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Bread, Pastries, Pies Playlist & Prompt

By Heather Eure 134 Comments

From Coffee & Croissants to Cherry Pie, this month’s Bread, Pastries, Pies playlist is a mouth-watering buffet of sweet musical delights. Musicians like The Carolina Chocolate Drops, Ryan Bingham, Bob Dylan, and Ella Fitzgerald will have you toe-tapping and craving a visit to your local pâtisserie. Listen along and think about your New Year’s diet later.

Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here is a haiku from Bethany we enjoyed:

Recuperating:
Your hand finally finds mine
–in the tissue box.

—by Bethany Rohde

POETRY PROMPT: Cronut. Danish. Runeberg’s Torte. Write a poem about your favorite pastry. Walk us through each flaky layer.

Photo by Anna. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.

________________________

Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!

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Heather Eure
Heather Eure
Heather Eure has served as the Poetry Editor for the late Burnside Collective and Special Projects Editor for us at Tweetspeak Poetry. Her poems have appeared at Every Day Poems. Her wit has appeared just about everywhere she's ever showed up, and if you're lucky you were there to hear it.
Heather Eure
Latest posts by Heather Eure (see all)
  • Poetry Prompt: Misunderstood Lion - March 19, 2018
  • Animate: Lions & Lambs Poetry Prompt - March 12, 2018
  • Poetry Prompt: Behind the Velvet Rope - February 26, 2018

Filed Under: Blog, Food Poems, Music, poetry prompt, poetry teaching resources, writing prompts

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Comments

  1. Maureen Doallas says

    January 5, 2015 at 2:54 pm

    (Cento)

    My memory of Paris . . .

    each face in the street is a slice of bread
    flattened or round
    the hue of golden potatoes

    touch it
    taste it — the first bite
    of the day
    a sharing of life’s glories

    even though I’m only a poet
    absorbing the gluttony scent through crusty skin
    this bread I bake
    I break with joy —

    the body craves
    tasting and salting

    more, please!

    _________________________
    Sources (excluding last line of my own):

    “Grain”, Diane Wakoski

    “Bread”, W.S. Merwin
    “Ode to Bread”, Pablo Neruda
    “In the Bakery”, Darcie Dennigan

    “Bread”, Kamau Brathwaite
    “Wonderbread”, Alfred Corn
    “Bread and Roses”, James Oppenheim
    “Bread and Roses”, James Oppenheim

    “Bread”, Penelope Shuttle
    “Bread”, Scott Edward Anderson
    “This Bread I Bake”, Dylan Thomas
    “On French Bread”, Sarah Orne Jewett

    “Bread Ode”, Laurie Kutchins
    “Bread Ode”, Laurie Kutchins

    Reply
    • Bethany Rohde says

      January 6, 2015 at 12:53 am

      What a beautiful piece you’ve put together here.

      Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      January 6, 2015 at 6:27 am

      Elements of a wonderful recipe, Maureen.

      Reply
      • Maureen Doallas says

        January 6, 2015 at 9:21 am

        Thank you, Bethany and Richard.

        It’s a great prompt. I’m rather surprised by the lack of diversity in titles of poems about bread.

        Reply
    • Sandra Heska King says

      January 6, 2015 at 10:07 am

      I love what you can bake with your ingredients, Maureen. More, please.

      Reply
    • Simply Darlene says

      January 6, 2015 at 11:57 am

      wow, what a lot of detail, maureen. and i didn’t even think to title my offering. usually i don’t. is that weird?

      “this bread i bake
      i bake with joy” — did those lines come from the same piece?

      Reply
      • Maureen Doallas says

        January 10, 2015 at 5:42 pm

        No, Darlene. The first is Dylan Thomas, the second Sarah Orne Jewett.

        Reply
    • Elizabeth Marshall says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:10 pm

      Maureen. Fresh, crisp and perfectly turned out. You cause me to crave Paris, poetry and pastries. Well done.

