Post by dcpottsmd on Dec 18, 2007 0:13:46 GMT -5
Enjoy some Christmas goodies!
Still she stirs.
Its batter thickens slowly
with the sugar
of our Christmas years.
Pinches of paper choristers
with proper mouths to sing “Noel”,
and plops of plastic instruments
with cracked, silvery stain accompanying them
(to tease the eyes and tongue
with tinsel specks and nutty bites)
mix melodiously in creamy base.
Spicy dust of tea floats down,
as if blown on seeking, eastern winds,
vanishing in mystery
‘neath shifting, spoon-stroked sands.
And then, the tree.
Oh, the tree!
Bitter sap of cedar forest
fills the house with prickling, icy clean;
potency released, but softened
in the velvety milieu.
Embedded in each sappy bead
the ornaments,
sparkling stations of a child,
rise to the top:
tender memories to the surface.
A cup of crackling, smoky oak
helps hold the mixture’s warmth.
She tastes.
“It lacks some sweet.”
Ambrosia, custard,
cakes of coconut and caramel,
by tablespoonful,
draw satisfaction’s smile.
Music’s melding oil pours in,
blending solo soprano
with ivory keystrokes,
“Oh Holy Night”
for the “Gesu Bambino.”
These impart a taste unique.
But without milk’s gratitude for gifts
and butter’s spread of selfless love,
the savory blessing would be missed.
Still she stirs.
Our baking pans are filled again
with sweet ebony delight.
I must keep my oven warm,
for Christmas mouths will always crave
such bites of richness
for the soul.
Still she stirs.
Its batter thickens slowly
with the sugar
of our Christmas years.
Pinches of paper choristers
with proper mouths to sing “Noel”,
and plops of plastic instruments
with cracked, silvery stain accompanying them
(to tease the eyes and tongue
with tinsel specks and nutty bites)
mix melodiously in creamy base.
Spicy dust of tea floats down,
as if blown on seeking, eastern winds,
vanishing in mystery
‘neath shifting, spoon-stroked sands.
And then, the tree.
Oh, the tree!
Bitter sap of cedar forest
fills the house with prickling, icy clean;
potency released, but softened
in the velvety milieu.
Embedded in each sappy bead
the ornaments,
sparkling stations of a child,
rise to the top:
tender memories to the surface.
A cup of crackling, smoky oak
helps hold the mixture’s warmth.
She tastes.
“It lacks some sweet.”
Ambrosia, custard,
cakes of coconut and caramel,
by tablespoonful,
draw satisfaction’s smile.
Music’s melding oil pours in,
blending solo soprano
with ivory keystrokes,
“Oh Holy Night”
for the “Gesu Bambino.”
These impart a taste unique.
But without milk’s gratitude for gifts
and butter’s spread of selfless love,
the savory blessing would be missed.
Still she stirs.
Our baking pans are filled again
with sweet ebony delight.
I must keep my oven warm,
for Christmas mouths will always crave
such bites of richness
for the soul.
