3 result(s) for Grandma’s Cooking Poems.
These poems are completely original - not copied from anywhere. Feel free to use them however you want.
Steam and Laughter
Grandma hums beside the stove,
her wooden spoon a steady beat,
while laughter rises, warm and sweet,
and rolls across the kitchen floor.
The soup pot bubbles, thick and bright,
with carrots, onions, herbs in rows,
and every chuckle, every pose,
seems stirred in with the fragrant light.
We gather close, we dip and taste,
our spoons held up in playful race,
and Grandma swats our hands away,
then laughs until the steam turns gray.
So here's to pots that never cease,
to echoing joy and simple peace,
where laughter simmers, rich and long,
and Grandma's kitchen hums her song.
Winter Flour
Flour dusts her hands like winter snow,
she kneads the dough with patient grace,
the kitchen warm, the windows glow,
and memories rise from every place.
Her wooden spoon hums soft and slow,
the cinnamon drifts through the air,
and all the years we've come to know
are folded in with tender care.
The Wooden Spoon
Her wooden spoon still leans against the pot,
worn smooth by years of patient, gentle hands.
I lift it, and the scent of cinnamon and thyme
rises like a voice from long ago.
I'm six again, on a stool beside the stove,
watching steam curl up to kiss the ceiling,
while she hums an old tune, stirring slow,
her laughter warm as butter melting in the pan.
The kitchen hums with simmering and song;
flour dusts her apron, sunlight on her cheek.
She taps the spoon against the rim and smiles,
"Taste it, sweet one. Now you're part of it."
Today my own pot bubbles on the stove,
and I reach for that old spoon with careful hands.
Every stir is a letter to the past,
and every bite, a home I still can taste.
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