24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Hour Twenty-Two
I could eat pizza every day.
I make my own l luscious, I’m not afraid of hate mail.
You see pizza has graced my palette for breakfast, leftover lunch and dinner etiquette.
Versatile, melting cheeses, veggies, meats, gluten free too. Pizza adornment needn’t a muse.
Pizza is medicinal and fragrant and true, If it’s not on your pizza, then it wasn’t meant to! DMW
Working in the dirt
Measure edges and depth
Remove just enough
Not to return again
Cover the opening
A neatly squared hole
With painted green board
Soft micro-grass carpet
Do not disturb surrounding
Planted red yellow purple
Flowers placed by loved ones
Each spring when ground thaws
Returning to tuck in
The old widow’s ashes
While son and daughter
And grandchildren look on
All have gone home
While the ground is raked
Leaving the old gal with him
To rest in peace
In the still-rural village of my 1960’s childhood
we had already gained a reputation for adventurous cooking at home…
Mum being an Elizabeth David fan.
My sister’s classmates gathered round her when she brought ingredients
for spaghetti bolognese
to domestic science class.
Guest toyed, curious,
with the soy sauce
placed on the table with more usual condiments.
A scone pizza recipe
sealed our celebrity in the street,
so easy for us kids to make,
on large rectangular baking tins.
Tomatoes, cheese,
herbs and garlic (unheard of).
Reflective playground of relationship
You falter in yellow I recover in green
I shed tears in orange You feel joy in blue
You gain insights in purple while I hold space for you
We were never alike in many ways,
but we managed a semblance
of common ground
at least where it counts…
I like spinach and Ricotta cheese
with buttered garlic sprinkled on top.
While you have your pepperoni
steaming hot, straight from the box.
Will you meet me halfway
where the picnic tables
jostle the weeds in the backdrop
of a Tuscan sky?
You bring your bottle of wine
I will pack the the chequered blanket
and we can sling the sun underneath
our shoulders and brave the seven seas again.
In ramekin place
a butter base
so thin to feel
like silk.
And then esteem
a leafy green,
like spinach,
just to wilt.
The oven’s heat
let it meet
and make a sort
of bowl.
And sprinkle thus
some fennel dust,
and salt to heal
the soul.
Within this cup
an egg, sun up,
then tilt to place
just round
Some grated cheese
to hold with ease,
its creamy
yellow mound.
It needs a spice.
Cayenne, so nice!
Just dust it
barely there.
Yes, just a trace
a lovely taste,
but not too much
to bear.
Three and fifty
heat so nifty
sets our egg
apace
Until it wiggles
just a little;
twelve or more
in space.
The white is set
the yolk still wet,
like pudding
so sublime.
A toast of kings,
its buttered rings
await to soak
in kind.
But first a jam
of roses slam
to sweeten
oh, so thin!
And then on top
just scoop and plop
the egg and cheese
and green.
Oh, serve it swift!
It is a gift
to share with king
and queen.
Test post
Oh, how I love cheese!
sliced cheese
shredded cheese
stick cheese
its oooey. goooey
deliciousness
stretched up, up
and away as I eat
my grilled cheese
(the best way to eat it)…
cheese
is the cheese!