Sugar comes back to our kitchen on Holy Saturdays after a forty day absence. It feeds the yeast that leavens the dough for our favorite Easter treat, Philadelphia Sticky Buns. My husband carefully kneads the rising dough and leaves it on a covered bowl to double. Then it will be kneaded again preparatory to a second rising.

While the dough rises, my husband prepares a bed of chopped pecans, corn syrup, and brown sugar in a pan to receive the sticky bun coils. When the dough is ready, our children fight over who will help their Daddy cut and roll the dough into little buns. Each will have a turn, each one’s concentration broken either by daddy’s admonition to put the  bun right side up in the pan or by a child asking, “Is this alright, Daddy?” Soon the pan fills up with dough rolls  distinguished by the age and skill of the hands that shaped them. After awhile,   the aroma of baking bread, caramelizing sugar, and roasting pecans wafts out of the oven and fills every corner of our home.

A season to bloom
the garden yielding its fruits
heading to winter.

For Dverse Poets Haibun Monday:  From the Kitchen of Poets


 My arms knew music,
the feel of a violin
my fingers knew the places
where the notes sang well

My arms have forgotten
the weight of a violin
but know well the comforting feel
of a baby in their cradle

My fingers have forgotten
the melodies they played
but they  have been quite adept
at eliciting childish giggles

Maybe one day
when the baby becomes a man
my hands will remember
the curves of a violin again.
A disclaimer: Implications of the poem above notwithstanding, I have never been a (good) violin player. At best, I was an intermediate learner. 🙂


The piece was a response to PAD 20 Challenge which was to write about a memory or something like that.


In the blazing heat
 of a Middle eastern sun
 he toils for hours
 away from his family -
 young daughters and wife
 loved from a distance.

Birthdays came and birthdays went
 ten years had gone by
 hugs and kisses were given
 through their Facebook posts
 accompanied by pictures
 with happy faces
 concealing their longing hearts.

Each bear the sadness
 for dreams of a better life -
 good education
 for the girls, now young women
 little luxuries
 providing simple pleasures
 and good memories
 as he can give from afar.

He waits and he works
 his hopes in the desert sands
 to be home at last
 assuaging homesickness
 with virtual presence
 each moment it's possible
 'til no screen is between them.


Thanks to Gayle’s Dverse prompt – The Choka – I am glad to finally break a blogless spell.  Lack of time (to think, writer, and visit blogs) and inspiration kept me away for weeks.  I do not know how often I can post with school resuming and a needy baby  starting to walk, but I hope to keep this page and friendships alive somehow.  Ah, my belated wishes for a happy and wonderful new year to all of you.

The inspiration for this piece is a cousin who now works in Israel and has not visited his family for a long time.  The title, OFW, means Overseas Filipino Worker which the Philippines, due to her economic situation, has plenty of.


Meanwhile, the Choka, according to Gayle, is a Japanese form poetry that tells a story.  It has an indefinite number of lines but the lines alternate between 5 and 7 syllables.  The poem ends with an extra seven syllable line.  For more of Choka, please visit the link above.



We sow memories in a pumpkin field
while walking on the dirt to find the one
pumpkin – unblemished, round, hallow, and big
enough to carve into jack-o-lantern

We will put candles inside its belly
its face will glow and watch those passing by
with eyes ablaze with mischief; the pointy
teeth announcing the imp behind the smile

Imagination soared while little hands
picked and dropped a pumpkin one after the other
voices squealed with delight “look what I found!”
that moment of triumph, sweet and tender.

Little children trudge home bent by the load
of pumpkins and plans for the Halloween
yet, I swear, their very step seemed to float
upon memories this blessed time will bring.


He loved his baby brother at first sight in that hospital room where we waited for the family to visit. He held his brother with as much care as his two year old arms could give. He was fascinated by the tiny body squirming out of his lap.
How much fun they have growing up together. He teaches his baby brother all the skills a little boy
should know. The younger one learns quickly. They love playing with each other. They want to take a nap together. Sometimes, I let them. Often, I would sneak into their room to check if they did fall asleep and I would find them under the blanket wiggling and whispering to each other. How they giggled whenever I pulled the blanket to reveal their mischievous faces.

Brothers3Of course, it is not all fun and roses with these two (and the other two who are not in the photos).  They could bicker all day and tell on each other.  They make each other cry and scream.   Yet even then, I know that they love each other as deeply as only brothers can.


For WPC:  Depth

LITTLE THINGS (for WPC: Achievement)

On Labor Day, my family and I visited the Freetown-Fall River State Forest. We walked the trail around the forest. Since I am just about the most reluctant walker in the whole wide world :-), I consider it a big achievement to be able to walk on this path and enjoy some family time. Beyond that, I consider loving and being loved by the members of this family (whose figures disappear around the bend) my greatest achievement of all.


I wash the dishes
prepare our food
do the laundry
fold our  clothes
scrub the toilets
polish the floor
kiss my husband
before he heads out the door

I change diapers
kiss my children’s wounds
teach them their ABCs
tell them to be good
I play their games
hug them tight
tuck them into bed
after prayers at night

When the house is quiet
I rest my weary feet
after I look at the faces
smiling as they fall asleep.
My life is hidden
in the little things
yet, to love and be loved
makes all the difference.

There. I got a little closer. These folks walk too fast for my liking. 🙂

Thank you for coming by.  Happy blessed weekend to you. 🙂


MOTHER (for DVerse Poets’ Pub)

They wove violets and daisies on my hair
saying, “You are quite  beautiful and fair”
what sweet words for the one who cleans their mess
servant and queen, the life of  a mother.

Wild Flowers
These are the flowers that inspired the poem. While I was gardening, my sons gave me the flowers they picked from the yard. Some ended in my hands, others on my hair. They told me not to remove the flowers. Later, I took a picture to remember the sweetness of my children.

I am writing for Bjorn’s DVERSE’ promot – Rub’ai and Rubayiat.  It’s been awhile since I participated in the Pub prompts.   School has begun for us and now, I am teaching three children.  In between, I still can tomatoes.  The harvest has been quite plentiful this season that, so far, I have about 38 quarts of canned tomatoes, excluding the canned  sauce and salsa I have made.  I have been having a lot of productive time but it has been a little tiring, too.

Anyway, before this dissolves into a whine session, let me just wish you a Happy Friday and I’ll see your posts one way or the other. 🙂