One thing that always becomes important the deeper we get into fall is the warmth provided by a well-cooked meal. And nothing is as savory as your favorite comfort food. What might that be? Tell us about it in poetic form. Warm us inside and out with your poetic piece.



My comfort foods are piping hot.
They never fail to hit the spot.
I’ll savor solace that they’ve brought,
And when I’m done, my coffee pot.

For where is comfort in cold foods,
That cannot warm cold attitudes
And never will they change foul moods.
There’s nothing cozy in cold foods.

But I could swear that buttered rolls
Can hinder malice in cold souls,
As can hot pies and big warm bowls
Of soups and stews and casseroles.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018




The patter of rain,
a steady downpour, it is more
monsoon than shower.
I’ve spent hours huddled
warm under a soft throw.
Temperatures have fallen
the condensation thick
on windows, the aromatic steam lifts
from this savory soup kettle to my nostrils,
it’s warmth fills me with reminders
of mom’s kitchen. I’m itching
to recapture the comfort of home.
Eyes beckon to doze through
the next few hours as the showers
do not relent. I am spent
and it’s merely mid-afternoon.
Energized from the soup on my spoon,
I hope the rain stops soon!

© Walter J Wojtanik, 2018


  1. Pingback: COMFORT FOOD | pictured words

    • A little explanation is in order for this cinquain. Rochester has few institutions since the near-demise of Kodak and Xerox (white hots are still thriving, though), but Nick Tahou’s garbage plate is one of them. Nick’s was (maybe still is) a restaurant just west of downtown. It was in a former train station and was known for that gastronomic specialty that consisted originally of two hamburger patties and a choice of two sides — usually some combination of home fries, macaroni salad, and beans. The contents are often laced heavily with ketchup and hot sauce, and mixed together before eating. Rolls or white bread are served on the side. There are many variations, and in the Rochester area other places call them by various names such as trash plate, rubbish plate, and so on.


      days in the fall
      bid me to visit Nick’s
      and sit down to some delicious


    Many find New England in October breathtaking,
    especially if they live in climes warmed by eternal summer sun.
    Cool brews and finger food give little comfort
    when the north winds blow cold, chilling even the most hardy soul.
    For autumn’s rain-soaked, mud-filled, whispers-of-winter days,
    nothing warms like Grampa’s Garbage Stew!
    Broth the color of a dark, old growth forest,
    laced with whatever bounty the garden or refrigerator offer,
    sprinkled with barley and rice,
    spiced with the gatherings of herbs from gardens near and far,
    then served piping hot with bread, tea and thee!

  3. Poem In October #1

    If I could choose
    my birthday cake,
    it would be made with wild
    blackberry jam,and spicy.
    Defiant as thorns,
    it is naked of sugar flowers
    and still warm
    from my grandmother’s heart-
    shaped pan.

  4. Barbara, if we lived close, I’d surely cook a birthday dinne4 for you. But we don’t so my good wishes will have to do. And now, the prompt…

    Mis en Place

    Our new neighbors spy on us,
    over the fence,
    but I think we’ll soon be friends,
    maybe when I cook for them.
    Umami is already my friend,
    and I like to cook like I mean it.
    I’m no gourmet chef,
    but I find it a holy thing
    to serve food to others.
    In some ways, every meal is a miracle,
    especially when eaten with friends.
    Beauty can be coaxed
    out of the ugliest of vegetables,
    if the preparation is done mindfully.
    It’s all in the details.

  5. A Memory Pie

    The ground in my garden is covered
    with discarded leaves, a warm blanket
    against the freeze to come
    there are treasures still to glean

    from this faded plot –
    some brussel sprouts, a few beets,
    and best of all the vines of sugar
    pumpkins ,like strands of mandarin garnet,

    bits of smooth skinned gems –
    destined to be roasted and pureed
    mixed with a magical concoction
    of cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, cloves

    then baked into a pie that holds the
    memories of generations

  6. Maria, your poem made me want to forage through my fridge for something yummy to heat up!

    Walt, there is nothing like homemade soup on a rainy day and your poem is just as comforting!

    I’ve really worked up an appetite read everyone’s poems today.