      Reply
    • Sandra Wirfel says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:22 pm

      Never been to Paris, but this made me think of the cafe pictures often depicted about the streets of Paris. I always thought it would be a great life being a wandering poet traveling through Europe.

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      January 12, 2015 at 3:07 am

      A collage, baked fresh! A pretty terrific collection of resourced poems to explore, too. Thanks, Maureen!

      Reply
  2. Marcy Terwilliger says

    January 5, 2015 at 3:29 pm

    Tidbit’s

    Just a tidbit
    For flavor
    To go with hot tea.
    A taste,
    On the tongue
    So delicious
    You see.
    Like a mouse,
    Cheese on a trap
    Stop trying to
    Get rid of me.

    Reply
    • Maureen Doallas says

      January 5, 2015 at 6:21 pm

      Fun poem, Marcy.

      Reply
      • Marcy Terwilliger says

        January 6, 2015 at 2:22 am

        Thank you Maureen, Donna and Sandra. Who likes tidbits, birds and mice, so I gave the sneaky mice their due.

        Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      January 6, 2015 at 6:32 am

      Very tasty poem, Marcy.

      Reply
    • Simply Darlene says

      January 6, 2015 at 11:54 am

      tidbits of flavor… nice imagery!

      Reply
    • Bethany Rohde says

      January 6, 2015 at 1:59 pm

      The layout of the poem fits nicely with the tone and topic. How fun!

      Reply
    • Sandra Wirfel says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:00 pm

      Love the “taste on the tongue” and the connection with tea.

      Reply
    • Elizabeth Marshall says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:48 pm

      Marcy, love the playfulness and whimsy

      Reply
  3. Donna says

    January 5, 2015 at 6:50 pm

    Maureen and Marcy! Great poems!

    Reply
    • Maureen Doallas says

      January 5, 2015 at 7:14 pm

      Thank you, Donna.

      Reply
    • Sandra Heska King says

      January 5, 2015 at 11:19 pm

      What Donna said.

      Reply
  4. Sandra Heska King says

    January 5, 2015 at 11:19 pm

    brown-tipped white waves roll
    over still yellow sea cupped
    in flaky canyon

    tart and tasty with tea
    fork it over.

    Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      January 6, 2015 at 6:34 am

      Ah! You describe the photo perfectly. I believe I can almost smell those croissants.

      Reply
      • Maureen Doallas says

        January 6, 2015 at 9:22 am

        Delicious image. I really like your last line, Sandra.

        Reply
        • Sandra Heska King says

          January 6, 2015 at 10:00 am

          Thanks, Richard and Maureen. This is a very “cruel” prompt. Especially to start a new year with. 😉

          Reply
          • Simply Darlene says

            January 6, 2015 at 11:53 am

            ah, it is cruel, i agree – especially for the gluten-free among us. “flaky” is never to be seen or felt
            or melted upon the glutenless tongue.

            fork it over <– iLike!

    • Marcy Terwilliger says

      January 6, 2015 at 2:19 pm

      Yummy good Sandra.

      Reply
    • Bethany Rohde says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:15 am

      This is a beautiful description, Sandra.

      Reply
    • Sandra Wirfel says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:02 pm

      Wow, what a beautiful description.

      Reply
    • Elizabeth Marshall says

      January 7, 2015 at 5:27 pm

      SHk, you delight in bite-sized portions, perfect. Delightful wit.

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      January 12, 2015 at 3:04 am

      There are times when polite words will not do. “Fork it over.” Yup. Serious business. Loved this, Sandra!

      Reply
  5. Bethany Rohde says

    January 6, 2015 at 12:59 am

    I just saw this post and am honored that you shared my haiku. Thank you. It is lovely to find a cozy community here to read, write and eat with. 😉

    Reply
    • Maureen Doallas says

      January 6, 2015 at 9:23 am

      So pleased you’ve joined us.

