Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Our Host
Stacey L. Joy is a National Board Certified Teacher with 38 years of teaching in the elementary classroom. Teaching her Joyteam scholars the power of knowledge, self-advocacy and justice are at the core of her practice. Stacey is a poetry lover, a creator who goes down rabbit holes on Canva, and a fan of coffee, water, and red wine. Follow Stacey on X @joyteamstars or on IG @joyteam.
Inspiration
In Brett Vogelsinger’s book, Poetry Pauses, he encourages teachers to use food poems to explore imagery “because the mere mention of food nudges readers toward taste and smell, color and texture and temperature, engaging many of the five senses.” Let’s explore imagery with food and hopefully you will find this fun to do with your students.
I have a funny relationship with food. I dislike most foods that many people love (mac ‘n cheese, for one). diet is very predictable and simple, healthy and light, but it’s easy to manage for the finicky eater in me.
Process
Think about your relationship with food, food memories, or anything foodie or foodish! Maybe you’d prefer to think about food origins, those who bring us food, or your thoughts on food deserts.
- Aim to appeal to the senses of smell, touch, taste, sound (but not sight)
- Try free writing for a few minutes about your chosen food or experience
- Choose a poetic form that works for you or no form at all
- If you’d like to try writing a diamonte poem, here’s a Diamonte generator from ReadWriteThink that makes it easier to format
- Brett’s Five Favorite Food Poems might inspire you.
Stacey’s Poem
Tortilla Soup Diamonte
Stacey, sorry to have missed your prompts this weekend, loving the images along with your diamonte poem!
Thank you! Next time! 🥰
Stacy, I love a cheesy, crunchy, “steaming” bowl of tortilla soup. Very appetizing! I love the diamante generator. I may have my students play with that this week. I used it to write my poem, but I couldn’t figure out how to insert the image in this text box, so here is the text of my poem, but not in the diamond shape.
Pizza
thin crust
crispy sturdy
satisfying bubbling crunching
Chicago and New York will never agree which one is best.
oozing baking leaking
unrecognizable messy
deep dish
Shaun, my mouth is watering. Pizza has always been my favorite food, and I think if I had to choose one, it would still be this. Aren’t you glad we don’t have to choose which one is better? “unrecognizable messy” is awesome!
Shaun! I love it! Thank you for trying the generator out too. I recently tried a new pizza spot that claimed it was the best. Yuck! Thin crust yes, but burnt!
Desk lunch
crisp energy breaks
the quiet moment alone
months of mindless repetition
until the day it no longer
satisfies. Then,
new lunch
At Allison’s gentle nudging, I am slowly trying to exercise atrophied poetry muscles. In an effort to squeak today’s poem in under the wire, I thought about how each year of teaching, I have spent months (sometimes years!) eating the same easy to pack lunch until I never want to eat it again. Then switch to a new lunch to continue do the same. The mindlessness of not planning exciting lunches helps me reserve my energy for harder decisions
Hi Missy. This is great. I love the idea that such a simple change can have such a big impact. I hope you have a great year of lunches!
Missy, good for you exercising those poetry muscles! Welcome! I enjoyed your poem da reading your content about it too. I think you have discovered a perfect way to reserve a bit of teacher energy for harder decisions. “months of mindless repetition” seems like you’d save a bit of time grocery shopping too. Glad you came to write today!
I totally get it! I was on a tortilla, turkey, spinach, ranch roll up streak for about six months. I don’t think I could eat another one! I like Denise’s idea that we are minimizing decision-making to save brain space for the important ones!
Hi Missy,
I didn’t get to read your poem yesterday but I’m grateful to have read it today! I am with you 100%. I ate yogurt and fresh fruit for the last two years for breakfast and now I’m trying to do egg white muffins and one chicken sausage link. Always prepped in advance so I only warm up to eat. I think there’s something about the teacher’s brain (always planning) that I refuse to have to decide on what to eat Mon-Fri. You nailed it!
I’ll take this when it comes to food any day!!
Dear Sister,
You remember all the
food and love showered
on us by generations.
We knew we were
loved by our eating.
I’ve tried to forget many
of these rich delights,
but you make them
over
and
over
and
over
and you don’t let me forget.
You remind me how
delicious they were by bringing
them to me–tastier, I think than
Mom or Grandma made them–
macaroni and cheese,
tamales, lasagna,
chicken pot pie,
cherry cobbler,
lemon pie,
cinnamon rolls,
biscuits…
And today you brought
chicken tortilla casserole
and chile-cheese cornbread.
I try to forget,
I try to forget,
I try…oh, forget it.
Pass the cheese sauce, please.
Stacey, thank you so much for hosting these two days. It has been delicious! I have been working with my sister today, so that’s why I was late to write a poem. This epistolary “poem” came after today’s overindulgence! I love the juxtaposition in your poem of “chilly bones” and “warm souls.” Perfect. I can eat soup year-round, but it is especially nice when one has chilly bones. Thank you for sharing Brett’s five favorite food poems. They were all really beautiful.
Denise, this list of delights made me want to spend time in a kitchen with my sister!
Hi Denise. I think your use of repetition is terrific here. Your sister sounds wonderful!
Denise, I apologize for running out of steam yesterday and didn’t get to read your poem. I adore these lines because that’s what we all hope to do is love others through how we feed them, right?
Wow, your sister is quite the chef! I want to try chile-cheese cornbread!! Yummmmy! Thank you for sharing your sister and your memories with us.
Thank You, Mrs. George Clay
By Mo Daley 9/17/23
Coconut
deliciousness, chocolate
begging for that creamy, buttery pecan
frosting melting in my mouth
and heart
Mo,
It amazes me that I am craving dessert and don’t usually even eat it! Are you making this treat in honor of Mrs. George Clay or just remembering it?
