Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Archive for the tag “eggs”

19 Nov 2012
1 Comment

A Toast to Toast

A toast to toast
it makes the most
of bread that’s slightly dry.
Spread margarine
or maybe pean-
ut butter and then try
not to drop
crumbs down your top
they itch so all day long,
they shift in your shift
and slip in your slip
down where they don’t belong.
Though muffins are sweet
toast can’t be beat
for a place to put your jam
Or for homemade
orange marmalade
or scrambled eggs and ham.
And bagels are fine
if you don’t mind
a hole where the jelly gets caught
and then falls through
and drips on you
and leaves a sticky spot.
So toast the toast,
heart of the most
important meal of the day
and sweep off crumbs
and lick off thumbs
and go upon your way.

#331

Posted in A New Poem Every Morning, Poetry, Writings and tagged , , , , , , , , ,
21 Sep 2012
2 Comments

The Five Stages of Food Grief

Denial
Eggs can’t be bad for me
I’m sure I read an article
that told me that they wouldn’t hurt
my ventricles and hearticles.

Anger
Drat it! Everything I like
has cholesterol and salt.
I should smack the manufacturer.
It’s all his gol dern fault.

Bargaining
I could eat a steak today
then for the next two weeks
drink water, and browse melba toast,
and  salads laced with leeks.

Depression
Oh, I give up. If it tastes good
I should probably spit it out.
I won’t live any longer but
it’ll feel that way, no doubt.

Acceptance
What is this? Guacamole?
Whole grain bread, home made jam?
Food’s better when it’s fresh
and doesn’t come out of a can.

#272

Posted in A New Poem Every Morning, Poetry, Writings and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
08 Sep 2012
1 Comment

Farmers’ Market

With basket empty,
Farmers’ Market bound am I
to fill the basket.

Whole grain bread, honey,
eggs, tomatoes, yellow beans,
Into the basket.

Unpack the basket
taste the sunshine, soil, and rain
of the Peace Country.

 

#259

Posted in A New Poem Every Morning, Poetry, Writings and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
26 Aug 2012
1 Comment

Food Fear

A soft boiled egg perched in a cup
with a jaunty, hand knit cap on top
and buttered toast cut into strips
to dunk so you didn’t miss a bit

of the bright yellow yolk
so smooth and delicious
who knew that eggs
could be so malicious

as to hide the fiend cholesterol
that would lead to a dietary fall
from grace. All I can say is “Crap,
now what’ll I do with the jaunty cap?”

#246

Posted in A New Poem Every Morning, Poetry, Writings and tagged , , , , , , ,

Post Navigation