Wednesday, October 07, 2009


As I rush home with a store bought cake
I suddenly smell apple pie
Generations of older kitchens
Find me with stories to tell

The red velvet cake for my birthday
Smells like my teenage perfume
The grated lemons for the Chess Pie
Burnt cornbread that the birds ate

Being on my best behavior
So that I could sop the bowl
Nothing tasted better than pound cake
Raw and dripping down my chin

Cooking lessons all wrap around me
I sure learned more than I know
“Put the eggs in one at a time, dear”
Grandmother’s soothing sweet words

She poured bourbon over her fruitcake
I smell it like it was here
Christmas cookies and Christmas candies
Each one made with loving hands

My cake looks like cardboard with icing
Straight from an assembly line
No love, no thought, no cooking lessons
No aromas for me now

Ha! The time the roast burned in the oven
That stink lasted for three days
Covering now with the smell of bread
Fresh rolls with homemade butter

Warm hugs, laughs and flour on noses
Waft in on the breeze of now
As generations of kitchens share
Holding me true to their words

@2009 The above and all poems and pictures on this blog cannot be
reproduced on the World Wide Web or any other published form without
the written permission of the writer/creator at

Saturday, October 03, 2009


Okay, I get it your truck needs help
You can’t fix it in spite of yourself
That doesn’t mean that you won’t keep trying
My eardrums appear to be dying!

Out my window I see you in the road
Revving that truck to the mother load
Louder and louder that engine noise goes
Any minute I’ll hear “Thar she blows!”

My opened window that once shared a breeze
Now wafts an odor of decayed cheese
Down the window goes but not all the noise
Why can’t you go golfing with the boys?

Let’s talk about gas prices, Mr.Loud
It seems a bit much for that black cloud
You can’t be that rich if you’ve got that truck
Turn it off and save yourself a buck!

Wait! What is that? I can hear myself think
And, my entire house no longer stinks!
I guess I’ll just call this my lucky day
Your wife’s home with a “bucket” buffet!
@2009 The above and all poems and pictures on this site cannot be reproduced onto the World Wide Web without the written permission of the writer/creator at