      Reply
    • Sandra Heska King says

      January 6, 2015 at 9:58 am

      I love your haiku, Bethany. Clever and fun!

      Reply
      • Bethany Rohde says

        January 6, 2015 at 1:35 pm

        Thank you, Sandra and Maureen.

        Reply
    • Elizabeth Marshall says

      January 8, 2015 at 10:49 am

      Welcome!! Delighted you are here. Hope to see you again and again and again. Be our guest.

      Reply
      • Bethany says

        January 8, 2015 at 12:13 pm

        This was such a lovely comment to read this morning. Thank you, Elizabeth.

        Reply
  6. Richard Maxson says

    January 6, 2015 at 6:38 am

    Breakfast Manna

    Sleepy resides in you, loosely assembled,
    Cinnamon lively in your spaces, so like dreams,
    Orange flecks like the last sun I remember before
    Night carried me away to arrive this day,
    Early, left hand still in slumber, in my right hand,
    Steaming like a morning pond, darkness transformed.

    Reply
    • Maureen Doallas says

      January 6, 2015 at 9:24 am

      Richard, lovely images.

      Reply
    • Sandra Heska King says

      January 6, 2015 at 10:11 am

      Dreamy poem. I had to savor “cinnamon lively in your spaces” before I could move on to the other lines.

      Reply
    • Simply Darlene says

      January 6, 2015 at 11:51 am

      very drool-worthy, indeed!

      Reply
    • Bethany Rohde says

      January 6, 2015 at 1:46 pm

      “Sleepy resides in you, loosely assembled” I just love that.

      Reply
    • Marcy Terwilliger says

      January 6, 2015 at 2:21 pm

      Richard, I just love your thoughts and words.

      Reply
    • Sandra Wirfel says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:27 pm

      I like the orange flecks of the sun, beautiful imagery.

      Reply
    • Elizabeth Marshall says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:51 pm

      Richard, I love the simplicity with which you build this poem. It seems to mirror the pastry flakes about which you write. Rich. Layered poetic goodness. Tres bon.

      Reply
    • Donna says

      January 7, 2015 at 8:59 pm

      Oh, I think those hands are so perfectly placed here – breakfast manna… a love song.

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      January 12, 2015 at 3:02 am

      “Cinnamon lively in your spaces” makes me smile.

      Reply
  7. Donna says

    January 6, 2015 at 9:35 am

    A drizzly blanket of glaze hugs
    crushed walnuts,
    cinnamon and sugar
    safely nestled in my mother’s thumbprint
    atop golden brown crusty spheres~

    Melty marble sized heaven,
    I raced for the shooter
    every time.

    Reply
    • Sandra Heska King says

      January 6, 2015 at 10:01 am

      “safely nestled in my mother’s thumbprint.” Love that.

      Reply
    • Simply Darlene says

      January 6, 2015 at 11:49 am

      melty marble <– a rich, sensory delight 🙂

      Reply
    • Bethany Rohde says

      January 6, 2015 at 1:39 pm

      I like the contrast when the line moves from “glaze hugs” to “crushed walnuts.”

      Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      January 7, 2015 at 6:59 am

      Donna, you had me at “drizzly blanket.” And I agree with Bethany, the sounds of “glaze hugs” to “crushed walnuts” is wonderfully soft.

      Reply
    • Sandra Wirfel says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:28 pm

      Beautiful.

      Reply
    • Elizabeth Marshall says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:53 pm

      I am fond of the ‘surprise ending’. Or rather, I found the ending to be a beautiful surprise.

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      January 12, 2015 at 3:00 am

      I second what Sandra said. Safely nestled… a beautiful image of nurture.

