Category Archives: poetry

Cold Comfort

poetry, refrigerator art, refrigerator art, ,

Since we haven’t been traveling anywhere interesting, or really doing much of anything new and exciting, I have resorted to turning inward for new blog material. Today’s blog, therefore, is all about what our refrigerator in Pennsylvania is sporting these days.

Some of the stuff on the fridge has been there for years, such as the recipe for crepes, and some of the magnets. When our daughter and her friends go up for their annual New Year’s Eve celebration, new items often appear. The ample poetry magnets (two sets, merged) make for an ever-shifting literary experience.

When we visited last week, we hadn’t been there since December. The new items included a blue paper snowflake and the drawing of two cats in cowboy outfits roasting some mice on sticks over a campfire. (Sorry, mice fans.)

What’s on your fridge? Chances are it is full of wild and wonderful magnets, stickers, and works of art. If it isn’t, I’m not sure we can be friends.

This was one of many art snowflakes produced by the snowbound over New Years.
Artwork by Steve during a Pictionary type game.
This is real artwork by our daughters friend Annie. Though not sure what is going on with that one cat and the happy looking roasted mouse. Annie, can you explain?
One of the sets of poetry magnets was a successful bid at a Public Sector Section Auction at our annual American Folklore Society meetings. They are Cowboy Poetry magnets.
Crepe recipe. No instructions necessary for us, but if you want to try it: Mix it together, let it set for a little while, mix again, and then pour a little into a flat-bottomed frying pan and swirl around to make it thin and pancake-sized. Cook till light brown on either side. Serve with whatever you like in your crepes such as fruit, cheese, sauted vegetables, etc.

Spring By the Sea

#hiltonheadisland, beach, poetry, ,

I have always loved the ocean, which I am sure I have mentioned before.  My mother retired to Hilton Head Island many years ago, within easy walking distance of one of the white, sandy expanses of beach on Hilton Head Island, SC.  She’s 92 and hasn’t walked there since her knees gave out.  I try to make it for sunrise but usually end up sleeping too late.

When I visited this time, I walked down on a cool April afternoon.  A few brave souls were in the water, but mostly there was just a scattering of people.  The sun was bright but the wind did not carry any warmth.  I was inspired to write a poem, while huddled against a wooden box that holds beach rental items, with fine white sand sifting into my sandals.  Here goes:

Gray brown waves/Riled by breeze/Sizzling the sand

Wayfarers in neon green, purple, blue/Constricting nature into backdrop

Weathered wooden chairs/With no warmth/Awaiting summer occupants

Solitary seagull/Feathers ruffling/Scavenging scraps

Tiny seashells/Silent, testifying/To ocean depths

Soon, spring shall yield/To summer, hot, frenzied/Smelling of cocoanut

No longer fresh.