😋
I’ve devoured an entire German chocolate cake over the last 3 days. Mrs. Clay was the inverntor of the cake, which did not come from Germany! I know not everyone likes it, but it’s my favorite!
Oh, wow, I learned something new about German Chocolate Cake. Thanks for sharing. As a child I didn’t like the frosting, so I’d sit by my nephew, who only liked the frosting. We would share our cake. Now, I too could eat a whole cake over three days too. I so love “melting in my mouth / and heart”
I am headed to Chicago tomorrow for a few days with my state-side grandson, Roger. This started as a diamonte, then moved into something else.
Another Roger Poem
Flesh not of my flesh
but of my flesh’s flesh –
Flesh of buttercream Flesh of buoyancy Flesh of blossom
Against my flesh, your flesh weakens me
as we rock.
Your fleshy fingers wrapped around my bony one
gently loosens my furious grip on this life,
releasing it into your pudgy palm
where you will grip it
for all of us
with urgency
and tenderness.
Hi Allison,
Awwww so precious! I think I’m in love and have never met this sweet darling, Roger. Your poem holds all the loving tenderness of you and Roger. I adore all the images but especially this:
Safe travels and soak up all the buttercream Roger gives you! 🥰🥰🥰
“Flesh of buttercream” is such a rich and vibrant phrase, Allison. Enjoy Roger!
Allison, how very precious. Enjoy your time with Roger. I do love his gentle loosening of your “furious grip” and your “releasing it into your pudgy palm” Oh, your sweet word choice throughout!
Thank you. I love the diamante. Your prompt has inspired me to try it with my students.
Spaghetti
Home-made, al dente
Boiling, simmering, plating
Noodles, red sauce, cheese, wine
Twisting, slurping, nourishing
Comfort, tradition
home
Katrina,
You nailed the whole experience of making and enjoying one of my favorite comfort foods — pasta!
I especially, love this image, “Twisting, slurping, nourishing.”
Katrina, I especially loved how you moved from nourishing to comfort–reminding me that nourishment is both physical and emotional. Lovely.
Thank you, Katrina! Your diamanté is perfect just like your spaghetti!
It has been some time since I’ve had spaghetti and now I think it should be on my list in October. I ate it so much when I was married that I stopped wanting it over the last few years. But it might be a welcomed change.
😍
Stacey,
Your tortilla soup sounds delicious! I was out most of the day and was thinking about a memory of my mother making pies, and I completely forgot about trying out the form.
I definitely will revisit this prompt with my students.
Apple Pie
Fall, apple picking season, tempered sun & cool breezes.
On those days we stretched & climbed trees, plucked the bountiful branches.
Into our baskets we plunked Honey Crisps & Granny Smiths.
On the ride home, we sampled a few tart or sweet, we took our time,
let the juice dribbled down our chins.
At home mom cranked the apple corer.
Spirals of red and green drifted into the ceramic bowl.
We hovered, waiting, to generously shake the cinnamon, nutmeg & sugar
waiting to snatch a few sweetened slices.
We were eager helpers mixing flour and water, cutting in Crisco and butter
waiting for the pastry dough to set is always the hardest.
“Go outside and play.”
But after awhile we snuck inside to see mom rolling & fluting & layering squares
of butter on top of the spiced apples and our stomach rumbled knowing soon
we would be indulging. “Not yet,” she said. “Not yet.”
Hours later, the house wafting with cinnamon spice, the bubbling pie sat on the stove cooling.
Each year, we anticipated the flaky crust and the mix of sweet and tart apples. The best pies.
Our mother’s love.
Now seasons have turned and years have passed & the smell of apple pie reminds me of my mother.
Tammi, your poem was perfect. It made me want to make my yearly apple pic now. I usually wait until early October. The memories u shared reminded me of my mom making pies in the Fall. I’m sure you cherish those memories. My favorite line was “Each year, we anticipated the flaky crust and the mix of sweet and tart apples. The best pies.
Our mother’s love.”
Thanks for this descriptive beautiful one today.
Yes! Love me some Honey Crisp apples! How fun that you picked them! I remember going apple picking many years ago and it was so fun.
These lines reminded me of when my sister and I would help my grandmother cook for the holidays:
I hope this poem brought you as much love as I felt reading it.
🍏Thank you, Tammi!
Diet
Just so I am not hungry
there’s pleanty to eat.
I like different things
but none too sweet
A glass of wine is perfectly fine.
A chocolate or two will always do.
Three scoops of ice cream? Just in my dreams.
No cake for me, it’s too sugary.
Try to eat healthy (whatever that means)
but always be ready – a mid-day snack.
Potato chips, peanuts and cocoa beans
make my lips smile with many a smack.
Whatever it is, I can always eat.
Not too much and all through the day
chewing salty and crunchy but not too sweet.
Forgetting those calories and forgetting to weigh
I’m happy and contented to have it my way.
Thanks Stacey for getting me to write again this month. Yesterday got away from me. I didn’t even read my email. So I am grateful to be back with all of you again today.
Susan, I love your outlook on a diet. The lines “A glass of wine is perfectly fine.
A chocolate or two will always do” sound very attractive. The conclusion is priceless, and I am happy you are content with “Forgetting those calories and forgetting to weigh // I’m happy and contented to have it my way.” Thank you for sharing your wisdom with us!
Susan,
I agree “A glass of wine is perfectly fine.” Love the rhyme, rhythm and fun of this diet poem!
Susan, your take on the often dreaded diet was delightful and honest. You accurately described with rhyme, wit, and delicious examples, how I feel about them. Thank you !!
Hi Susan,
I am happy you joined us today! I’m late reading because I needed to prep for work. I love the honest revelations in your poem.
I love it all and I have my chips and pistachios just about everyday. No guilt because I also don’t eat much sweet stuff.
