Men work out of history.
Begats begin and curls of wood
create the cubits the world lives within.
Maples tapped and flow,
knowing fire and boil
the lick smacking delight of a child’s
desire. My father and his before
built story’s in flour’s smoke
filled with rise of Baking Powder
leavened the delta banks
imprinted wells as golden hopes
rose with cinnamon aromas
call the household down the stairs.
Waffles piled in a heap, butter melted
greet rollicking wave of wonder
as it spills to chairs
finds the seat
Dad’s deep voice
in every maple bite
cloud light
surrounded by smile
a good man’s amen.
11:31 AM
10-19-09
Alexandria, VA
Author notes
I had to think for a while about an ordinary act. Nothing more everyday than waffles on a Sunday Morning or so they say.
A contest entry
- when the ordinary becomes extraordinary by Cat.
1700 points, ended November 18, 13 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think, what it makes you feel, how you are moved.
Comments
1 - 27 of 27
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And I can attest to the tastiest waffles I have ever eaten too Tom
A joy to read because I can picture it all so clearly as if it were yesterday..prepare another batch for this time next year as we are on our way back 
Can ya handle us one more time lol 
C
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As always, welcome. The breakfast is my joy to share.
Love,
Tom B.
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i just love this.
end of story.
m
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Thank you I am honored
The award is always appreciated to the level the judge is respected. This one makes me very proud. Thanks again.
Peace & Love,
Tom B.
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Truth be told for centuries that have gone by, people have mourned and grieved and all do cry. All people are born and then all people will die, this is the reality of human life that we can't deny. Listening and learning through many who have gone before me, mourning and grieving are two different emotions you see. Not knowing the difference until losing my son whom I did so care, grieving you do alone and morning is the loss you share. Two years have gone by always grieving his death before he died, this part I do understand so very well for years I've truly cried. Yet this is not really the concept in which this quote means, death we die doing, still alive in scenes passing before us it seems. We all live, laugh experience death and dying in a world of dreams, trial, tribulation we all experience with our own stories it seems. Everyone has one but only few will dare to tell the truth within, fear someone might find out their uncertainty when it does deepin. I will die yet I'm no longer afraid because of all the tragedies , which has brought upon my heart so very much calamities. See as I age I'm dying like everyone else to the point of death, when I no longer live in this body never taking another new breath. Painful truth I will share with you by my own painful tear, people don't really want to listen because of their own fear. I'm not angry anymore about this truth and reality in this life, although for a long time I didn't understand bringing much strife. Alive in my heart forever will be the memories and loss of my son, deep down I knew he was going to die so young with his life done. Please learn to listen to those that are mourning their loss of a love, they are always alive in our hearts which brings healing from above. I wish for this poem to just truly end for there is so much to be said, I'm tired, getting older, I'm dying inside this is truth I shall be dead. Not now I guess but someday when my work here on earth is done, learning to listen to others realities too, I shall surely have won. Written by: Kelle Marie Stavron November 4, 2009
Are memories of a person
remarkable because it gave him life.
I liked the details,
especially the smell of cinnamon,
seems that even the felt.
I make an effort to write
in your language. There are errors because of
translator, but I hope you understand.
Enjoyed the poem, congratulations!
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Truth be told, I have lost many, many that I love. There is no competition here for each person's pain is totally their own and not available for comparison. For me, this has made me treasure the life I live, even if I have just missed dieing on more than one occasion. This poem is a celebration of my family. I am the oldest of six. My parents are gone, their parents as well. I was fortunate to have one child and without the blessings of God and modern medicine that almost didn't happen. I celebrate my memories, I treasure the life I have been given and all the ones I am gifted to share in.
Love,
Tom B.
I hope you can see the tenderness, love and understanding. Even with practice, I still find my words to meager of meaning.
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This is very beautiful and something that I can relate to!
My Sundays were very much the same for us here.
Waffles are something that I grew up with and still love to
this day. Your words and imagery brought back many childhood
memories. Thanks a lot for posting and featuring it here for all
of us to read! Take care and keep up the wonderful work here!
Jeremy0826
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Thank you
The first meal of the day when a family celebration of togetherness becomes a symbol of all that was good to hug and hold.
Peace,
Tom B.
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I love how this ends, very peaceful feel to this poem, I enjoyed reading it, I hope that you win a prize in the contest - GOOD LUCK WITH IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Appreciated
Glad you enjoyed the moment of splendor when a family comes together.
Peace,
Tom B.
