A tiny seed falls
down to earth
which to a stalk
one day gives birth
The stalk is wheat
from which folks eat
the 'Staff of Life'
~ pretty neat
The falling rain is heaven-sent
from heavy clouds- its deluge meant
to quench the earth, each leaf, and tree!
Oh water, how we welcome thee.
From bubbling streams to lakes and seas
you bolster life to live with ease.
Immersed- our fish with gills, breathe free!
Oh water, how we welcome thee.
With you, we bathe, relax and swim;
those joys are welcomed at our whim!
Wrapped in your liquid, soothed, carefree-
Oh water, how we welcome thee.
We know you as a staff of life-
along with bread to keep us rife.
Our bodies, one-half water, be!
Oh water, how we welcome thee.
August 29, 2022
I sprinkled dry yeast in warm water
And watched it bubble up,
Then cracked open a fresh laid egg
On the edge of a measuring cup.
I dumped in a helping of all-purpose flour,
A little oil, a pinch of salt.
Then I stiffened it up in a mixing bowl
Like a mugger committing assault.
I rolled it all out on a cutting board
Well-dusted with whole grain unbleached.
My hands went to work massaging the mass
As appropriate texture was reached.
I then let it sit till it doubled in size,
Set the oven to furnace degrees.
Then I fashioned a riddle and baked it inside,
Left the kitten to do as she please.
Twenty minutes later…
I opened the oven with fireproof mitts,
And fetched out my fresh staff of life.
I brushed it with butter, then set it aside,
Left to cool, while I sharpened my knife.
Ten minutes later…
The time finally came,
I was hot on my game,
And I cut me a taste-tempting slice.
But it was only half-baked,
Insufficiently toasted.
It had to go back in the oven.
I surveyed the scene,
Took a couple more tokes,
And baked up a morning worth lovin’.
Hailed through the ages as the staff of life,
It takes many forms in each town and fief.
There's white bread and brown bread, biscuits and scones,
And hoe cakes and muffins, crescents and corn pone.
When setting a table with china replete,
Without buns or rolls it's just not complete.
The main dish is scrumptious, the side dish is fine,
But the meal is a bust without bread of some kind;
And when a young man is seeking a wife,
If she can't make a biscuit there's gonna be strife;
So when it's all finished and all's done and said,
Please pass the biscuits it ain't supper 'thout bread.
If the staff of life
Is bread, then
Is death gluten-free?
7/17/19
By Bread alone, Man
Doth Not Live …
Faith … His Staff of Life
Entry in Bakers Dozen Contest
~ Maureen McGreavy
bread, our staff of life
collapses
without fresh water
Sandra M. Haight
Flour, water, salt, yeast.
Staff of life,
When hungry, a feast.
Entry for 5-3-5 syllables
Baker's Dozen Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Maureen McGreavy
5/10/18. Placed 2nd.
So, this is where the sheaves were hauled
Where corn was husked, and seeds were hulled
So, this is where the meal was ground,
until the clock ran down
Round and round
a donkey bound
Asleep, awake. By night and day
The millstone tossed the dust around
Vibrations trembled thick stone walls
Humming sounds before the dawn,
bemoaning hymns of tranquil breathing.
The staff of life was there for reaping
until winds hushed this quiet song
No stone could grind the past away
The heart of life kept beating on,...
until the clock ran down
__________________________________________________
5/25/18
Contest: The Gristmill
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Pan: Betel. Or quintessentially creole, made anew, pan-American music
Aloo: also Native American, the staff of life, versatile with curry
Naan: often translated roti, chapati, dhaalpuri, but not rotisserie
Dholak: the drums that doubled (not Doubles) as tassa, for Hosay
I : I, too, know bitter sugar, the syrupy blood of plantations
Tasted: Tasted the brotherhood of the boat, in another middle passage
Appointments: with pen. She is a better pendit than Claude McKay, CLR, VS ...
Fare waits upon the table— hard and fluid kind:
three glasses filled with golden liquid, shards of ice;
another two- the amber-colored flow, defined
and clear, no ice, their smooth opacity concise.
Supported are four slices—lightly toasted bread
that stand on end, grouped, dry without a hint of spread.
Oh, such a wondrous setting—bread, the staff of life,
the basic need that fed all men since long ago,
life-giving manna all across the world, where strife
engulfs and threatens those of humankind that know
without the staff of life, their days come to an end—
without their daily bread, grim death will soon attend.
And, there along with bread, the liquid stands beside
to quench the thirst, provide as a life-sustaining mate.
Without this sacred flow to balance and subside
the dryness in the throat from bread—this would negate
the need for food—for fluid is our liquid gold,
and mixed with bread, the staff of life becomes two-fold.
April 14, 2014
How amazing that
The merest scent
Wafting through the air
Can transport
Through time and space
To places remembered,
And allow
For the re-creation
Of poignant moments.
The smell of
Fresh baked bread
Takes me to my
Mother’s kitchen table,
Surrounded by siblings
And neighbor kids
All partaking in the
Sacrament of this
Homemade staff of life,
With butter.
The odor of
Burning sweet grass
Transports me
To a darkened sky
And a dirt path
In the jungle of
Guatemala.
The fireflies hovered
‘Til I felt I walked
Among the stars.
Ahhh…roses,
They smell like Grandma,
And wood smoke
Is my Grandpa.
My daughter smells like
Sunshine,
And my son
Like fresh turned
Soil.
My wife is vanilla.
Today I added
A new favorite –
You, my dearest friend, are
Hazelnut coffee!
The smallest scent
And I’m with you,
Laughing and singing
And knowing pure joy.
If I could
Combine them all
Into one
Scratch and Sniff,
I would label it
LOVE!!!
Hailed through the ages as the staff of life,
It takes many forms in each town and fief.
There's white bread and brown bread, biscuits and scones,
And hoe cakes and muffins, crescents and corn pone.
When setting a table, with china, replete,
Without buns or rolls it's just not complete.
The main dish is scrumptious, the side dishes fine,
But the meal is a bust without bread of some kind;
And when a young man is seeking a wife,
If she can't make a biscuit there's gonna be strife;
So when it's all finished and all's done and said,
Please pass the biscuits, it ain't supper 'thout bread.
How strange life is. It circles round, stands end on end
Distorts the view, then plays the music back again
I remember how he would tiptoe in, from a warm and downy bed
He would wink at me, and beckon me, while the moon and stars peeked in
By kitchen light, we would eat a bite..., a “midnight snack”, he said
He would lift me up, and from the counter top, I'd watch him tear the bread
The staff of life, a simple thing, these two small bowls of wheat
My Dad and I, the broken bread, with milk on top, or cream instead
A bit of sugar or honey dripped, to make it slightly sweet
Such a little thing, so comforting, and it helped us both to sleep….
***
While… in my care, his final years…especially at the end
He was fading then, no appetite, few foods that he might try
Soft bread I’d make, with milk poured in, …….and we would talk of then
And through the night the hours stretched, until the morning light
I’d sit upon his bed and talk, and help him spoon a bite to eat
The things in life turn inside out, somehow come back again
_________________________
For the Contest sponsored by Regina Riddle
"Intimate Relationship"
.
Homemade Chocolate Chip Brownies
Brown sugar_butter
Eggs for rising high power
Flour the staff of life
Semi-sweet great touch
~Aroma~
Taste!
Contest:"Eat Me!"
Sponsor: John Heck
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