      Reply
  8. Simply Darlene says

    January 6, 2015 at 11:47 am

    he sat at the thick, wooden table, wedged
    between stove and refrigerator

    the summer faded curtain sometimes caught
    on the window’s roll-out lever. coffee, almost thick
    with black, pork chops, ‘taters, green beans, half a
    loaf of white, store-bought bread, a little plate of
    butter – with the same knife as breakfast, leftover
    toast crumbs too.

    his rough hands, scrubbed clean, shoveled food,
    sopped gravy with store-bought bread. i cleared
    plates, offered canned peaches or pears
    or chocolate pudding. he said, “no thank you,
    granddaughter, let’s save them peaches for later,
    warmed with ice cream, when the day’s work is done.”

    drinking coffee dregs, he ripped and crammed two
    slices of store-bought bread into his glass. stirred
    in milk and sugar and ate it with a spoon. “this
    right here, will do. best dessert a man
    can muster,” he said winking as he sat at the thick
    wooden table, wedged between stove

    and refrigerator.

    Reply
    • Bethany Rohde says

      January 6, 2015 at 1:45 pm

      “Wedged between stove/ and refrigerator” -Love this. What a vivid description of the grandfather. I feel like I’m right there in the kitchen too. (This made me tear up — he sounds like my dad who passed away this year.)

      Reply
      • Marcy Terwilliger says

        January 6, 2015 at 2:27 pm

        Oh my, all this talk about food, so vivid, flakey, melt in your mouth, drool, butter, sugar. Everyone has done such a great job writing about food. Let’s all run to the nearest bakery.

        Reply
      • SimplyDarlene says

        January 6, 2015 at 2:30 pm

        thank you bethany. it’s an actual-factual scene between me and grandpa. made me tear up too. it’s grand when such memories work out through poetry.

        [your poem, up top, made me laugh silly. i’d run, screaming from the room before i shared my tissue box 😉 ]

        Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      January 7, 2015 at 7:07 am

      Darlene, this reminds me of my Grandpa, Tom Morris. What you created here is such a portrait. I like the lower case words to denote the simplicity and routine of this picture. The repetition just locks in the feeling that this was breakfast daily. This is beautiful to me. Thank you for sharing this.

      It was my Grandpa that introduced me to the wonderful taste of milk, sugar and buttered toast all thrown in a bowl together and you had to eat it fast before the toast got too soggy.

      Reply
    • Sandra Wirfel says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:04 pm

      This made me think of my Grandfather, he was always mushing bread in his coffee, thanks for the memory.

      Reply
    • Elizabeth Marshall says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:58 pm

      I am crazy for this. Quintessential Simply Darleen at its finest. Id know that voice anywhere. Nicest thing a poet can hear ( or in the top 10 ) ♡

      Reply
    • Donna says

      January 7, 2015 at 8:57 pm

      Yes, such a portrait, to borrow Richard’s words… that line about the peaches stuck in my throat… so much sweetness. I just love it. This poem has such a feeling of home.

      Reply
  9. Robbie Pruitt says

    January 6, 2015 at 9:02 pm

    Pastries of Sophistication

    The pastries rest in placidity
    Placed sophisticatedly
    And enshrined in glass
    Inaccessible
    Mocking our simplicity
    Invoking insecurity
    We leave for donuts

    © January 6, 2015, Robbie Pruitt

    Reply
    • Marcy Terwilliger says

      January 7, 2015 at 12:42 am

      Robbie, this is so vivid and different from all the rest. I like it, enshrined in glass, inaccessible, mocking, we leave for donuts. Yes, full of sophistication.

      Reply
      • Robbie Pruitt says

        January 7, 2015 at 4:46 pm

        Thank you Marcy!

        Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      January 7, 2015 at 7:26 am

      Robbie, I loved the language of this…all the itys, enshrined, invoking and then the simplicity of the last line. Well done.

      Yes! After the crème brûlée, croissants, scones, the crepes, clafouti and dacquoise, there is still nothing like a well made cruller or those old fashion glazed cake stick donuts with coffee.

      Reply
      • Robbie Pruitt says

        January 7, 2015 at 4:47 pm

        Thank you for reading and for your feedback Richard. Appreciate the encouragement and enjoy your work as well.

