The savor of every dish mentioned speaks of favorites and traditions and memories, all triggered by the sight, smell and taste. This project is an incredible font of information that reflects on each of our poets and sheds light on how we became who we are. Thanks to all who have shared these precious insights. We are finding ourselves understanding each other and respecting our varied backgrounds and upbringings.


Though I’m not a fan of the famed dessert  (too sweet for my taste), I’m most certainly a fan of the poetic decadence with which it is described.  Claudsy has me rethinking my distaste for butterscotch as she goes “Wishing and A’hopin!”  I offer my Bloom to Claudette Young for her sweetly lyrical ode to her mother’s butterscotch pie.

Wishing and A’hopin’ (by Claudsy [Claudette Young])

Aromas from Mom’s oven
Tantalized with a lifetime
Of Love’s expression.
Sweetness floated on atom
Wings to glide up nostrils
Attached to anticipation.

Eternity passed behind
Oven’s door, creating
Its own focused fascination,
While in fits and fidgets
I awaited the grand entrance
Of my Achievement Day’s
Perfect salutation presentation:
Mom’s family recipe of
Homemade Butterscotch Pie.


My choice for the BEAUTIFUL BLOOM touches something internally; a memory that mirrors one of my own. The line that expresses what we are experiencing here at POETIC BLOOMINGS reads as such:” Let the flavors merge together!”  Pretty much as our poems blend together to make this exquisite “soup.”  Marian Veverka, this BLOOM is yours!

his is the smell of dinner, cooking  (by Marian Veverka)

Sniff the smell of cabbage steaming
On the stove this Sunday morning

hand-picked from the vegetable garden
this sunny morning in November.

See how the cabbage keeps producing
Even when the frosts and cold spells

Turned all of the tender veggies
Into little piles of mush.

Now the pan of boiling water
Bubbles over from the lid

Quick! It’s time to add the noodles
Watch them grow from dry to plump.

We are ready! All the noodles mixed
Into the cabbage (with a bit of chopped-up onion}

Let the flavors merge together! Serve the kielbasa
On the side. Enjoy our delicious Sunday feast!


In our “Welcome” guidelines, we state that “we may choose to highlight one of your in-form poems on occasion.”  Never have we been so compelled to honor one of your poems as we are today.  Sharon, we honor you with our very first Special Bloom for your extraordinary prose poetry piece, “Perfectly White.”

Perfectly White (by S.E. Ingraham)

The cortege emerges from the fog as if by magic, a gleaming white hearse in the lead. Grave-diggers exchange glances – a white hearse? What’s with that? They look away, remember the smallish hole they were instructed to lay open in the soft earth, lean on the back-hoe, try to become invisible. The parade of cars is not very long; three cars counting the hearse, stopped now, the back door opened like a one-winged butterfly. More whiteness. A small, almost tiny, coffin is being slid out and four people surround the wee box – just patting the thing, murmuring, smoothing the pristine top. One, a woman with wild hair, dressed head-to-toe in black, falls to her knees suddenly, embracing the coffin, sobbing. The rest stand back awkwardly; no-one seems to know quite what to do next.

a small gathering
a soul unformed
one perfect rosebud