A Poem about Zucchini Bread

poetry

If your eyes are the windows to your soul
than let me look upon a warm loaf.
If poetry is the doorway
than surely there should be a poem
written to the food that warms it.

I heard a poem spoken
about peach cobbler
and how to make it.
I have heard a poem
about the houses lived in.
But there is no poem
about Zucchini bread
so I will write it.

Where to start
we go so far back.
This almost miracle
delicious in my mouth
reminding me of childhood
reminding me of family
and reminding me of love.

We share the time it takes
and we share the bread we make.
Some families have old traditions
spanning generations
going back as far as their own family’s creation.
My family has Zucchini bread,
the wonderfully green mixture before it’s baked,
the sweet smell that tells you it’s ready,
and the thick, warm taste when it’s cooled just enough.

It is always a happy time when this bread is cooking
the smell alone is enough to put a smile on your face
and love deep in your heart.
The smiles that dance on the faces in the kitchen
and the laughter that steams from creating this masterpiece.
Yes, other families have their traditions
and their memories;
we have our own
and I know I would rather taste ours
than yours.

So, here is to the flour on the floor,
the green goop on the counters
and the love in the bellies.
Here is to the freezers filled
the gifts created from joy
and the memories made.
Here is to the Zucchini bread
that I love to make
and love to eat.

 I feel like this is a bunch of different poems wrapped into one, but I think it works. Zucchini bread is my favorite food, so it should have more than one poem written. Let’s just say this is multiple poems written to blend together or something like that.

Free Lobster (A short Story)

writing

You woke up tired with a headache. Yes, it is ten in the morning, but you don’t want to get out of bed. It is cloudy, cold, and sad outside your bed. You stay in bed there for a bit longer which grows into another hour in bed. That is when you drag yourself out of bed, slowly make it down to your kitchen. The  coffee pot fights with you and the pancakes you are making take longer than you want. Once your meal is ready you watch one of your favorite television shows even though you know you have things to do. You tell your self, “It’s Saturday, it is okay to relax.”  The show ends and you now have to rush to get ready.

It’s ten minutes after noon and you are out the door. You drive towards the beach and hope that there is a fire pit available, since your friend has told you to be there before noon to get the fire pit. You arrive at the beach and smile. There is one pit left. You did not fail and even had a nice morning.

You walk the long beach to the one pit without the clutter of people and their things. It is not until you are near it that you see why it is abandoned without a person to claim it. Sand from the beach was piled into it until the sand created a table top. There was no room for fire or anything else besides the sand.

Now, do you sit and claim the pit no one wanted or take your chance that some one will leave by the time your church has its gathering.  You decide to stay and ask a friend to bring a shovel. You then ask another and another,  until someone finally has a shovel in a town where hardly anyone uses a shovel.

Once you have a plan you sit and relax.You take out your kindle to read a book. That is when you realize you kindle only has 20 percent of its battery left. You read the book trying to ignore the fact that the battery is draining. It drains fast and soon the computerized voice tells you so. You read on hoping to get farther in the book that you are just now getting attached to. Finally the battery is too far into the red for your liking so you turn it off.

As the wind blows and you start to get chilled. You are now thankful that you have a pair of leggings to go under your skirt and a cardigan to go over your tank top. As you wrap your self up a young lady walks over with a shovel in her hand. She tells you that you can use the shovel to which you respond with a grateful, “Thank you,” as your leg gets stuck in your legging and you fall over. With a smile you accept the shovel and start to dig out the fire pit.  It does not take long before a fire get fit.

After returning the shovel you sit and wait. You look at your phone to see what is going on in the world and see that you still have hours before the person with the wood will show up and another hour before the fire is supposed to actually start. There is a notebook and Bible in your duffle bag.

The  notebook is what is taken from your bag, but nothing besides a few lines in the shape of the beach’s life guard station is drawn on the pages. Not a single word is written before you put it back in the yellow and blue plaid duffle bag.

There is more waiting and people watching. A few people ask you, “Are you saving the fire pit?” They ask as if there would be another reason your blue sheet is stretched out next to the fire pit in question. A woman looking for a pit for a sixteen year old’s birthday party comes by, but their gathering is happening at the same time and with a large amount of people. Still more people ask you if you are saving the pit that should be obvious that you are saving and that you dug out.

Around three o’clock an older gentleman who looks as if he tries to stay healthy walks over. “Is there anyway we can share this pit?”

