🥧poetry friday roundup is here🌽

Please help yourself to apple cider, chocolate chip pumpkin bread, oatmeal raisin cookies and a Dreamy Pear slice.

Welcome to Poetry Friday at Alphabet Soup!

So, it’s almost turkey o’clock. Does Thanksgiving fill you with dread or anticipation? Will you find the holiday relaxing or stressful? A good sense of humor is essential whether you’re dealing with dry turkey, lumpy mashed potatoes, or high drama with relatives.

Mr Cornelius contemplates giant oatmeal cookies.

The older I get, the more I appreciate Melanie White’s Instagram caption: “Thanksgiving – when the people who are the most thankful are the ones who didn’t have to cook.” 😀

True, yet when you don’t cook, you don’t have any leftovers, which I think are actually the best part of Thanksgiving (hello, hot turkey sandwiches, apple pie for breakfast, sausage stuffing for lunch). When all the niceties and formalities of the holiday are over, you can finally be alone with your food and have your way with it.

Austin poet C J Beaman’s parody says it all.

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A THANKSGIVING POEM
by C J Beaman

Twas the night of Thanksgiving, but I just couldn't sleep, 
I tried counting backwards, I tried counting sheep. 
The leftovers beckoned - the dark meat and white, 
But I fought off the temptation with all of my might. 

I tossed and I turned with sweet anticipation, 
As the thought of a snack became infatuation. 
So I raced to the kitchen, flung open the door 
And gazed at the fridge, full of goodies galore. 

I gobbled up turkey and buttered potatoes, 
Pickles and carrots, beans and tomatoes. 
I felt myself swelling so plump and so round, 
'Til all of a sudden, I rose off the ground. 

I crashed through the ceiling, floating into the sky 
With a mouthful of pudding and a handful of pie. 
But I managed to yell as I soared past the trees... 
Happy eating to all! Pass the cranberries, please! 

May your stuffing be tasty, may your turkey be plump, 
May your potatoes & gravy have nary a lump, 
May your yams be delicious, may your pies take the prize, 
May your Thanksgiving dinner stay off of your thighs. 

Remember to share with those less fortunate,
And may your Thanksgiving be blessed!

~ Copyright © 2001, C J Beaman. All rights reserved.
“Pie in the Sky” by Dan Craig.

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🐜 TRUMAN’S AUNT FARM GIVEAWAY WINNERS! 🐜

Thanks to all who left interesting comments about your aunts. Thoroughly enjoyed reading them! After Mr Cornelius wrote all the commentors’ names down on pieces of paper, he tossed them into Paddington’s bush hat so Aunt Lucy could pick two winners. And they are:

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🥁 drum roll please 🥁

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🌽 JONE RUSH MACCULLOCH 🍗

and

🍁 MARY LEE HAHN 🥧

🎉🎉Congratulations, Jone and Mary Lee!! 🎉 🎉

Please email your snail mail addresses and we’ll get the books out to you lickety split!

Thanks again, everyone. 🙂

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Now, please leave your links with the dapper Mr. Linky below. Better take a few more bites to sustain you while you zip around the blogosphere reading all the fine poems, reviews, and poetic ruminations being shared by our poetry peeps this week.

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“Mulberry Cake” by Loré Pemberton

🥧 HAVE A SAFE, DELICIOUS, AND VERY HAPPY THANKSGIVING!! 🍗


*Copyright © 2022 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

let’s get cracking

“Probably one of the most private things in the world is an egg until it is broken.” ~ M.F.K. Fisher

photo by Nancy Jentsch
WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF EGGS? 
by Nancy Jentsch

Today’s pumpkin-colored yolks scramble 
with bubbly beaten whites, 
the foam a color Kandinsky 
would drool for. 
Frying eggs sizzle serenades 
harmonize with salty bacon 
sport accents of poblano and cheddar 
their taste delicate as their shells. 
 
If this is all you know of eggs 
it is sufficient. 
 
As for me, 
blessed with hens, 
my hands wonder  
at the warmth 
each egg entrusts 
exquisite as any snowflake or rose 
 
And in my dimpled basket 
their pastel rainbow—  
tans, blues, greens— 
seals an understated promise. 

~ Posted by permission of the author. Copyright © 2022 Nancy Jentsch
“Fried Eggs” by Dusan Vukovic
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my darling, my toaster

“The smell of that buttered toast simply spoke to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cozy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one’s ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.” ~ Kenneth Grahame (The Wind in the Willows, 1908)

Good morning!

Though most of you probably greet each new day worshipping at the ‘altar of drip coffee maker’, my wake-up appliance of choice is my humble yet decidedly adorable toaster.

Love this clever and well deserved ‘toast to toasters’ by Allan Chochinov. 🙂

“Rosebud” watercolor by Denny Bond (2011)
ODE TO MY TOASTER
by Allan Chochinov

Ode to my toaster, so shiny and clean
You’re the butterknife's foe, you're the bread's trampoline
You're the lightest, the darkest, the coolest and proud
You’re the jack-in-the-box of the countertop crowd.