        Reply
      • Heather Eure says

        January 12, 2015 at 2:44 am

        Richard, clafoutis is dear to my heart, but I do have a high appreciation for pink-frosted donuts with sprinkles. The breakfast/snack food equivalent of a unicorn and dolphin dancing on a rainbow. 😀

        Reply
    • Sandra Wirfel says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:32 pm

      In 1987 I was at Carmel, by the sea in Clifornia, we stopped by a pastry shoppe, picked out all these wonderful pastries, the cashier rung them up and said $25, we laughed and said, we’ll haveone donut and a glass of milk, it still cost of $7. But the smell of those pastries and how they looked behind the glass, this poem touched all those spots, thanks for awakening another wonderful memory.

      Reply
      • Robbie Pruitt says

        January 7, 2015 at 4:48 pm

        Great story Sandra. Glad the poem took you back there. Neat how that works.

        Reply
    • Elizabeth Marshall says

      January 7, 2015 at 5:00 pm

      Very well done. Fantastic, Robbie. Love the punch, the pithy pop of humor.

      Reply
      • Robbie Pruitt says

        January 7, 2015 at 8:26 pm

        Thank you Elizabeth!

        Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      January 12, 2015 at 2:55 am

      So clever, Robbie!
      Donuts are like the greeting Norm received every time he walked into Cheers. Sometimes you wanna go where every donut knows your name…
      😉

      Reply
      • Robbie Pruitt says

        January 12, 2015 at 10:37 am

        Thank you Heather! Nice reference to capture the emotion of the poem and the comfort of donuts.

        Reply
  10. Bethany Rohde says

    January 7, 2015 at 4:45 am

    At Least

    This English muffin
    will crisp up in dry heat

    and allow salted butter
    to pool in the fingerprints.

    The honey will drop
    through the sourdough pores

    of bread that I eat
    without you.

    Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      January 7, 2015 at 7:12 am

      This says so much with the salted butter, the honey and the sourdough. Nicely subtle. I loved it!

      Reply
      • Bethany Rohde says

        January 7, 2015 at 12:32 pm

        Richard, I’m glad you liked it. Thank you for reading and commenting. 🙂

        Reply
    • Sandra Wirfel says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:10 pm

      Nice visualization with a touch of melancholy

      Reply
      • Bethany Rohde says

        January 7, 2015 at 4:12 pm

        Thank you, Sandra.

        Reply
    • Elizabeth Marshall says

      January 7, 2015 at 5:31 pm

      Love this. And you accomplish so much without rhyming yeast and least….tee hee 🙂 brilliantly subtle.

      Reply
      • Bethany Rohde says

        January 7, 2015 at 9:02 pm

        Elizabeth, I’m glad you enjoyed this. It is so helpful to hear feedback from other writers. Thanks you. I’m looking forward to reading your piece after the kids go to bed. 🙂

        Reply
    • Marcy Terwilliger says

      January 7, 2015 at 6:45 pm

      Bethany, oh so good, especially the sourdough pores and pool in the fingerprints. Love it.

      Reply
      • Bethany Rohde says

        January 7, 2015 at 9:00 pm

        How kind, thank you.

        Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      January 12, 2015 at 2:37 am

      These are dear and tender words, Bethany. Thank you for sharing them.

      Reply
      • Bethany R. says

        January 12, 2015 at 2:42 am

        Thank you, Heather, I appreciate that.

        Reply
  11. Sandra Wirfel says

    January 7, 2015 at 3:58 pm

    Bread

    Turkish bread ekmegi
    Flat Sour dough
    Baked on a flat iron skillet
    Or a stone in the village
    Crunch of the crust
    Eaten by everyone
    Fingers burning
    Heat at the heart
    Served each meal
    Sold on the street
    Wrapped in newspaper

    25 years later
    My mouth still waters
    At the thought of ekmek.