Enjoy your vino! 🍷
You are tickling our taste buds for the second day in a row, Stacey Joy, and I love it. Your tortilla soup sounds “cozying” indeed. When my kids come to visit, or I go to visit them, they ask me to make some meat pies – chebureki, a famous Crimean Tatar version. I would, too, choose them any day of the week, but my body protests. So my poem is about that, and I violated the true Diamante rules, sorry )).
Irony of Taste
Meat Pies,
My soul insists,
Freshly fried, crispy outside, and juicy inside.
Instead, something bland, safe, and unpopular
My body needs now—
Buckwheat kasha.
The formatting didn’t work, but here is a picture of chebureki with meat filling.
Leilya, I love the “My soul insists” and the lovely rhythm of your poem. Looks to die for! Yum! Thanks for showing us what this looks like!
Leilya–this resonates with me–what your soul wants versus what your body needs. My soul would definitely want that meat pie!!
Leilya,
“Freshly fried, crispy outside and juicy inside,” sounds delicious! Love the rhythm to your poem.
Leilya,
Sometimes we must listen when “my body insists” in telling us what we need. I must say, those pies look scrumptious, and all rules in poetry and cooking are meant to be broken.
Hi Leilya! I’m now feeling hungry and it’s way too late to eat! The picture reminds me of Jamaican meat patties! Now I want to go to Jamaica!
Ahhhh, all good here. Our bodies need it all!
Thank you for this delight!
Thank you for the invitation to write about food, which was one way I connected with my grandfather. Last night, I made pasta fagioli, which the the last thing we cooked together before he passed. I decided to write about that in the nonet form
Your
hands chopped
onion and
garlic while I
poured white beans and diced
tomatoes in the pot.
Spaghetti snapped in equal
lengths tumbled in and sank below
as sprinkled spices floated on top.
Pungent memories flutter around
as I dump onion, garlic, and
beans into a cast iron
vessel with tomatoes,
fresh spices and tubed
Ditalini.
This time with
only
mine.
Heather, this poem shows the love between you and your grandfather. I wish I had memories of my grandfathers but they died when I was very young. You have a treasure in both the memories and your “cast iron vessel” filled with his delicious spaghetti recipe!
Thank you for sharing this with us.
Oof–the warmth, the love, the togetherness. And then that last lonely line. Powerful.
Heather,
Love the imagery: “Spaghetti snapped in equal/lengths tumbled in and sank below/
as sprinkled spices floated on top” and nostalgia evoked in your poem.
Stacey, thank you for the delicious prompt. It looks like you’ve used Canva today. I am very fond of tortilla soup. One of my greatest loves is seafood which isn’t very accessible in Iowa, and the point of my poem is that you may go to a restaurant, and it will claim to be having a seafood buffet, but in reality, it’s just a bunch of fried fish with maybe some shrimp. I challenged myself to write a sijo today.
Between Two Rivers, No Sea in Sight
Lobster tails, coconut shrimp, flaky monk fish−my deepest wish.
Buttery crab, clam chowder, too, will satisfy my craving dreams.
Woe is me, with no Midwest sea, because catfish ain’t seafood!
Barb Edler
17 September 2023
Barb,
Im a seafood lover, too, and rarely get it. You are the master of sijo, and the form is perfect for that twist: “catfish ain’t seafood.” Can I simply say those bottom feeders are mystery fish given their diets? Love the internal rhyme in that last line. Fantastic poem.
Barb, I love seafood, and I especially love this poem!!
Well, you’ve got that right! Best saying of all: catfish ain’t seafood! We had freshwater catfish Friday night, and it’s just not the same. Love this!
Haha! Yes, I use Canva everyday as a matter of fact! LOL, it’s where my daily gratitude journal awaits along with ALL of my weekly lesson designs.
Jeesh, I can’t imagine fried fish and shrimp as a seafood buffet. I guess I better not ever settle in Iowa.
Your sijo speaks volumes in so few lines! I am craving all of your seafood in your poem! It’s been a little while since I’ve had crablegs and that’s my fave. Hmmmm, wonder if it’s time to search for a sale!
Thanks for this scrumptious treat today! Oh, and I think of you with gratitude everyday because I use my Scholastic bag you gave me at NCTE Mon-Fri! Much love!
That last line made me laugh!! The rhyme AND the sentiment!!
Barb, you gotta come and visit me in Louisiana. My hubby is a seafood man, so we either cook or go to seafood restaurants often. Your sijo is perfect today. I like the internal rhyme of “monk fish—my deepest wish.”And, yes, “catfish ain’t seafood.” 😊 Thank you for this poem!
Barb, your poem reminded me of my first trip to Iowa when I longed for a California type salad. I was overjoyed when I saw salad on the restaurant menu but when my order came, it was a wedge of iceberg lettuce. Not what I consider a salad.
I agree with your list of tasty seafood. Buttery crab is my favorite.
Barb,
My seafood palate isn’t very extensive, but I do love lobster tails and coconut shrimp! Loved the light hearted humor in this poem!
Barb, your final line (catfish ain’t seafood) was delightful as you juxtaposed the (snobby?) demand for real seafood alongside the “ain’t”! You gave me a laugh out loud! Let’s take a poetry writing excursion to Maine together <3
Stacey,
Hi, again! I loved your diamonte, and now I’m determined to make Mexican food for dinner tonight!
Food always reminds me of my grandmother, Charlotte. I wrote a villanelle for her today; thanks for the opportunity to do so. 🙂
“Charlotte”
She gave me something no one ever had –
She gave me something no one ever would.
I left her life with thicker armor clad.
My morn routine saw coffee as its add
Thick with cream and sugar – was it good!