You tell him something along the lines that it may be possible and the two of you start to figure out if it actually is. Once it is decided that your parties will not clash it is decided that you will share the pit that you have saved for almost 3 hours with this doctor man. That is when he tells you that he will share his meal with you. For a moment you want to tell him it’s not necessary, but before you can he tells you what he is cooking. He and his doctor friends bought lobster, red beautiful lobster. The seafood that belongs to the other coast. The shellfish that your home has, the delicious food that you have not had in the shell for a long time.

He then leaves to get his things and your roommate shows up. She talks about her day and you tell her about what just happened. The guy comes back and you talk to him a little but mostly focus on the roommate that has joined you.

More doctors and their spouses come trickling towards the fire. Soon their fire is going and they are finding amusement in cooking their lobster. You do not want to intrude, so you talk and focus on your roommate and her friend that shows up.

Your roommate does not stay for too long though. She needs to eat something, so once the lobster is almost done she leaves. You are than called over to be one of the first to enjoy the amazing food that they prepared.  One man, that is about your age, so around late twenties or early thirties  asks you if you need help as you crack the arms off and dislocate the tail for the head. You both smile as he realizes you know what you are doing. Still you let him help you cut the shell. The other cut the shells off the other lobsters which seems so foreign to you. What about the crackers that squeezes the  shell until it breaks?

You figure they had their way of doing it and you had your way. Everyone is enjoying themselves and you are having free lobster with good people. No matter what happens from that point on, you had free lobster because you shared what you could.

 

This is a true story about my last Saturday.

Greek Yogurt (A Poem)

poetry

Yes, a poem about Greek yogurt.
A delicious poem
filled with memories
and thick creamy goodness.

This is a poem of love
that sticks on your tongue
slow dissolving, but never forgotten.

A poem about the lasting taste of honey
and a hug of comfort.
Healthy because of it’s favor
and wonderful because of it’s flavor.

Scoop me out some of this poem
so that I can remember,
the times when it was just a food
and the times when it was more.
Give me the reminder of a helping hand
and moments with my friend.

Yes, this is a poem about Greek yogurt
which fills me with joy
and sticks to my spoon.
It reminds me of a far away life
and makes me happy where I am now in life.
Yes, this thick and creamy
delicious and dreamy
healthy wonderful, some times a snack
other times a meal,
memory inducing and always honey filled
food is a poem in my heart.

I hope you smiled because of this. I did when I was writing it. 

The Sun is shining (A Happy Poem)

poetry

Does the sun shine only for me?
I wonder if you can even see.
The sun is bright
and gives such a warm light.

Does the sun shine only for me?
Or does it shine only for those near the sea?
The waves are rolling and crashing
and my happy beach memories are rehashing.

Does the sun shine only for me?
I ponder if it actually shines for that tree.
The one that is tall and mighty
who was made, like the sun, by the almighty.

No the sun shine for both you and me
It shines for those near the sea and the tree.
The sun shines for happiness
and I think it shines to impress
yes, to impress you and me.

Thank you (A Gratitude Poem)

poetry

Thank you for looking
and reading
and seeing
into my soul
into my heart.

Thank you for living
and laughing
and loving
with me
around me
and far from me.

Thank you for being
the person you use to be
who made you to the person you are
and is pushing you to be the person you will be.

Thank you for viewing
and supporting
visiting and liking
what I do
who I am
and how I do things.

Thank you.

Here is a fast but from the heart poem. Let me know what you think and if you are reading this, this poem is for you. I am truly grateful for every person who follows me and every view. 

I hope you have a wonderful day and let me know what you think. 

One More (A Goodnight Poem)

 

 

 

I know this is posting during the day, but I am writing it at night so bear with me or wait until it’s night to read it. 
poetry

Inspiration push
one more poem
one more rhyme
before my brain runs out of time.

Please shine your light
for one more minute
just for one more writing
so that I can call it a night

The day was long
yet I want just one more poem
pushing myself to meet my goal
of one more
because I always want one more.

So push on inspiration
come close muse of my mind
dance out one more poem
sing out one rhyme
until we are out of time.

What to do? (A Poem after a mishap)

poetry
What do I do?
sit in anger
in grief
waiting and watching
the ball of angry twine tighten?

What do I do?
Scream and shout
about the beauty that was lost
wallowing in my heart
about how it was unfair?

What do I do?
Watch my soul grow dark
and my heart breaks

What do I do?
I write
pushing off the anger
wiping clean the screams
that want to creep out.
I turn the light of my soul
to shine bright
and move on.