    Reply
    • Bethany Rohde says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:02 pm

      Powerful word choice — I feel this poem.

      Reply
      • Sandra Wirfel says

        January 7, 2015 at 4:06 pm

        Thank You.

        Reply
    • Donna says

      January 7, 2015 at 4:12 pm

      Heat at the heart. Oh, I love that line.

      Reply
      • Sandra Wirfel says

        January 8, 2015 at 11:45 am

        Thank you

        Reply
    • Elizabeth Marshall says

      January 7, 2015 at 6:26 pm

      A sensory sensation. And my senses go wild.

      Reply
      • Sandra Wirfel says

        January 8, 2015 at 11:46 am

        Thank You

        Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      January 12, 2015 at 2:36 am

      Thank you for bringing a fond food memory to life, Sandra!

      Reply
      • Sandra Wirfel says

        January 13, 2015 at 12:24 pm

        Heather, Thank you for your kind comments.

        Reply
  12. Elizabeth Marshall says

    January 7, 2015 at 4:37 pm

    The Rising

    Skip any step
    Along the way
    Kneed not enough,or even too much if you dare
    Pour a hurried measured cup of
    Haste
    and waste
    A cracked egg with its deadly shards of shell
    If you choose
    but never ever
    fail
    to guard the rising
    with
    Precision of a sniper’s mark
    watch the clock
    watch it like a mother hawk

    For if you fail the rising
    Fall short of the goal you are meant to reach

    Then dare not even say the word
    Croissant
    Because my dear cherie
    a puffed up pastry’s ego
    rises and then falls

    Upon
    the rising

    After all

    Reply
    • Bethany Rohde says

      January 8, 2015 at 12:20 am

      “Pour a hurried measured cup of
      Haste” is such a fun line. Thanks so much for sharing your poem!

      Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      January 9, 2015 at 1:33 pm

      I love:

      “Then dare not even say the word
      Croissant
      Because my dear cherie
      a puffed up pastry’s ego
      rises and then falls/”

      Reply
  13. Sandra Wirfel says

    January 7, 2015 at 4:43 pm

    I haven’t made bread by hand in years, but this made me want to punch some dough and watch it rise again.

    Reply
  14. Elizabeth Marshall says

    January 7, 2015 at 5:44 pm

    Choices

    I choose the one
    left
    to harden on
    the day old shelf
    Drive a nail into a board
    with the lead weight end
    heavy now with slightly molded ctust
    noses turned up by the few
    but for the masses
    it is more than good enough

    Half price
    day old
    nothing”s new
    i choose you

    In my eyes, your beauty lies
    in your subtle gteen edges
    like patina
    You are
    a levened slice
    of seventh heaven

    Reply
  15. Marcy Terwilliger says

    January 7, 2015 at 6:41 pm

    There have been so many great poems, everyone has joined in with the finest ingredients, the tasty treats but the best thing about it all is all the support of everyone. Did all of you notice the wonderful comments we gave each other? I’m standing up and clapping this entire group of great people right now.

    Reply
    • Donna says

      January 7, 2015 at 8:18 pm

      Marcy! You are so right! This is such a great batch of bakers! Clapping with you! 😀

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      January 12, 2015 at 2:32 am

      Hear, hear! Well said, Marcy.

      Reply
  16. Donna says

    January 7, 2015 at 8:23 pm

    in my next thirty years
    i’ll raise dough
    and
    if the dough falls
    we’ll have sugared fry-cakes

    with cinnamon

    Reply
    • Marcy Terwilliger says

      January 7, 2015 at 10:06 pm

      The Sky’s the Limit

      Miss Crumbles smiling,
      Standing behind the old
      Glass counter.
      Loaves of crusty hot bread
      To begin with
      Buns: plain buns, sweet buns,
      Cinnamon buns, and poppy seed
      buns.
      Cakes too.
      Cakes with frosting, powdered sugar,
      Big and small.
      Pink and white even brown.
      Pies and tarts, yummy fruit inside,
      Cream filling, some with meringue.
      Don’t forget the gingerbread man.
      What really caught my eye was the
      Huge tea cakes, still warm
      My oh my.
      Placed in my little black tin,
      It’s off to school with my
      Best friend.