(She gave me something no one ever had)
Doors that opened trumped the doors that slammed,
And oven scents would waft when open stood
(I left her life with thicker armor clad)
We’d walk for ice cream, sometimes, hand in hand
Indulge in treats when trials I’d endured
(She gave me something no one ever had)
I have a party picture, there she stands:
Behind me, brushing hair, she reassured
(I left her life with thicker armor clad)
She fed me. No one quite would understand
before death took her from my life for good:
She gave me something no one ever had;
I left her life with thicker armor clad.
Wendy, I can hear the love and strength you gained from your grandmother, Charlotte. I love the food details, and now all I can think about is looking for some ice cream….my total downfall. Your poem hints at learning some powerful life lessons with the lines “thicker armor clad”. Kudos to you for writing a villanelle! Impressive!
Wendy, wow! Your beloved Charlotte must be beaming with joy from her eternal resting place. Your poem gives us all the love and protection we all deserve from our grands! My Nana was the chef of the family and I also pair memories of her with food and love.
You mastered the villanelle and that’s not an easy form for me. I need more practice! You made it look easy and it all flows so beautifully.
Thanks, Wendy!
Wendy–I read so much love here, and just a bit of hard truth from your grandmother. Your repetition leant so much feeling to your wonderful poem-an incantation of gratitude, reality, and loss…
Wendy, what a beautiful and heartfelt tribute to your Grandmother Charlotte! Thank you for sharing. I can see how much she meant for you. I had to pause on this line: “Doors that opened trumped the doors that slammed” and think about Charlotte, patient, loving, and offering possibilities. The villanelle worked out amazingly well with the repeating lines that make your message more convincing and powerful.
Wendy,
Beautiful memories! That last stanza really is poignant. “She fed me” is so much more than the act of providing food. I felt through your poem that she built you up, fed your soul made you strong. What wonderful life lessons she must have passed on to you.
Had issues copying the diamonte form, but thoroughly enjoyed the process.
5 Cheeses getting along
smoothly harmonizing
coexisting synthesizing gelling
soothing my stomach the warm ooey gooeys
reassuring blending unison-ing
comforting my tongue
no line leader needed.
Hi Seana! I’m glad you didn’t let the posting issue stop you. What a pleasy-cheesy poem! I wish I could cut back on my cheese consumption but life is just easier when food is cheesier!
Love this:
Thanks, my friend!
No line leader needed. Clever ending. Yummy cheese!
Oh how that “soothing my stomach the warm ooey gooey” sounds and feels. Yum!
Seana, this was fun! (And sounds delicious!) I smiled wide at “the warm ooey gooeys” and “blending unison-ing.” Thank you for writing and sharing!
let’s have dinner together
brouhaha over how the pulled chicken was cooked
fracas over seasoning the roasted veggies
thank goodness there was a green salad
and you dressed it yourself
conversation?
only hubbub about no sugar no salt no carbs
how many grams of protein
avoiding nightshades
going without
and, oh yes,
turmoil over miles you’ve biked
pace that you ran
new ‘personal best’
I felt considerable unrest when I got up for seconds
I saw the food left on your plate
without a doubt
the triple berry cobbler breached the peace
and a near mutiny
when ice cream appeared alongside
must food be so tumultuous?
Maureen, your closing question is one I have asked myself a million times because, truly, who can resist a triple berry cobbler with ice cream! Wow, that sounds good! Why couldn’t sugar and yeast be the healthiest ingredients in foods! Anyway, I sure appreciate your poem. I can totally relate!
Maureen, you called truth here! I once knew a family who couldn’t get along at holidays because they had two sacred cow recipes and neither would accept the other’s as “right.” Food is indeed tumultuous. It’s a dividing line.
Maureen, I love how you used brouhaha, fracas, and hubbub! One thing I am still working on is broadening my list of fun words in poetry. The ending is perfection with food causing such a ruckus!
I laughed at the “turmoil over miles you’ve biked” because don’t we always think of our exercise progress right before our most delectable food indulgences??
Great poem, Maureen! Eat on! 😋
Maureen,
I love your poem. A tumultuous dinner together, while unpleasant at the time, makes for a rich, entertaining poem. The contrast w/ the title is superb. I did not expect spoiled behavior being served. “breached the peace” is a fantastic phrase evoking a battlefield, aka the dinner table. Love it.
Maureen–truth!!! YOur last line said it all–and I could hear the conversation at your table. I am sure that I did the same thing to my mother when I was in my twenties–but jeez!!
Yes, I so agree. Food can be so enjoyable and nourishing if we choose to see it that way, if we can see through the noise.
Oh, your poem, Maureen, makes me smile and think of the dinners I serve most often to my 10 year old grand daughter and my daughter.
What a pang to the heart when the food is left on the plate and the dinner is overlooked and not appreciated.
For those who requested the actual recipe…
Rhubarb Custard Pie
450 degrees, 10 minutes, then reduce to 350 degrees for about 30 minutes (or a few more)
1 ½ C Sugar
3 tbsp flour
½ tsp nutmeg
1 tbsp butter
2 well-beaten eggs
3 C rhubarb
1 recipe plain pastry
Blend sugar, flour, nutmeg and butter
Add eggs, and beat until smooth
Pour over rhubarb in 9” pastry-lined pie pan
YUM! What a delicious version of a rhubarb pie!
Bless you, Gayle! I’ve got this copied!
For some reason, I felt compelled to contrast the Steak-umms that were too pervasive in my youth with the bags of spinach that now fill my shakes and plates. Thanks for the diamante generator. I had some fun with the thesaurus this morning.
Sarah, oh, how I’d forgotten about the Steak-umms! My sister and I filled our freezer with them when we got our first apartment together. Yikes, that seems just as bad nutritionally as Hot Cheetos today! We survived.
Your diamonte is spot-on with the contrast of Steak-umms to Spinach! Love it! I’m happy you enjoyed playing around with the generator.
