I've been wondering and thinking about eggs lately. In March I watched eagle eggs hatch and have been following the growing eaglets/fledglings at Eagle Cam. Just this weekend I made some heavenly dishes that all required eggs, including French Toast, cookies, a frittata and more. My sister is coming to visit and she hates eggs, so, I'm wondering what I should serve for breakfast. Sara Lewis Holmes once wrote a poem entitled I cannot that began "Do not fear the poaching of an egg." I hear that line every time I crack an egg.
See? I have EGGS on the brain! So let's write about cooking with eggs, or hatching an egg, or the egg as a metaphor, or ... anything at all relating to egg(s)!
Leave me a note about your poem and I'll post the results here later this week.
See? I have EGGS on the brain! So let's write about cooking with eggs, or hatching an egg, or the egg as a metaphor, or ... anything at all relating to egg(s)!
Leave me a note about your poem and I'll post the results here later this week.
From NESTING DOVES, a manuscript in progress, by Steven Withrow
ReplyDeleteMIRACLE EMERGES
While Father is away
Foraging it happens
While Mother is asleep
Dreaming of her new nest
Miracle emerges
In the shape of a stone
White as any feather
And rounder than a bone
AFTER RAIN WE MAKE REPAIRS
Patch of dirt, dollop of mud
A stitch of pitch-black gravel
A gummy glop of pine sap
Where the stick-ends unravel
Dewy grass for new-made bed
Touch of dandelion head
Patch of dirt, dollop of mud
Turns the nest to well and good
INCUBATING
We live brief lives
But sitting still
Warming our egg
Warming our egg
We live brief lives
But sharing this
Extends our time
Extends our time
DREAM OF EGG
World is round
Sky is ground
Night is white
Light is sound
Sun is full
Moon is pale
World is wet
Bird is whale
HATCHING
Shell shakes
A crack
Appears
The first
Thin break
Of beak
Displays
A face
Sun
ReplyDeleteThe sun sits on top
of the morning like a fried egg
on a bowl of bi bim bop
with its spring greens.
What a yellow, yellow yolk
for breakfast today!
--Kate Coombs, 2010, all rights reserved
This poem actually dates from February... Break Me My Bounds
ReplyDeleteThis is a poem from my files, but I will work on another eggy-poem with your egg-hating sister in mind! (My husband just made wild leek and fiddle head omelets for dinner last night...yum!)
ReplyDeleteEnvelope Keeper
I can't reveal its secret
even if you beg.
This little note tells
which came first
the
chicken
or
the
egg.
© Amy Ludwig VanDerwater
We have chickens here, and roosters too. So if we don't get to those eggs quickly enough, and if the hens are broody, some could turn into chicks. I am wondering if your sister will be completely grossed out by that, for I can be if I think about it too long...
ReplyDeleteThoughts from Inside
I'm one day old. It's warm in here.
Sitting is my mom's career.
It takes three weeks for every batch.
Once we're big enough we hatch.
But some of us will never grow.
Who will live? It's hard to know.
I'm not sure how I should feel.
Am I a chick or just a meal?
© Amy Ludwig VanDerwater
Tricia,
ReplyDeleteHere's an animal mask poem I wrote that Jama posted as one of the poems in her Poetry Potluck Series. It's about a chick that's trying to hatch out of its shell:
CHICK CHATTER
I’m pecking, pecking
On this dome.
I’m cramped inside
My little home.
Can’t spread my wings,
Can’t run…or walk.
Can’t see the sun.
Can barely talk!
Oh, I’ve been pecking
Since last night.
This shell is really
REALLY tight!
I just can’t stand it
Anymore!
Oh where? Oh, where
Is my front door?!
This is an old poem of mine:
ReplyDeleteHumpty
Humpty Dumpty
was not
eggs-actly
your average
kind of a guy.
A wee bit
cracked, he
sat on a wall
and watched
the world
go by.
A poet?
A dreamer?
A teller of tales?
He was.
And so
am
I.
© Jane Yolen, all rights reserved
Still honing my tanka skills:
ReplyDeletefrom the window
the jay's yolk-covered beak
all too visible
I've picked up shells before
...without knowing
Thanks for all the Poetry Makers interviews, Tricia--it's almost too much! ;-)
The month has been amazing. We will all probably feel the let down!
ReplyDeleteHere are my egg poems:
http://deowriter.wordpress.com/2010/04/29/2010-napowrimo-day-29/
Oh no! I came to post my poem today and noticed that Jane had already written one about Humpty Dumpty! Well, here is my attempt, as there is surely always room for another.
ReplyDeleteHumpty Dumpty Wonders
What am I doing up here?
Sure, the view is nice,
the breeze brisk
against my smooth shell.
I can even see all the way to the
ocean from here,
white caps and all.
And yet, this wall is just so…so high.
My brains must be scrambled
to climb up this thing.
But it’s the only way I can see
into the window of the castle’s kitchen,
and catch a glimpse
of Cook’s egg basket
lying on the window ledge.
Which lovelies did she collect today?
How I love the arcs of their oval shells,
their differing shades of brown and tan,
and their shapes!
Some more bulbous than others,
yet my heart sizzles for them all.
If only I could be just a tad bit taller,
as Cook has taken the basket away…
Perhaps if I stepped upon this higher ledge
I could gain a better view…
Wait! My footing!
Noooooooo!
Splat!
Ah, to love.
Perhaps it is not all
it is cracked up to be.
Piping Plover
ReplyDeleteStreak of timid
Flecked with brave
Amid the sand and waves…
You place your eggs
Your hope – exposed
And there is hope
Revealed
This is lovely, Liz!
ReplyDelete