Saturday, April 6, 2024

soup poem

the maples fell two years ago in twisted splinters
today they are dry and gathered
chopped up neat with a camp hatchet
fed into the wood stove

heat grows
early spring snow flies
hambone, water, yellow peas simmer
remnants of an Easter feast

9 comments:

  1. Brother, your poems lately have been masterful. Mortality, loneliness, grief, the circle of life. Wow!!

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  2. I can feel the warmth of the stove, and almost smell the soup. Perfect.

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  3. Interesting how we both went to blog at the same time!!! Let's get together this summer!!

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  4. A very Canadian late-winter poem. Loved it, Ollie.

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  5. I like the progression....how the felled maples turn into being fuel for the stove, which cooks the food! The circle of life.

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  6. great way you use your words to excellent effect. Well done.

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  7. A soup filled with the seasonal life of the forest. Beautiful.

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  8. So many delightful ingredients in this poetry soup

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  9. Passage of time so beautifully captured in its richness and warmth. Lovely.

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