3 result(s) for Gratitude, Humor, Friends, Family, And Food Poems.
These poems are completely original - not copied from anywhere. Feel free to use them however you want.
Steam and Laughter
Grandma's kitchen hums at dawn,
with flour dust and a kettle's song.
Her apron knotted, sleeves rolled high,
she stirs the pot and winks at the sky.
Uncle Joe bursts in, all nose and grin,
sneaking a biscuit before the bowl's been in.
"Hands off!" she laughs, "or you'll be wearing the pie!"
And the whole room erupts with a cheer and a sigh.
Cousins tumble, the cat takes a seat,
the windows fog up from the warmth and the heat.
We gather round the table, elbows touching,
thankful for the cooks, the mess, and the clutching
of hands that have fed us for years on end,
and the friends who drop by and never pretend.
So here's to the kitchen where love is stirred,
where laughter and steam are the sweetest of words.
Grandma, you're the recipe for all that's good:
family, friends, and a full plate of food.
Midnight Slices
The clock has passed its respectable hour,
yet no one wants to go to bed.
We pull a box of pizza from the glow,
the cheese still bubbling, steam like a crown.
Laughter spills over the sticky counter,
a story starts, then trips on its own jokes,
and Maya swears the crust is better cold,
while Dev defends the pepperoni with his life.
We split the last slice three ways,
each piece a tiny, thankful treaty,
and I think, as the crumbs settle on our sleeves,
how lucky I am to have these people,
and this humble, glorious pie.
We toast with cans of cheap cola,
like it's a banquet fit for kings,
and maybe it is, when the friends are here,
and the night is wide and warm and ours.
Faded Frames
I found a box of photographs
Beneath the stairs, all curled and brown,
A grinning uncle, slightly blurred,
Holding a fish that never went down.
My mother laughs in every frame,
Flour on her cheeks, a burnt-up pie,
And there's my cousin, mid-sneeze,
Making the picnic seem to fly.
We'd eat until the table groaned,
Tell jokes so bad they made us cry,
And here we are, all squinting hard,
Grateful for the sun and the sky.
The years have shuffled everyone,
Some moved away, some learned to rest,
But these old prints still hold us close,
Reminding me who I love best.
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