Tag Archives: poem about pie

A Packapoo Thanksgiving

 

A *Packapoo Thanksgiving

A steward of the somber in other respects, when it came to Thanksgiving, she had more colorful and grandiose dreams. Cranberries, succulent turkey stuffed with cornbread and sage dressing, another baked and crustily-topped casserole of the same stuffing pulled from a hot oven along with butter-pooled mashed potatoes, giblet gravy, sweet potatoes and green bean casserole wherein mere green beans were adorned and mixed with cream of mushroom soup, water chestnuts and crispy fried onion rings were what her palate expected and her heart hoped for.

But this year, for the first time in memory, she herself was not in control of the menu. In spite of her arguments that she actually loved all the fuss and bother of making the Thanksgiving meal, her husband had insisted that they go to his friend’s house where his new bride would prepare the meal, and knowing the young, fit yoga instructor his friend had married, she knew she had drawn a packapoo ticket on this one. What were the chances that out of the five or six items the menu would be likely to offer, that even one of her own choices would be revealed?

She had visions of a tofu turkey, watercress salad, grapefruit wedges and perhaps the wild excitement of pita bread and tahini. Fresh fruit for the dessert was a probability, sulfite-free wine the only nearly titillating item on the menu, a poor substitute for a pre-meal dry martini with double olives.

She screwed on her earring backs, adjusted the curl of hair behind one ear, slipped into the posture-destructive heels that she knew the bride would have to bite her cheek to refrain from commenting on. Then, as she heard her husband start up the car in the driveway and toot the horn, she moved to the fridge for a peek at the two pies nestled on the second shelf: one pumpkin, one pecan.  She opened the freezer door and saw the half gallon of Kirkland vanilla ice cream, then slammed both doors shut.  Her reward would come later that night, when they got home. There were simply some traditions no one should have to give up on!!!!

*Note: A Packapoo ticket is  a mess, something in a state of chaos or things randomly thrown together.  Sources may be a pakapoo ticket which could be bought and that contained rows of characters from the Thousand Character Classic, an ancient poem in which no two words were repeated or the Chinese Pakapoo game where betters choose 10 numbers. If they existed on a random drawn list of 100, they won money according to how many were correct.

Prompt words for today are packapoo ticket, somber, steward, argument, banquet. The photos of the turkey and two pies were downloaded from Unsplash. All other photos are mine. 

Pied Beauty II

 

 

Today’s prompt being “spoof,” I decided to resurrect this parody of Gerald Manley Hopkins’ poem “Pied Beauty,” one of my first blogs ever back in 2014:

Pied Beauty II

Thanks be to Sara Lee for appled things—
For pies, for apple fritters and for thin-rolled strudel crust;
For pastries of the fruit of Eve and sauce it swims within;
Fresh-cooked in ovens, how their sweet juice sings;
The sugar clotted and pierced— place it on plate we must;
And all taste, for how can tackling it be such a sin?

All things made of flour and Crisco and of apples sweet;
(How can they by nutritionists be so sorely cussed
With words professing they won’t make us thin?)
With their tart flavor are sure our lips to meet;
And meet again.

—Judy Dykstra-Brown

 

And now, the original:

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things –
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

–Gerard Manley Hopkins

 

The Ragtag prompt is spoof.

Blueberry Bloom: Flower of the Day, Sept 8, 2016

My friend Dianne actually went out of her (our) way to take me into this commercial blueberry field to see how blueberries grow:  low to the ground and sporting these lovely red blooms.  Yes, I picked this one to have a taste.  Sweet and much tinier than it looks here.  Then we fled before the blueberry farmer  could grab his shotgun!

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Just remember that I have a blueberry poem to go with this photo.  Remember it?  If not, you can see it HERE.

 

 

To see more flowers from other bloggers, go HERE.