Sarah,
I went through a Steak-ums phase. Your contrast of that mystery meat to spinach has me comparing Steak-unsee to Spam. Definitely gonna stick w/ spinach!
“pretending/to nourish young bodies” – there are so many packaged foods that do this; it is such a shame. What a flashback to think about Steak-umms! I haven’t thought of those in years.
I love this generator. It’s so helpful with little poets. I add spinach to my smoothies. I don’t know what a steak-umm is.
Oh my, do I remember those um, steaks. I love the contrast with spinach.
Sarah, I missed out on Steak-umms. I love how you show the shift with your diet through the language and the form.
Sarah, I posted my poem, and now realize that we were thinking about food similarly. I didn’t have a chance to try steak-umms, but spinach is not a stranger in my house too. I like these words: “pretending / to nourish young bodies in sliced form.” Many of prepackaged, frozen foods do exactly that–pretend. Thank you!
I have never heard of steak-umms. What a deliciously descriptive poem!
Sarah, I never knew Steak-umms, but you’ve convinced me that is for the best! I love the heart you bring to this space. (I’ve been able to skip most of the kale experience.)
Eyed-Eagle
Hickory bark crackles and pops,
drips of haunch steam to top.
Above a makeshift hell,
Pecans shave a Smokey smell.
Cool drips of a nearby stream,
wild onions release a teary steam.
Scorched outside, burnt hair,
Juiced flavor medium rare.
Beside a mountain spring,
Sight through a Red-tail’s dream.
A blind Navajo,
Flames the fury of wild Buffalo.
Hearing the beat of tribal thanks,
His fire recalls and paints-
The life of a wild beast,
Which gave life to this tribal feast.
Honeysuckle vapors fill the air,
as warriors arrange feathers in their hair.
Each bite crisp with flavor,
wild onion juice to savor.
Eagle with no eyes takes his first bite,
A raging Buffalo becomes his sight.
What once lived —is in him,
Senses Flame – for his sight is dim.
His fingers caress burnt meat,
stinging juices flow from his teeth.
As he swallows he hears a distant crow,
and embraces a child’s hug from whom he does not know.
-Boxer
Wow, Boxer. I am in awe of this poem emerging in these few ours of our day. The couples are crafted with such attention to rhythm and sound, but I also really like how they look: bit/sight, him/dim, meat/teeth. There is a story in just these end words, I think. But the story that unfolds around this subject/character within the community of Red-tail, Buffalo, Eagle, and Flame is compelling in “caress” and “juices flow from his teeth.”
Thank you,
Sarah
Boom! Boxer, you flow in every poem! I can hear this as spoken word with music in the background! The opening stanzas clearly create all the sensory images.
You take us on a journey in the natural space, the food, and the ceremony. You are a phenomenal writer and I thank you for sharing this gift with us.
Boxer— I hear the drums, hear the sizzle, see the man…
I feel as if I am present, witnessing this feast. Love the care and mindfulness of the gathering, as illustrated by these lines, especially –
This is an deliciously beautiful poem. It is full of emotion about the blind Navajo, the savory meal (I can smell and taste) and his memories. Also a tribute to the buffalo that has also diminished through time.
Thanks for writing this.
I can’t pick a favorite line as all are worth reading over and over.
Stacey, thank you for steering me toward the Diamante generator. I coupled that with the new AI image generator “Help me visualize” feature in Google Slides. I asked for a morning cup of coffee, and it was, like, We got you, Bro, to which I responded 1) I’m not sure how I feel being referred to as “Bro” and 2) why did you use “we” and Google was, like, we are everywhere, dude, Google is legion, and I thought to myself – (who else?) – I thought, I’m glad their motto is “Don’t be evil” to which Google responded, Naw, we dropped that as our guiding principle some eight years ago, Uhm, Did you just read my mind, Google? And that didn’t garner a response, so, I just focused on the various images it created for me, and I chose this one, thinking that it was an odd choice, did AI Google imagine that everyone (actual, you know, people) took their morning coffee on a bed of coffee beans, but, to be honest, I gotta say that now that I tried it, I just may continue to do it. It may add an extra twenty minutes or so of clean up time and whatnot to my morning ritual – and it seems a bit wasteful – but it, actually, does seem to add to the flavor a bit.
Transcript of poem:
warm
gently toasty
inviting compelling invigorating
lifeblood worm dirt jitter juice rocket fuel
galvanizing energizing electrifying
caffeinated morning
coffee
That center line, Scott, is perfection: “lifeblood worm dirt jitter juice rocket fuel”. Works so well to name coffee.
Sarah
Scott— I wish I worked in your building. I wouldn’t get much done, but I would have so much fun!! Hanks for another jolt of humor…
The scent of coffee is enough to electrify me. Such wonderful word choice here.
Hallelujah! You totally get it…yes, lifeblood at least and more.
Scott, you are hilarious! I will have to try the AI Google. I can only imagine. I love that you weren’t sure how you felt about being referred to as Bro! One of my little horrors last year called me Bro on the second day of school. I knew it was going to be a lonnnnng year!
Your poem is everything I love about my morning java. I love “gently toasty” and the warm start. It’s like the slow start to the caffeine kicking in.
Enjoy your morning coffee and I appreciate your poem and your humor!
You had me chuckling at your preamble’s “ Uhm, Did you just read my mind, Google? ” Wonderful diamante…I like how the energy builds with each line, feeling fully caffeinated by the end!
Stacey,
You are the Canva queen! Your poem has me longing for taco soup. A few days ago my son reminded me it’s almost soup season. Thank you for these two days of delectable poetry prompts.