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awesome
I love it! the images of your past frolicking in the foreverness of written words...I am quite hungry now...I began to pick at little things...word choice, format, calling instead of call the household downstairs...a possible past tense discrepancy...but then I just accepted the poem for hat it was and it is beautiful without revision...if revision is eventually undertaken...it will still be beautiful when you're done I'm sure. Keep up the great work & thanks for promoting this wonderful poem.
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Always need an editor
I will give it some thought. Tense and memory play back and forth in my head because it lives in the present of my being.
Peace,
Tom B.
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oh, tears, this is so beautiful it made me cry...
I can't say enough good things about this poem, wonderful imagery!
"a good man's amen"
what a perfect ending!
This poem makes me feel the warmth and happiness of the simple gathering together of a family for breakfast, good food, and I imagine when mouths are not full, excellent conversation.
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Thank you I am honored
We were a noisy crew of six kids. One of our fondest memories are these waffle mornings when he first returned from sea.
Peace,
Tom B.
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I like everything about this poem: the words, the story that they create. It has a beginning a middle and an end, but more than that, it is a memory told with beautiful language/images.
leavened the delta banks
imprinted wells as golden hopes
and
butter melted
greet rollicking wave of wonder
My compliments to you.
Good luck!
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Thank You Much
These are the memories I try to re-create within my own home. My son has developed a love of pancakes and waffles as well as french toast. All of them smothered in maple syrup.
Peace & Light,
Tom B.
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Heartwarming.
This bring back so many good memories, kind of like my Saturday morning ritual from two years ago.
Great imagery, and your word flow is impeccable.
This truly lives up to the contest, best of luck with that.
Keep it up!
We need to remember moments like this more...Maybe if we did we would all be better people for it.
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Family at its best provides us with the strength to create.
Peace,
Tom B.
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I loved sharing your sweet, delicious memory. The third stanza is rich and vivid. Another excellent write!
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Quite a Compliment
I remember those Sunday mornings well, and try to share the spell with my son. Come to be a special time, something personal and something fine. Glad you enjoyed my magic spell.
Love, Tom B.
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First off, I love the title. This poem is so sensory, I felt as if I was a kid again, sitting at the table watching my mom make breakfast....I suddenly have a craving for waffles!
I also like how complete this feels. You didn't just describe a sunday morning breakfast, you started from the very begining, so to speak.
And the ending you cooked up was as perfect as the waffles you describe =)
I feel like I'm always praising your work and not leaving anything constructive, but I really do not see anything I could think of tweaking. Great Job
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So much love
I thought about this poem for quite a while and kept thinking of it like a recipe. It sucked. Then I thought about what this simple act meant to me and how I do it for my son now. Speak to the tradition, I thought. Let the waffles speak to the love. I banged on the door of my creativity and for several days there was no answer forth coming. So when I finally get the poem written it has taken a lot out of me. So I am perfectly happy that you are perfectly happy with it in return. While I have made minimum changes and probably find two or three more, it don't matter. What does matter is I feel safer now. It came out right and I am not riding off some creative high that blinds me to how much the words suck. So it is good to hear you tell me how I touched you. Means a lot to me.
Peace & Love,
Tom B.
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Okay are you cooking waffels cause i am drooling now. lol
You have decribed the perfect Sunday morn.
I wonder sometimes how i am so far away from that kind of delight.
You made me have sweet childhood memories of my grandmother , my mother a a dad rubbing his belly saying time for a nap.
This was warm like a Norman Rockwell moment.
Classical simplicity made wonderful,
Love
~Lisa~P
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There are moments made special by the way the family gathers around,knowing you are the reason they made them and how the laughter is rich, the sweetness so special. I carry on the tradition with my son. I hope he will do the same.
Love,
Tom B.
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I am so hungry after reading this that I can smell the maple. It's time to think about dinner, and sausage and waffle with sweetness are so enticing. You write the feel of love and family into this with sounds, aromas, flavors, and visual delights as only you can. It's beautiful!
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It was one of the best part of memories, I have about my father. Sunday morning waffles.
Now my son looks forward to waffles or pancakes or french toast made by dad. Sausage, of course, on the side of the plate. I make 'em with apples or raisins, cinnamon, nutmeg, touch of vanilla, pears, peaches you name it, I find a way to fit them in. Sometime topped with blueberries or strawberries and whipped cream. I got a lot of different recipes, seriously, and a lot of ones I make up with what is on hand.
Love,
Tom B.
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