Oddments

In search of story


6 Comments

September 25.20: Coping

Layered, airy —

what can I do?

I’m forced to think

of pâte à choux.

You say I am

dessert-obsessed?

I say my world view

is the best.

To meet the world

with proper confection

is the only way

I’ll survive this election.

With more thanks to photographer S.W. Berg,

and to Ritchey Woods, Fishers, IN.

Well, dear reader, I think it has happened: a new editing in WordPress.

The spacing in this is not what it’s supposed to be,

and I’ve tried everything I know to fix it.


8 Comments

August 16.20: Coping

Discouragement abounds,

angst, depression, fears;

my pate completely addled,

my brains ooze out my ears.

I feel as though I’m squeezed

by vise of pointless tripe;

innuendo and conspiracy

spring up in endless hype.

And isolation never helped

the cause of sanity;

it gives the upper hand

to crazed inanity.

I look for logic, reason,

a sense of what should be;

I find it in the bakery

in sweet geometry.

 

 

I do not make light, dear reader, of those who have little food. Or none at all. I know how fortunate I am to think about desserts.

 

Many thanks to photographer S.W. Berg

and to the artist-bakers at la Madeleine.


7 Comments

April 26.20: Coping

Let’s start the week

with a fond reminiscence

of life’s punctuation

with sweet evanescence.

Dessert is but transient

gone in a trice

yet forever recalled

as joy in a slice.

So here on purpled plate

an offering to you

of memory, then hope,

evoked by finest goo.

 

 

And maybe, dear reader, a day will come when we eat dessert with others —

safely!

Meanwhile, I salute you with blueberry goo and hope you are safe and healthy.

 

More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg, and his fine eye for desserts!

And applause to Forno, Baltimore, for the gorgeous presentation!


6 Comments

November 1.19

Apple walnut cinnamon pie,

winter oven, my, oh, my.

Syrup’d slices, cinnamon dust

rise through nose to memory’s must:

oilclothed table, rolling pin,

floured apron, floor and chin,

pigtail peelings, glowing stove,

maybe nutmeg, maybe clove.

Coming in from bitter world,

boots well stomped and scarf unfurled,

amber warmth starts deep within

like radiator through my skin.

Kitchens of the long-ago,

swathed in early evening snow,

hug me still because I spy

apple walnut cinnamon pie.

 

Huzzahs and thanks to photographer S.W. Berg,

and kudos to dessert chefs at McCormick and Schmick’s, Virginia Beach, VA.

What memoried fragrance arises from this photo!

As this hectic season hurls us into next year,

I wish you, dear reader,

some sanity from a warm and spicy kitchen.

 

 

 


7 Comments

October 25.19

Sing a song of decadence,

a hymn to sweet excess,

paean to insouciance —

hail, oh, sticky mess!

Concupiscence so caramel’d,

so delicately plated,

inarguable its tenet:

self-restraint is over-rated.

 

 

With a tip of the hat (and maybe the scales)

to The Cake Bake Shop by Gwendolyn Rogers,

Broad Ripple, Indianapolis.


4 Comments

Disconnections: December 23.18

 

Life has its moments

of bliss unalloyed,

of humor splenic

roundly devoid.

When eye and nose

and memory combine

to flour and fat and filling

enshrine.

In pie, in pie

the toothsome all:

in fragrance, form,

the anti-banal.

If ever our being

you seek to justify,

look but to crusted

invention of pie.

 

 

With many salivating thanks to photographer S. W. Berg.

And kudos to pastry artist Jennifer Berg.

Full disclosure: I couldn’t bake a pie even if you threatened me with Brussels sprouts.

But I can eat it.