Charred Custard:
A How To Pinterest Poem
Preheat oven
Measure sugar
milk butter
vanilla cornstarch
crack eggs
stir ingredients
pour mixture
slide pan across rack
walk away
pass time
read book
forget baking
sniff burned air
yelling dad
hope-run🏃♀️
retrieve hot-hard
black brick
inedible soot
kitchen detritus
garbage
waste
not
want
not
charred custard
ta-da!
Rate this recipe: *****
Follow me for more kitchen tips!
Don’t forget to subscribe to my page.
—Glenda Funk
September 17, 2023
*From the time I was in seventh grade until his death in September my junior year in high school, I kept my father on his diet. I gave him his shots and prepared his meals. As a diabetic, custard was one of the few deserts he could eat in those final months.
Glenda, I’m grateful you have been here and have enjoyed my foodie prompts. Your poem is a delight for so many reasons. The quick flow (like the expert chef in the beginning), to the common mishap of forgetting something’s in the oven, to the final…
I’m sure your beloved father appreciated your custard and your care! 🤗
Stacey, my father was very angry w/ me. He yelled and berated me for my carelessness. Gratitude is not the emotion he shared. Scorn is a more accurate descriptor. He was ill and near death and had little tolerance for my imperfections. I made a new custard and dropped a steady stream of tears into it.
Glenda, I’m torn between laughing at the pinterest take on this and feeling mournful at the loss of the custard! My grandfather loved blackened cookies from the oven but I’m not sure a brick of custard would pass even his unfinicky taste. (I’m curious as to why custard remained as an option.)
Glenda,
First, I think this recipe poem is great on so many levels and for so many topics. I can see students using it to consider the literal and abstract concepts of what we do and can make.
But this poems hits my heart deeply, so I will make it about me for a bit if you’ll allow. The number of times I have burned food, forgotten laundry, let a tub overflow, left a car running is too much to confess. I was punished often for my distractedness, and I am still today as I leave a door unlocked, return blueberries to the pantry and not the fridge.
Now to you. This story of your father who could eat custard and who was dependent on you for his wellbeing — that was a lot for a daughter, no doubt. And I imagine or rather I hear the tension in the ta-da that that this soot caused some grief. Ugh, you had a lot of responsibility. This is my reading of it —
Peace,
Sarah
I adore the runner emoji in the midst of these lines of poetic storytelling. What a sad and wonderful memory…you have beautifully captured the ‘youthful’ approach to cooking – “walk away/pass time/read book/forget baking” – one that I’m sure your father did truly forgive you for…
This poem is so easy to play in my head. I see every bit of it. How many times does this scenario happen?! Relatable, for sure.
Oh, Glenda, you have me laughing out loud. I know how it feels to forget you’re even baking something, especially when you’re reading a book. Unfortunately, my oven is in the basement, too. The process with your poem is perfectly described, but I truly loved the emoji after run! I bet your father sure appreciated your custards! Often making food is truly an act of love. Thanks for sharing!
Glenda, it brings me great peace to know that others forget things and char them too. This is bittersweetly hilarious and not all at once, since I know the seriousness of the food for your dad. And “follow me for more kitchen tips” is just the icing on the custard with a cherry on top of that whipped cream. Pure bliss!
Glenda, this poem made me smile, especially the final lines and the “Rate this recipe” part. Thank you for this gift! Aren’t we all doing something like that from time to time. In fact, this summer I left my new, beautiful coffee dzezva on a stove to boil water for a cup of coffee and went to respond to one (one!) quick email. When I returned, my dzezva turned from sparkly gold to dark ashy with not a drop of water left.))
I will definitely subscribe to your page!! In fact, I may have used this exact recipe!
Ha! Glad I’m not the only one. Once I’m in a book, forget about remembering anything else! Fun and funny and oh, so true!
Stacey, love the diamonte generator, especially as students would find this easy to use! Your contrast between chilly bones and warm souls is fall soup perfection!
Winnie the Pooh Soup
When the kids were little,
we nicknamed soups,
each title derived
from a childhood favorite
in an attempt to get them
to try new foods.
We’d toss the ingredients in –
carrots for Rabbit
broccoli for Eyeore
celery for Roo –
stirring cheese into the broth
until it became honey for Pooh.
Grandparents were amazed
at how quickly
they gobbled up their veggies
But who doesn’t wish for
the wonder of the Hundred Acre Wood?
Now in their twenties,
they ask for Winnie the Pooh Soup
as bits and pieces of childhood remain
in the adults they’ve become.
I love this! Linda wrote about a memory of jellybean garden. Winnie the Pooh soup is genius. I should make it for my grandchildren. Anything with cheese is a winner.
Jennifer,
I love this idea for parents of finicky eaters, and I’d love to have the complete Winnie the Pooh recipe ingredient list. Send me all your favorite soup recipes. I hope you’ll share this sweet poem w/ your children.
Glenda, this is by far the kids’ favorite!
Jennifer, what a clever way to entice children! I am in love with it all! These lines filled me with joy! I’m so happy your adults appreciate your loving creation! I wonder if this would’ve helped me when I was a child OR my daughter when she was a child. Brilliant! thank you for sharing with us. 🍜🍯
Jennifer,
Love this story of soup with allusions in the figurative and the literal naming of the food that nourished your family. Lots of vivid language here in the making of family — stirring, gobbling, wondering, wishing, asking, becoming.
Peace,
Sarah
This is so precious!! Now I’m imagining a whole cookbook of favorite story recipes…just wonderful!
Oh, my heart! Jennifer, this brought a tear to my eye; what a sweet remembrance!
Jennifer, what a clever and amazing way to bring literature to food! I’m so thankful you shared this! That is just more fun and exciting an idea than anything else I’ve heard lately!
What a wonderful tradition!! I know that they will make Winnie the Pooh soup for their children!
Stacey,
Thank you for this prompt. It allows me to be present with my notebook and slice of cinnamon bread and reflect on the loss of my dog this week.
