Memories so sweet:
Daddy baking cookies from
Flaky, sugared, golden dough
Stuffed with hickory nuts.
Each year at Christmas,
In kitchen warm and cozy –
Memories so sweet.
For decades, my dad (who was Bulgarian/Polish) baked Hungarian cookies. It was a recipe handed down from one Balkan country to another, and was a favorite of our family. However, in the last several years of my dad’s life, Christmas season included so many other activities as well that sometimes he just didn’t have time to bake those cookies along with everything else. When those years came along, he baked them for me on my birthday instead, which is February 1st. So it’s right that I’m thinking about them in February this year. I can almost taste them even now.
It’s been raining here for two whole days, so I thought it was only fitting that I write about rain. Since I’m in a poetic mood, I decided I’d give myself a little workout and do one haiku, one cinquain, and one simple iambic pentameter verse about that subject.
Everything is gray.
Rain hanging like a curtain.
No sun peeping in.
I just have to complain:
All is gray and wet and dreary!
IAMBIC PENTAMETER VERSE
Another boring day of endless rain.
We don’t need this much water every day.
Sunshine is now a fading memory.
The birds won’t even come out now to play.
I know some tribes have dances that they do
To bring the rain when grounds are parched and bare.
I wonder if there is another dance
To end the rain and turn the weather fair.
My friends egged me on.
So I had a second cup.
Now I’m nogging off.
photo courtesy of Jill111 @ pixabay.com
I hear jingle bells:
The sound of Christmas ringing.
Come now — let’s rejoice!
photo courtesy of AnnaD @ pixabay.com
Christmas moon glows bright,
Bouncing off the soft snowflakes
In Christmas forest.
photo courtesy of Happy_life @ pixabay.com