Peach Cobbler

Today for the Quadrille over at dVerse Poets. De has given us the word “cobble”.  Note about cobblestones.  As a retired engineer, I amass all sorts of useless information.  Most of the “cobblestones” after the 1860’s are actually limestone setts cut into the shape of a brickbat and set into place on sand. Cobbles are round flat stones brought here millenia ago by the glaciers.  They are no primarily used  to construct buildings.


Peach Cobbler

Making peach cobbler
with icecream on the side
always reminds me of my long dead
Father – the ripe peaches, the spices.
Hello Papa I say to it
when I pull it from the oven.
Such a sunny fruit cobbler always
makes my eyes rain.

copyright kanzensakura peaches at the farmer’s market

 

dVerse Poetics – Papa’s Peach Cobbler

Today at dVerse Poetics, I get to be the bartender and give the prompt. The prompt for today is food. And y’all know how I love food! And if you want the recipe for this, here is the link: http://kanzensakura.com/2013/06/18/papas-peach-cobbler

Papa’s Peach Cobbler

When I feel the need to go to a safe place,
A happy place,
A time when things were simple –
I close my eyes and when I open them
I’m six again.
Papa is teaching me to make his peach cobbler.
Fresh peaches – juicy drippy happy peaches –
Peeled and sliced into quarter moons –
Dropped into a bowl and sprinkled with sugar and spices.
He gives the slices a stir
And puts into the pan
With all the other good stuff
(this time he let me put in the flour!)
Into the oven….
Soon the smells of sweet crust
And cinnamon and peaches
Fills the air.
Torture. Sitting through dinner
Pretending to eat so
I can use my stomach area for cobbler….
Papa’s peach cobbler.
Safety, love, family.
A bowl filled with hot peachy love
Topped with thick country cream
Or vanilla ice cream
Or just….plain it cannot be called plain.
I stand by the table and pretend I am six again
and as he taught me, make the cobbler.
I wonder if the tears that fall into the cobbler
Change the flavor…

The Fragrance of Daffodils

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A single bloom is
shy, elusive, delicate.
A handful of blooms
Is romantic, intoxicating
and never to be duplicated.

The fragrance of daffodils
is the smell of springtime
as a child.
The first bloom discovered
a treasure beyond price.

The fragrance of daffodils
is the smell of my father,
one in his lapel,
portable sun going where
he went, making all smile.

The fragrance of daffodils
filled our home the night
he died. They bloomed early
that year. He went out and picked
all the blooms to save them
from a killing ice storm.

Every vase held daffodils.
Hundreds of them.
The fragrance of daffodils
is the smell of protection,
of a gentle soul
who could not bear that
one single bloom
would be lost.

The fragrance of daffodils
is the smell of love
and the smell spring
and the smell of a memory
that blooms always in my heart.

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