      Reply
      • Donna says

        January 8, 2015 at 12:26 pm

        What a panorama of pastry you paint!

        Reply
        • Marcy Terwilliger says

          January 8, 2015 at 6:04 pm

          Thank you Donna, did you know I paint?

          Reply
          • Donna says

            January 8, 2015 at 10:00 pm

            No I did not! 🙂

    • Bethany Rohde says

      January 8, 2015 at 12:22 am

      I like the wisdom in this, Donna.

      Reply
    • Sandra Wirfel says

      January 8, 2015 at 11:47 am

      I’m in…Poetry, tea and bread…life is good

      Reply
    • Donna says

      January 8, 2015 at 12:02 pm

      🙂

      Reply
    • Maureen Doallas says

      January 10, 2015 at 5:45 pm

      Love the double meanings of dough in this, Donna.

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      January 12, 2015 at 2:30 am

      That’s a win-win. An excellent outlook on life and dough.

      Reply
  17. Annelies says

    January 7, 2015 at 10:06 pm

    I’m an avid bread baker and wrote a food poem entitled, “Dear Plastic Bagged Bread,” a while back. Here’s a link if you would like to check it out: http://thefoodpoet.com/2014/03/10/dear-plastic-bagged-bread-poem/

    Also, and I hope it’s okay to share this here in the comments, I manage a food poetry community on G+ and would love to see anyone interested in that facet of poetry join us. Great prompt and inventive poems everyone, especially the sound work of “watch the clock / watch it like a mother hawk,” Elizabeth.

    Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      January 10, 2015 at 1:28 am

      Very imaginative poem, Annelies. Bread is almost as much a wolf in sheep’s clothing as cereals. This was a very humorous shaming.

      MMMM-MMMMMM-MM! That bread loaf looks good. I may have to go back to baking bread myself once I retire here soon. In Eureka Springs we do not have a large volume bakery for fresh and healthy breads. I got lazy in Florida, because it was so easy to get bread like your photo.

      Reply
      • Annelies says

        January 10, 2015 at 9:40 pm

        Thanks RIchard and Elizabeth. It’s quite fascinating to see how bread gets mentioned in literature dating quite a ways back. The symbolism of it can be fun to play with in poetry too. I found your site through Google+ and am so glad I did. 🙂

        Reply
    • Elizabeth Marshall says

      January 10, 2015 at 9:42 am

      Welcome, welcome to this community. So glad you are here, so happy you shared. Looking forward to more from you here 🙂

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      January 12, 2015 at 2:27 am

      So glad you’re here, Annelies. A food poetry community makes perfect sense! Thanks for sharing your poem with us. There is nothing in the world like REAL bread. 🙂

      Reply
  18. NewLife2008 says

    January 11, 2015 at 2:30 am

    Loving Hands

    In the early morning before the sun arises;
    she gets the necessities to make sure we’re fed.
    Using her small hands that labored away with love
    to make the Mexican variety of our daily bread.

    Freshening up she readies herself for the task at hand:
    making her way to the kitchen as she’s done for years,
    searching the pantry for the ingredients there she stands
    and the sound of her movements is the only thing she hears.

    Flour, salt, and lard in just the right amounts
    as she works all the ingredients with her finger tips;
    she never needs to measure or needs to recount
    from years of perfecting her craft she’s more than well equipped.

    Stirring, mixing, then pouring the hot water little by little;
    the most important aspect to ensure the right consistency.
    As the ball of masa rests, it’s time to warm the griddle
    and make little round balls to roll out in perfect symmetry.