In the old days you had a side entrance instead
You were far more ornate as a true thoroughbred
But now you're a box with a push-button trick
You're a bit more convenient, but a little too slick.

And if that weren't sufficient to cause you some shame,
There's your bullying arch-rival muscling in on your game
They say big toaster-ovens are "double the tool"
They can brown up a bagel and reheat your gruel.

But don't be discouraged, I still think you're swell
You do do one thing, but you do that thing well
And though fancy new gizmos might stir up a yen, remember
Your name still pops up, every now and again.

~ via Design Observer (2008)

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I smile whenever I catch a glimpse of my creamy-shiny, chunky but cute Dualit toaster sitting happily on the kitchen counter. I bought it when we moved into our current home 22 years ago, and it has served us well.

I remember thinking at the time that it was a little pricey, but I decided to splurge anyway.

After all, I loved its classic design, and it was hand built in the UK with fully replaceable or repairable parts, meaning I’d never have to buy another toaster ever again. It’s been worth every penny.

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[savory poem + recipe] sing a song of soup

“It is impossible to think of any good meal, no matter how plain or elegant, without soup or bread in it.” ~ M.F. K. Fisher

“Vegetable Soup” by Joe Anna Arnett
SOUP ALLURE
by Nancy Dymond
Combine the following and stir:
A fragrant powder of savory herbs
Tree nuts tossed and gently toasted
Vegetables oiled and slowly roasted
Broth of beef, honey of bee
Flake of parsley, salt of sea

In a great pot over a medium flame
Provoke rolling bubbles of rising steam
Turn to the lettuces; wash, chop, mix
Color with celery and carrot strips
Raisins? Almonds? Olives and cheese?
Tomatoes? Scallions? All of these?

Reduce the flame to a quiet simmer
Set the table for evening dinner
A scalloped knife beside the bread
Jam to sweeten and butter to spread
What more could a person want from life
Than a salad, a soup, and a loaf with a knife?


~ from Sleep Barn (Stockport Flats, 2015).
“Salad Bowl” by Tjalf Sparnaay (oil on linen, 2006)

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It’s always nice when soup season returns each fall. There is something so comforting about having a pot of soup simmering on the stove with its promise of a satisfying meal later on. Making soup is calming and therapeutic — you can’t rush homemade soup.

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a tasty bite of “Pomology” by Kim Roberts

Have you ever received a cryptic message, only to spend the next few minutes trying to figure out what it actually means?

D.C. area poet Kim Roberts received a text from her housemate that inspired her to write this witty, intriguing poem. So much depends on the sender . . . and what the receiver wants to hear. 🙂

“Still Life with Apple II” by Jos Van Riswick (oil on panel)
POMOLOGY
by Kim Roberts

I will eat the apple
read Stephen’s note this morning.
He is volunteering to play Eve.

He wrote, I will eat the apple
—but there are no apples in the house.
We have no lascivious Honeycrisp,

no bonny Braeburn, no upright Baldwin.
We’re out of spry Granny Smiths,
the skulking Northern Spy,

or the mysterious Pink Lady.
Stephen does have an Adam’s apple
and I have an Apple computer,

but you can’t compare apples and oranges.
The note said, I will eat the apple.
Perhaps Stephen’s chasing out the doctors.

Perhaps he’s not falling far from the tree.
Or he’s already eaten from the tree of knowledge:
in Latin, malum means both apple

and evil. I think Stephen is sending a warning.
He means, I will protect you.
He writes, I will eat the apple.

~ Originally published in Poem-a-Day, August 2017 by the Academy of American Poets
“Adam and Eve” by Edvard Munch (1909)

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“Apples in a Basket” by Levi Wells Prentice (oil on canvas)

This is just to say, I’m happy Kim figured out what Stephen was trying to tell her, but . . . what if the sender had been one of my poet friends? What were they really trying to tell me?

I will eat the apple (we seem to be out of plums) ~ William Carlos Williams

I will eat the apple (I have had too much of apple-picking) ~ Robert Frost

I will eat the apple (peaches are too risky) ~ T.S. Eliot

I will eat the apple (that is all ye need to know) ~ John Keats

I will eat the apple (to peel or not to peel, that is the question) ~ Shakespeare

I will eat the apple (judge tenderly of me) ~ Emily Dickinson

I will eat the apple (a man and a woman and an apple are one) ~ Wallace Stevens

I will eat the apple (a strain of the Earth’s sweet being in the beginning in Eden’s garden) ~ Gerard Manley Hopkins

I will eat the apple (be astonished and tell about it) ~ Mary Oliver

I will eat the apple (to follow my inner moonlight) ~ Allen Ginsberg

I will eat the apple (like a complete unknown)~ Bob Dylan

I will (not only)eat (but hold in my heart) the apple – E. E. Cummings

Now, when Mr Cornelius writes, I will eat the apple,

I know he actually means, I will eat the apple galette.

Want one? 🙂

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