Cinnamon Bread
Lisa brought me cinnamon bread
when my dog Charlie died.
Shirley made oatmeal cookies.
As though sweet carbs could fill
me, help me forget the lonely
walk without holding a leash,
opening the door without the wag of tail.
Can I take inside a taste
to keep sadness away?
Can I drop a crumb and not look
down for the dog to lick it up?
There are days he lived only to comfort me.
Little ankle licks to let me know I was loved.
Familiar becomes foreign
until time adjusts us,
keeps us upright
ready to be crushed again.
Margaret Simon (dedicated to Charlie Dog Simon)
Oh, Margaret, I feel every bit of this poem and can call to mind the dogs we’ve lost over the years in every word. Those two questions in the middle word so well with this prompt, especially the looking down for the crumb to be licked up. Hugs.
Margaret, when I saw your post about Charlie’s passing, my heart instantly felt your sadness. I don’t think there is a way to ease the pain when this kind of loss hits us. I appreciate that you took time with your notebook and your cinammon bread to craft this loving tribute to Charlie. He will always be with you and undoubtedly will show up in his special secret ways that only you will understand. He indeed lived to comfort you and will continue to do so.
🕊️Praying for your peace and comfort.🕊️
Margaret, I’m so sorry for your loss! I have no virtual carbs to offer: only an understanding and appreciation for the truths that you crafted here. Thank you for sharing Charlie Dog with us. I love this stanza: “There are days he lived only to comfort me. / Little ankle licks to let me know I was loved.” Perfect!
Oh, Margaret. Sorry for your loss. And thank you for welcoming us into this scene to honor your pup and friend. I like the narrative move at the beginning. That first line is great for students to launch their own narrative scene of a lyrical, reflective poem. The questions show the way grief brings us to reflect on our readiness to heal. Comfort can assuage pain, but healing is something else altogether. Here’s to Charlie Dog Simon.
Hugs,
Sarah
I’m so sorry for your loss. How beautiful to dedicate this poem to “Charlie Dog Simon.” Grief is best accompanied by homemade cooking, I think. Glad that your dear friends are there to support you.
Oh, Margaret! Reading this after Jennifer’s poem above, and now I’m even tearier! So sorry about Charlie Dog! This was a beautiful tribute, and it made me think of my Corgi Sprout, and I could just feel those little ankle licks. Loved this so much!
Margaret, I felt such pain seeing Charlie’s sweet face and knowing that you had suffered loss. That was a tired face, a ready face. It didn’t make it easier when our vet walked in and said of Archie, “I see an old dog who’s lived a long, good life” at the moment we were having to help him cross over. But when I reflect on that, I think – – yes, somehow knowing that we do our very best to give them life and love, it does bring some peace. Hugs to you, my friend. I, too, have always wondered why we brought food when a family member died – I guess it’s the love language of friends who know there are no words, so food it is!
This line–
“Can I drop a crumb and not look
down for the dog to lick it up?”
The answer is no, you can’t. When my dog left us, I was constantly reaching down with that bit. Only when I got a new dog did my life feel right again. Your poem brought me to tears…
Stacy— thank you for this prompt. Your poem gave warmth and comfort to my soul! Every summer, I scout the farmer’s markets for fresh rhubarb. This recipe has been handed down, and summer cannot truly start for me until I have made my first pie. Now that the kids are gone (and begin summer with their own pies in their far-away places), I have it all to myself. My husband calls it “sweet grass” and doesn’t understand my obsession. Oh, well. More for me…
Rhubarb Custard Pie
It’s
time! Gather
rhubarb, eggs, flour
Sugar, more sugar, nutmeg
These calories are worth the wait.
Sour and sweet blissfully wedded
in culinary matrimony.
Summer has
arrived.
Gjsands 9/17/23
I don’t think I’ve ever had rhubarb pie. Your poem sounds delicious!
Love it, Gayle! You have me wanting to try a bite (or the whole pie). You must share your recipe. My dad loves rhubarb pie and his birthday is in a couple of days – would love to try your pie!
Hi, Gayle! What a great tradition. Your rhubarb pie does signal that “Summer has arrived.” Makes me think maybe I should bake it too. Love these lines:
“Sour and sweet blissfully wedded
in culinary matrimony.”
Thank you for this poem!
Gayle,
“Culinary matrimony” is so clever. I love rhubarb everything and rarely have a chance to indulge. I’m gonna try to find some and make that pie!
Gayle,
Nice way to make me believe I would love some rhubarb custard pie (although I don’t eat pie)! Delicious poem!
I love “Sour and sweet blissfully wedded/in culinary matrimony.”
Oh, Gayle. I always had mixed feelings about rhubarb, perhaps because it needed “more sugar”! I like how you use the lines to create this filling of the pie in the middle and sort of end with one word, like crumbs in an empty pie tin!
Peace,
Sarah
Thanks for sharing the recipe (above!) – I got to this before your delicious poem. I adore this line so much “Sour and sweet blissfully wedded” – that is the very best way to prepare rhubarb I think, to be able to taste some of that delightful sour.
Gayle,
This made my mouth water! Loved the imagery here!
I love the idea of culinary matrimony. What a beautiful way to blend flavors in unity.
Gayle, I saw your recipe first. Love how you end this because I agree that having rhubarb anything is definitely a sign of summer. Very fun poem!
Stacey, thank you for hosting us today and for introducing us to the Diamante poem generator. That’s a great tool for children and for adults! Your poem has me ready for fall even more, especially the picture of the steamy bowl. I love soups in the fall. I chose a favorite wine for today’s poem.
Rhine grapes
light, refreshing
flavoring, fermenting, fulfilling
German white wine perfection
dinnering, relaxing, reading
citrusy, aromatic
Riesling
Yum! It’s almost a recipe…but better. “Dinnering,” is a lovely noun turned verb.