    Throwing a little flour on the board so the balls don’t bind
    the sound of wood on wood begins and from my slumber I awake,
    with each half turn she rolls out a perfect sphere every time;
    slapping it between her hands the tortilla is ready to make.

    Down it goes on the hot comale the tortilla begins to bubble;
    as the smell permeates every nook and cranny in the house
    I can’t help but jump out of bed and into the kitchen I hustle
    to see my siblings also waiting for the first tortilla to come out.

    With precision she grabs it with her finger tips and flips it over
    patting it down as it cooks for a few seconds more; now it’s ready.
    My siblings and I will have to wait, as she puts it in the tortilla warmer,
    because we know the one that always gets to eat first is our Daddy.

    Copyright by NewLife2008

    Reply
    • Donna says

      January 11, 2015 at 9:43 am

      NewLife2008… so glad that you’ve joined in the baking party. Beautiful images in your poem. What a powerful ritual, full of symbolism. So lovely to meet you, surrounded by the feelings in your childhood kitchen.

      Reply
      • NewLife2008 says

        January 17, 2015 at 11:04 pm

        Thank you Donna. I just wish I could have learned how to make them myself.

        Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      January 12, 2015 at 2:22 am

      An image-rich story! Thanks so much for sharing it with us.

      Reply
    • Sandra Wirfel says

      January 13, 2015 at 12:27 pm

      What a nice story you have here so detailed, nice rhythum floating throughout the poem, and such a nice memory.

      Reply
      • NewLife2008 says

        January 17, 2015 at 11:05 pm

        Thank you Heather. I’m sorry for not replying promptl; I was dealing with the flu.

        Reply
      • NewLife2008 says

        January 17, 2015 at 11:06 pm

        Yes Sandra, it’s a nice memory that seems like yesterday. Thank you for your words.

        Reply
    • Kate Jobe says

      January 18, 2015 at 7:25 pm

      Lovely visual picture that takes the reader right into the moment; allows you to feel the love and connectivity of the family.

      Reply
      • NewLife2008 says

        January 19, 2015 at 12:23 am

        Kate, thank you for that comment. Yes, usually we connect food to family and the memories it brings.

        Reply
  19. lynn__ says

    January 17, 2015 at 1:37 pm

    Greetings to all you “rising” poets at Tweetspeak! I’m rather late to the table but it is still January so here’s my offering (hopefully month-old words are fresher than some say-old bread):

    http://madhatterpoetry.com/2014/12/17/feed-the-world/

    Reply
    • lynn__ says

      January 17, 2015 at 1:38 pm

      …”day-old bread” (sorry)

      Reply
  20. Kate Jobe says

    January 18, 2015 at 7:21 pm

    yeast
    bubbles, fermenting
    in sugar and warm water, comfort
    and expectation. flour
    glittered with salt scented
    savory from rosemary’s earthy snippets
    scattered among aubergine
    tinted kalamata olives. bread dough.
    gleaming golden olive oil sheen.
    bread dough softly yielding.
    bread dough
    creating cadence. creating substance.
    bread dough baking. warm
    soulful contentment.
    bread.

    Reply
    • lynn__ says

      January 18, 2015 at 10:45 pm

      Sounds simply wonderful, Kate!

      Reply
    • NewLife2008 says

      January 19, 2015 at 12:26 am

      Kate, I love the imagery. I love the taste of bread and those aromatic smells. I enjoyed reading your poem.

      Reply

Trackbacks

  1. Photo Play: Bread, Pastries, and Pies - says:
    January 12, 2015 at 8:01 am

    […] to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. We can’t get enough of our favorite pastries, and it shows (in our poetry, of course)!  […]

    Reply
  2. Our Partners: What You Did for Poetry in 2015 - says:
    November 23, 2015 at 12:41 pm

    […] featured a brand new poetry-themed playlist every single month. In 2015, that ranged from delicious Bread, Pastries, Pies to Heroes and Villains, from Circus and Carnival to Math, Science and […]

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