What do I do?
I continue on
I laugh at the poem that comes out
and smile
I get to write even more.

What do I do?
I win the battle
that rages inside of me

 I first wrote a lovely little poem about aging and being loved. It was sweet and happy with the repeating line smile and play. Well that obviously did not want to be published and wound up being deleted some how. That is where this came from.

I hope you enjoyed this and have a wonderful day remembering you don’t have to be angry when your work winds up being for nothing. 

Always smile and know you are loved.

The Me I Want To Be (a poem)

poetry

 I have put off writing this poem. I haven’t really wanted to truly face my ideas of loosing weight and why I want to get healthier. I also feel like I don’t have to share my reasons behind wanting to lose weight. Yet, this poem keeps bugging me, so I will write it if only to get it out of my head,

I hope you enjoy this poem.

Dear media,
Dear society,
I see the type of woman you ask for
I see your demands.
Media please know
I do not believe in your ideals
Dear society
I do not want your either.
I simply want to be me.

Yet the me in the mirror
does not match the me in my soul.
I do not know the woman
staring back at me.
I do not know the body
that I am in.
I am too young
for these ache.
My heart has more energy
than my body can take.
I yearn to do more
and be more
but how can I
when there is still more
more inches around my body
more acne on my face
and more aches in my knees.

I see you media
I see you society
and I almost want to embrace
this more type of me,
but I can’t.
I don’t want to me in your mold
but I want to me in mine.
I wish you did not demand perfection
so that every one will know.
I simply want to be the me
that I know.
I simply want to be the me
that is the same age as my soul.
I simply want to be me.

So I will.
I will turn my life back around.
I will fight these aches off
while the inches run away
and the pounds disappear.
I will fight my unhealthy cravings,
struggle to do what is right
and smile while I sweat.
I will fight until I am exactly who I want to be.
I will fight until I am
the me I want to be.

Dear media,
Dear society,
my health, my body
has nothing to do with you.
My health, my body
is mine and I will fight for it
despite of you.
I will fight until I am
the me I want to be.

Traffic (A Rispetto Poem)

poetry

Rispetto

A Rispetto, an Italian form of poetry, is a complete poem of two rhyme quatrains with strict meter. The meter is usually iambic tetrameter with a rhyme scheme of abab ccdd. A Heroic Rispetto is written in Iambic pentameter, usually featuring the same rhyme scheme.

Traffic was bad
so I went back
Not getting mad
used a time hack

took my some time
to write this rhyme
not being stuck
which would have sucked

Guess how my day started?

  I hope you enjoyed this poem and let me know what you think. And as always thank you for reading. Have a great day.

Flowing Thoughts of a Poetic Mind

writing

I’m going to let my thoughts flow out. I hope you do not mind the random ramblings of a lone dreamer, lost in her own heart. It was tightened up for so long that I grew to really miss it. I tried to feel it and share it but my heart was locked far away among the elastic bands of stress and worried. Chained behind what other people said and did around me.  My heart was bolted down to the walls of my consciousness, just beyond my reach, where I could not free it.

Yet I tried. I tried to express the stress that weighed me down. I tried to write about what was wrong, but I could not express. I could not find the words to shout that I had lost the thing I hold so dearly. The one thing that makes me myself was trapped and locked by the world around and I could not get to it.

It started rationally, yet quickly. I had to change my life, move to a new home. I had to unpack and be settled. Yet, settling did not happen. There was something that I forgot to take with me, some how in the busyness of life I forgot where my heart belonged. Still I knew it was around, until one day I did not. One day after weeks had passed I looked for myself, my heart and it was gone. My focus on work, and writings, and doings, and goings, and everything else that seemed so important had locked away my heart, my deepest being, until I was a stressed human with no true identity.

Funny how you can lose who you are so fast and hardly even notice. Something so valuable to us all is so easily lost, like a golden band worn on a finger or a diamond stud worn in your ear.

Thankfully I unlocked my heart and threw off the chains that held it away from me. Happiness and relief overwhelmed me, because I was me, I was whole and I am loved. You can not feel true love when your heart is chained down with stress and worries. So now with my heart freed I will dance and share the beauty that a freed heart sees.

The moral of the story is don’t lock your heart away with the stresses and worries of this world or you will lose something so beautiful, so magical and the one thing that makes you who you are. Let your heart be free at least a little each day.

I hope you enjoyed this and have a great day.

Oh and if you look at the categories you should be able to tell I have no idea what category this goes in.