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- Hidden jewelsIn Poetry·January 7, 2024I miss twisting words hiding jewels in rainbow clouds so you can find me ~ Priya116
- WHY CAN'T I TOUCH YOU?In PoetryJanuary 7, 2024I love this. It's touching actually. Suddenly I'm inspired to write11
- Meet the Artist - Peter StevensonIn Featured ArtistsJanuary 7, 2024He's a friend from high school who is very talented.1
- Empty CelebrationIn Poetry·January 1, 2024I feel nothing No joy at turning the calendar page Starting a new year It’s the same to me I have aspirations to fulfill Wishes and desires Nothing new do I need I’m content with my wants4210
- A TOAST TO THE NEW YEAR! NOT WHAT YOU'D THINK.In General Discussion·January 1, 2024It's January 1, 2024, and, for those who can get their eyes open, a toast. No, not the one you did last night, but bread, buttered, browned. When I was a wee lad, my mom made toast in the over, in the broiler pan. Gas range, real flames above the buttered bread. That's the toast I grew up with. You would butter the bread first, then arrange the slices on the rack, and slide it under the flames. Every few minutes you would open the door and pull the rack out, checking to see if the toast was "done". Of course, "done" had different meanings to each family member, and mom wasn't always worried about whose expectations were being met. Eventually, I achieved an age and leveled up (as they say these days in video games), to the point where I could be entrusted to oversee the making of toast. Everybody got what I liked. Yellow and buttery in the middle, golden brown along the edges with streaks of delicious, buttered, crunchiness running to the middle in spots. Toast was not only my first cooking experience, but, in a way, my first exposure to art. MY toast was not only functional and factual, but it was fantastic in appearance as well. Disclaimer here; I said "buttery"... actually, mom used oleo, margarine... artificial stuff. I loved it. My maternal grandmother lived in Atlanta, Georgia, 330 miles away from our Pensacola, Florida home. We only got to visit every other year or so, but, when we did, I was introduced to something strange... a toaster AND real butter. Although I held my tongue, I really didn't like Grandma Blue's toast. It came out a dull, universal brown, and you smeared this pale stuff with little or no flavor on it. Still, over the years, I learned to look forward to it, because it was at Grandma's... like the steel shower from Sears in her basement. At least at Grandma Blue's, the butter went on the toast while it was still hot from the toaster. When I went into the army, you ran the bread through a toasting machine, grabbed some butter, and hoped it would still be warm by the time you got your drink, got a seat, and settled down to eat. But, this did not complete my toasting... New Year's or otherwise. At a small hotel in London, they brought cold, dry slices of toasted bread to the table in a wire rack. I would smear the cold butter on the cold toast, and it would crunch. English people: I love England, and London was fantastic (even if I did nearly kill myself and others turning down the wrong way RIGHT in front of Buckingham Palace. Damned Americans! Anyway, take it from a southern boy from the U.S., toast should not be served cold and brown, but, most of all, it should not CRUNCH! I miss the toast Mama used to make, but, having traveled extensively over the 3/4 of a century I've been on this earth. I've learned to take my toast where, when, and how I can get it. I forgive all of you and that's my "toast" to you on this first day of January, 2024. Damn. Now my coffee's cold! Will this NEVER end? • Donovan Baldwin3415
- Vacation BreakIn Poetry·January 4, 2024My muse was resting Took a break Laid out on a cloud Sleeping in late Over eating Forgetting about time Recharging and Refreshing its mind Binging on Twilight Zone Relaxing at home Enjoying the holidays Now back in the zone213
- New Year BlessingsIn Poetry·January 1, 2024As you ring out the old and ring in the new May the good Lord bless you in all that you do Reflect on the memories made last year Making plans for new memories ringing in the new year "New Year Blessings" we wish for when the clock strikes midnight toasting each other full of good cheer As you ring out the old and ring in the new May the good Lord bless you in all that you do! Written by Tammy Spears (copyright) Author of "Flutter of an Eye"317
- Love, Learn & LaudIn General Discussion·January 1, 2024Dementia, everyday is a first take!? Ross Dickinson, December 21, 2023 (https://42itus.com/blog/blog/dementia-everyday-is-a-first-take/) Rough draft of the uncharted: By an Alzheimer bound senior. A Gnome (new home) already. signed, I’m actually unkgnown. I moved to Dementia Friendly Baker County during the snowstorm of Christmas 2019. Haven't made any new friends yet.313
- A TOAST TO THE NEW YEAR! NOT WHAT YOU'D THINK.In General DiscussionJanuary 2, 2024I prefer using Dave's bread: arrange 1 or more slices - toast lightly on baking sheet under broiler... next turn over, distribute 4 medium slices of Land-O-Lakes butter on top, checking to make sure the bread is nicely toasted and the buttered part a pale yellow hue completely melted into the bread - but with a frothy edge - leaving a nice crunchy crust. If you want to get fancy, sprinle generously with sugar and cinnamon on top of the butter and watch it get bubbly!11
- DO POETS KNOW MORE THAN THEIR READERS?In General Discussion·December 31, 2023Writers, poets especially, often know more than their readers. That's not a derogatory statement. After all, only the poet knows what was really behind the words that wound up being a poem. To us, a rose is not just "red". It is desire, hope, love, a thing of pleasing aromas and hurtful thorns. To a poet, anything, including events, can be a thousand things that the average passerby might never imagine. Often, the words used, how they're used, when and where they're used, means more than the meaning of the words themselves... and, for us poets, the words have meanings beyond what's set down in the Oxford English Dictionary, assuming we're even using English words... and, in the next poem, may mean EXACTLY what's set down in the OED. Sometimes we lead the reader to a conclusion, sometimes, set out a trail of lexigraphic breadcrumbs. Yes, by the way, that IS a word, about words, and indicative of the playfully poetic mind at work... which is a playful work itself. The mind of a poet goes places and sees things the non-poetic person doesn't even think of. This is why poets are often a bit mad... or considered so. We see what is not really there, or maybe it is, and write of it as if it were, although it might not be, leaving it to YOU, the reader, to try to figure out what the hell we are trying to say. • Donovan Baldwin114
- ONE GIRL'S FACEIn PoetryDecember 29, 2023Interesting story-poem... Happy New Year.21
- Sanchin PoemIn PoetryDecember 29, 2023Hey, Kerry - Lorene Rogers here... fine poem! Looking for more from you.11
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