Kim, this flows perfectly, just like wine itself! “Dinnering” is masterful. I can see the bottle pouring and the wine sparkling in the light; I catch the whiff of citrus. Just lovely.
Wonderful choice of descriptive words here, Kim
I agree with Linda, it
Okay, let’s try again )) I agree with Linda that it’s almost a recipe. With all the participles, it reveals a process of making, but takes it further to consuming and enjoying. Sounds enticing and delicious. I love alliteration in the third line. Thank you, Kim!
I love your use of alliteration in this small poem. I wish we were having a glass of wine together.
Kim, dinnering is a perfect example to show students for using words in new ways. I love the descriptions here, especially citrusy!
Kim,
I’ll sip a toast to wine poetry. Of course, wine pairs well w/ reading. Now what genre works best w/ riesling?
My oh my! I want to toast to this poem and to you! I love Riesling, espcially in warm weather. We have not yet had fall weather so I can taste the light and citrusy flavor as if it were right here in my glass! I love “dinnering” but I completely adore the alliteration and flow here:
Cheers, my friend!🥂
Wonderful wine diamante, Kim! “dinnering, relaxing, reading” – riesling fits in!
Kim, sounds absolutely wonderful and refreshing. Your language shares the joy in creating and then relishing the time to enjoy it. Bravo!
Stacey, your diamante has me longing for soup and autumn’s chill – very welcome at present! Every word is perfectly chosen and placed. This invitation to write on one’s relationship with food is compelling, in multiple ways… before I overthought it and paralyzed myself, I went with the first thing that came to mind. Something special in childhood and now metaphorical… I gave the diamante generator a shot, the with the “short phrase” option in line 4 vs. four nouns.
Carrot Cake
Memory
fragrant rich
baking rising wafting
her divine holiday offering before
spiraling divining destroying
tender ruined
Mama
-welp, that word “divining” in line 5 is supposed to be “dividing”-
Divining works beautifully! Are we not doing that when we chef and concoct?! The use of dividing takes this in a whole new direction and is equally effective. Carrot cake is a fave and now I’m craving that fragrant richness!
I love that the beginning is memory and the end is mama — the alliteration there– though separated by other lines– echoes a comforting, gentle memory.
Peace,
Sarah
Oh, I don’t know…divining kinda works too. I love Memory … to Mama. It’s a beautiful description in one item, one poem.
Re: ‘divining’ – I thought that myself…in a way…
From Memory to Mama, and all the nourishment in-between (and divining works as well as dividing, but in a different way, right?)
Kevin
Fran, it’s both delicious and defining. I know we share carrot cake as a favorite cake. This poem brings to mind Ada Limon’s Bright Dead Things, with those carrots – such parallels here on the beauty of a thing and the true state of it as well. There is a lot going on in your diamante today, and I love every carefully chosen word.
Yum, carrot cake. So many delicious words, but I’m wondering about destroying and ruined. Is that in the eating of the cake? Is your mother still with us? If not, then it takes on the sadness of that loss.
Fran, yes! I love the image and the poem itself. Your poem is filled with feeling, flavor, and emotion. Perfect choice to start with Memory and end with Mama! It’s funny that so many poets here today have chosen foods I don’t like but yet I’m salivating after reading each poem. I wish I loved carrot cake! My sister devours it and I can’t even stand to look at it. LOL.
Thank you for this delicious memory!
Fran, what a shift! This was beautifully done! So sorry, but I also just love this so!
One summer
I bought a seed packet
of jellybean tomatoes.
Jellybeans!
Exclaimed my pre-school daughter.
She thought that was what we were growing.
She’s in her twenties now
but I still call the pots on the deck
and a strip of dirt
beneath the kitchen widow
our jellybean garden.
Utterly enchanting, Linda, this memory of “jellybean garden.” Only the jellybeans were planted in the soul vs. the soil; there they’ll be, forever.
Who can blame her. I mean, jellybeans in the garden!
🙂
Kevin
What a precious memory! I love the excitement and thought of a jellybean garden. What a perfect picture book this would make!
Cute memory of “jellybean garden”. We have lots of things we say that come from one child or another. And now we are gathering more from the grands.
Linda! We were thinking along the same lines today, only you did it sooo much better. I love the jellybean garden that still exists for you and likely for your daughter as well. This is delightful!
Linda,
I love this memory. It pairs well w/ Jennifer’s poem. I’m gonna start calling tiny heirloom tomatoes jellybeans.
This is great, Linda! I love that you captured the “origin story” of the phrase “jellybean garden” that you still use to this day. Thanks for writing and sharing this!
Linda, so fun! I love the cute memories our children share with us. I think a book about a jellybean garden would be a best-seller!
💚💜
Linda,
Loved this memory! <3
chips/salsa
I guess that image didn’t upload so: https://flic.kr/p/2p3sdqb
I attack chips and salsa with “wild abandon” too, Kevin – just last evening, in fact! Delightful and delicious poem.
Yes, you’ve got this so right! Chip attacks happen. I employed a full-scale attack last Thursday at lunch. Nice truth and great words and images!
Your poem sits beautifully atop the image and is full of energy and action – much like the chip attack!
Kevin,
I thought the two words were your poem and riffed off that. LOL Anyway, I honor both versions and love chips and salsa.
Yum! My favorite meal of any day. Great image.
enough/said
LOL, I first thought you kept your poem super brief and to the point! Thank you for the link to your image.
Friday night, my bestie and I destroyed two baskets of chips and salsa at our favorite Mexican food restaurant! I mean, who doesn’t love chips and salsa???
Thanks, Kevin, and your image is perfect!
😋Yum!
Seriously: the imagery in today’s poems — I’m off to the kitchen now. XD
Loved it!