold medal victory
from the jaws of today
© Goode Guy 2012-08-06
a bit late in posting I'm afraid...
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
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