  7. Walt, I get the feeling it’s a potato soup, but in any case, the poem sets up aromas, as well as images. Wonderful.

  8. .
    the stars,
    learn to dance,

    a solo
    or a duet

    a deserted
    sun filled meadow,

    a flower
    to a stranger,

    with tea
    and ice cream.

  9. Mom’s Chicken Noodle Soup

    On chilly autumn days,
    when we felt under the weather,
    Mom would make us chicken noodle soup,
    not just any chicken noodle soup.

    She’d start with Wyler’s chicken noodle,
    the instant packaged kind.
    But the tiny Wyler’s noodles
    wouldn’t fill a bird’s belly.

    She mixed it in with macaroni,
    which made it more filling.
    The two different textures
    did something magical.

    I like to think Mom’s noodles
    prevented many doctor visits.
    I always felt better after eating
    this yummy meal.

    Funny thing is, I don’t remember
    ever making them as an adult
    or even giving them to my kids
    when they were sick.

    By then, I found frozen
    homemade-style noodles,
    but so rich, more often or not,
    they gave me a headache.

    So now in my retirement years,
    it might be a good time
    to get out mom’s special recipe
    of Wyler’s noodles and macaroni.

  10. You asked and now you know!


    If I want warmth and comfort food
    there is a soup that suits my mood.
    I love split pea with sour cream,
    but autumn squash is my new dream..
    I love the warmth of broccoli cheese,
    and chicken noodle’s sure to please.
    Grilled cheese always needs tomato.
    Load the goodies on potato.
    Beef with barley is tried and true,
    Vegetable beef is awesome too.
    This homemade bean with ham is great.
    Sausage lentil? I just can’t wait!
    Chicken tortilla is quite new.
    but won-ton is an ancient brew.
    Is there a soup that I don’t crave?
    No, but I cannot pick a fave.
    A soup bar! That is what I need.
    That’s satisfaction guaranteed.

  11. Evening Comfort

    Cold’s fingers creeping ’round
    outside walls of your house?
    Toss salad, ignore ice cream.
    Home-baked bread, buttered or dipped
    in bowl of beef stew, will rouse.

    Warm, cozy at fireside
    sipping brandy or cider,
    thinking something sweet would sate.
    Warm slice of apple crumb pie
    will slide down. Nothing finer.

  12. Walt and Marie: These prompts are great, and so are the offerings you two put forth for each of them. And to all that have said nice things about my “stories”, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

    Humble Pie

    Many fall

    From the young and invincible
    To the rich and famous

    Pride is indiscriminate
    Sometimes even undetectable
    And definitely unbiased

    Pride gets in the way
    Tripping even the sharpest
    Like shoestrings tied together
    And on our face we fall

    We’ve all been there
    Bloodied and bruised
    Some get right back up
    Some stay down and whine
    Others wonder what hit them

    We’ve all heard it said that
    Pride comes before the fall
    Yet we dare it to trip us up
    We dare it to do us in

    And when it knocks us down
    We blame everything else
    Sometimes we even blame God

    But it’s not His fault; it’s ours
    And we should admit it and accept

    Humble pie

  13. Mom’s Hunting Stew

    Oh, from the cupboard,
    while we were in the woods,
    seasons came and went
    into Mom’s dutch oven,
    on potatoes, celery, onions, carrots,
    and browned cubes of last year’s deer.
    Salt and pepper, garlic, bay,
    some Tabasco,
    gathered into a
    V-8 tomato base.

    The seasons came, and simmered,
    in a bath of contentment,
    comfort went wafting upward
    toward the oven hood,
    issued by a humming vent into kitchen air,
    simmered ‘til a red foam puree
    floated gently over all.

    Oh, from the cupboard of memories,
    warmth of comfort
    from the flavors of life,
    the aromas of
    well done

    © Damon Dean, 2018

  14. Comfort Food

    I sit every morning in an old plaid chair
    spring, summer, winter fall,
    (shh…I love them all)
    no matter the season,
    for every and any reason,
    through tears and laughter,
    broken dreams and ever afters,
    carrying my every concern and care
    to the One who faithfully meets me there.
    Slowly I feast upon the Bread of Life
    finding comfort from difficulties and strife.

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