The sun rises from the east
As my eyes stir from the light
Marigold skies
Comforting wool pillows
Eyes sleepy from a long sleep
Warm skin shone from the sun
I stretch my body
And do my morning routine
.
In the quiet kitchen
Pans and bowls spread out
Two cups of all purpose flour
One table spoon of sugar
Three teaspoons of baking soda
A pinch of salt
One large egg
One and a half cups of milk
Three tablespoons of melted butter
.
A sweet scent filled the air
As the batter bakes
Beside the cooking pancakes
A pot of melted mixed berries
With a touch of sugar stirs
Boiling in the warm kitchen
The scent begins to spread
The pancakes go in
One by one they cook
Hungrier and hungrier by the minute
A smile fills my face
When the batter bowl is empty
And the stack is ready
.
With a side of maple syrup
And melted berry paste
I lay down a fresh plate
Enjoying the breakfast
For the day ahead
About the Creator
Lovely Lucia
An archive of my stories I publish every now and then.
To the people who read my poems and short stories; Thank you!
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A Flower Song
Apparently the Aztecs, Toltecs, Chichimecs and other Mexica were crazy about poetry. Despite the book-burning, slaughter, and epidemics that characterized the early stages of the Spanish conquest of the empires of Mexico, some hundreds of poems from the height of their tradition come down to us in Classical Nahuatl, preserved by Nahua and Spanish scholars of the 16th century. One of the most famous poets, Nezahualcoyotl, was a sage-king who opposed the cult of human sacrifice associated with Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror, and favored Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Flowers and feathers were the favorite offering of the Plumed Serpent. Moreover, flowers and feathers are a metaphor for poetry. Individual words, scattered petals, the down of tropical birds. The temples of blood sacrifice could be transformed into temples of flower and song. A sublimated offering to the Heart of Earth and the Heart of Sky encapsulated in the Classical Nahuatl kenning for poetry: in xōchitl in cuīcatl, meaning, "the flower and the song." The following poem is part of a longer work, and is in a state of flux, so take the waters as they flow:
By Rob Angeli5 days ago in Poets
Standing Still
There are very few moments in life where time truly stands still. When your breath is taken from your chest and your body hangs weightless in that moment. Just long enough for it to stay with you from that day onwards. Deep in the red sands of the Australian Outback, I found that moment and clung to it forever.
By Kevin McLaughlin4 days ago in Wander
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