The Monday Poems Receive a Sugar Dusting.

On Friday, I reviewed a scrumptious, cake, and pastry-filled picture book called The Bake Shop Ghost by Jacqueline Ogburn. As promised, the poem I wrote for today is filled, like the story, with delectable delights!

Imagine opening the door to a quaint, pastry shop. A bell rings as you peek inside and swoon over the sweet smells that wrap around you. Involuntarily, your eyes close, and you inhale deeper than you’ve ever breathed in before. Slowly, you pace yourself, as you stroll from one end of the gleaming, glass case to the far end, reading each hand-lettered label beside the platters of treats. The lady in the ruffled apron holds a pink, paper box and asks, “What would you like today?”

You can’t take your eyes off of the sugared violets atop the chocolate truffles or the row of cream-filled eclairs and sugar-dusted jelly bismarcks. Your inner child answers, “I’d like everything, please.”

Welcome to The Pastry Shop.

THE PASTRY SHOP

I’d like a cookie from that bowl

and one thick slice of jelly roll.

I can’t resist those macaroons

or chocolate, crescent, frosted moons.

A molded pig from marzipan

and one small square of cherry flan.

Shortbread, cream puffs, almond rounds,

frosted cookie circus clowns.

Next, I’ll try that lemon tart,

peach-filled torte, and berry heart.

And oh! Behind that apple pie,

is that a chocolate cake I spy?

Just one bite (maybe two),

of gobs of butter frosting goo.

Oooooooooo…

I wish I hadn’t seen that cake,

because now I’ve got a belly ache.

by Leslie Leibhardt Goodman

I would love it if you would share your favorite dessert in the comments or just say hello.

See you next Friday!

The Monday Poems Rise

Three artists meet on vacation in Italy. They stand before a window and watch the last raindrops of a shower fall on the terracotta rooftops at sunset. The painter sets up his canvas, oils, and brushes. The sculptor unpacks his carving tools and block of clay.  The poet holds his journal and pen. Each one wants to take home their interpretation of this view.

The painter flows colors down the canvas like rain. The rust of the roof tiles bleeds into the creamy-white stucco walls and tints the sidewalks. Puddles serve as mirrors, reflecting the freshly washed homes, the thirsty cat, and the people strolling beneath bright umbrellas.

The sculptor notices two visitors outside the window–visitors so common they generally go unseen. He chooses to sculpt these two pigeons, perched along the ridge of the roof. He pinches his clay, as gray as the feathers of the birds, and reveals the lightness and freedom of their flight.

The poet looks, listens, breathes, and feels everything the view offers before penning a single word, likening details to familiar things. By combining the sensory input with their emotional response, words flow like water or dance like rain or appear abstract like the reflections held in the puddles.

Traditionally, a poem runs straight down the left side of a page or is centered. But because the words I’m sharing today come from torn feelings over what the world is going through, I chose to set up the lines into fragments, as if I had torn apart my poem.

I don’t know what you are feeling because of the pandemic. I don’t know how you are dealing emotionally with what has been taken from you. Here are some of my feelings.

Until next Monday.

The Monday Poems Look at Beginnings.

Poetry is filled with many creative forms that allow for the flow of words, impressions, and feelings to be expressed. For today’s poem, I chose to write an acrostic.

The definition of an acrostic poem: When the first letter of each line (and sometimes the last letter) spells out a word that serves as the theme of the poem. What the poet chooses to write after each letter can be as simple as one descriptive word or a phrase that expresses a thought. If you love both nature and acrostic poetry, a book I love very much is Robert Macfarlane’s The Lost Words – A Spell Book.

Another word for a beginning is inception, which is the title of my poem. Everything has a beginning. An oak tree begins with a single acorn, a life begins with a birth, a story begins with a word, trust begins within safety, and love begins with a deep caring that grows over time.

If I asked you how you met your best friend, wife, husband, or significant other, your story would come with a beginning, and that beginning might feel somewhat like the words my poem expresses.

Photo by Văn Thắng on Pexels.com

Until next Monday.