to sprout or not to sprout?

“Brussels sprouts are misunderstood — probably because most people don’t know how to cook them properly.” ~ Todd English

M.T. Ross (Mother Earth’s Children: The Frolics of the Fruits and Vegetables, 1914).

Love ‘em or hate ‘em? Only a small majority of people feel so-so about these spunky green orbs, sometimes fondly referred to as baby cabbages (so cute!).

Perhaps no other vegetable elicits such a strong reaction in kids as well as adults. Despite all the debate, Brussels sprouts continue to inspire artists and poets. 

Did you like them when you were little? Does this poem sound like you?

I HATE BRUSSELS SPROUTS!
by Cynthia C. Naspinski

I know that stink! I have no doubts
That Mom has cooked up some Brussels sprouts.
Of all the things that I despise,
The Brussels sprout would take first prize.

I've blocked my nose and tried to swallow,
Guzzled lots of milk to follow,
But I can tell you nothing works
'Cause in my mouth the taste still lurks.

Once I slipped one in my pocket,
But after dinner I forgot it.
Next day I shoved my hand in there
And gave myself a nasty scare.

In Mom's pot plant I used to hide
A sprout or two, but then IT DIED!
And now my sister's learned to count,
I can't add to her sprout amount.

My dog won't even help me out.
He will not eat a Brussels sprout.
He'll lick his butt, eat possum poop,
But to eat sprouts he will not stoop.

Maybe it is just as well
Because his farts already smell.
He does not need a Brussels sprout
to turbocharge what's coming out!

Please Mom, can we work out a deal
That gets me out of this here meal?
I'd clear the table, do the dishes,
Be your genie, grant you wishes.

I'd clean my room a little later
And feed the dog (that little traitor!).
I'd pull weeds till my hands blister,
I'd even play nice with my sister.

But Mom, it would be best all around
If other veggies could be found,
So we could all just go without
The gross, revolting Brussels sprout!

~ as published by Family Friend Poems (2020).

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a scrumptious treat from the Blueberries for Sal cookbook

Little Bear and his mother went home down one side of Blueberry Hill, eating blueberries all the way, and full of food stored up for next winter. ~ Robert McCloskey

Kuplink, kuplank, kuplunk!

Sounds like Little Sal is tossing a few blueberries into her tin pail — and when I say “a few,” I mean the ones she hasn’t yet eaten, which number very few indeed.

As we all know from reading Robert McCloskey’s classic picture book Blueberries for Sal, this adorable munchkin simply couldn’t get enough of those tender juicy orbs while out berry picking with her mom on Blueberry Hill.

Can’t say I blame her: when I visited the Southern Coast of Maine ten years ago, I was finally able to try wild Maine blueberries for the very first time. So good! The lowbush berries like Sal ate are smaller and sweeter than the highbush variety widely available in supermarkets around the country. If I had gone blueberry picking with Sal and her mom, there wouldn’t be any berries in my pail at all. 🙂

I was positively giddy when the Blueberries for Sal Cookbook: Sweet Recipes Inspired by the Beloved Children’s Classic (Clarkson Potter, 2023) was released in June. I thoroughly enjoyed perusing this adorable collection, which is basically a baker’s delight.

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Of Glass Slippers and Hummingbird Wings: Gregory Orr’s Wild Joy

“I believe in poetry as a way of surviving the emotional chaos, spiritual confusions, and traumatic events that come with being alive.” ~ Gregory Orr

I’ve always enjoyed reading poems about poetry — how it’s defined, what it means to both poet and audience, how it shapes our thinking and mines emotional depths, the vast potential of its reach.

Virginia-based lyric poet Gregory Orr is a particular favorite, and today I’m happy to share two poems from his twelfth collection, The Last Love Poem I Will Ever Write (W.W. Norton & Co., 2019). I think you will like these ‘poems about poems’, marveling at how Orr celebrates the transformative power of language.

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“Floating Book Island with Waterfall” by Gert J Rheeders (2020).
CERTAIN POEMS OFFER ME . . . 

Certain poems offer me escape --
They're floating islands
Anchored only
By a cloud-rope of words
I can climb.

                      Some
Are the opposite:
Insisting on
Embodiment --
As if they were tattooed
On the beloved's thigh.

Still others are short
And sharp -- arrows
Aimed at the heart,
As if the purpose
Of beauty
Was to hurt me more alive.

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nine cool things on a tuesday

1. Happy November! Though it’s past peak color in most places, we’re still celebrating the beauty of autumn with more art by London based artist Laivi Poder. Who says November has to be bleak?

Last time we featured her wintry scenes, and now we’re all about the golds, russets, reds, browns, magentas. Originally from Estonia, Laivi enjoys creating dreamy and peaceful atmospheres and derives most of her inspiration by visiting nearby and distant woodlands, forests, meadows, lakes, botanical gardens and parks.

She uses a lot of stamp brushes in her work, all of which are created from hand drawn images. After painting backgrounds in watercolor, she uses Procreate to add details digitally.

Wish I could step right into any of her enchanting pictures; they are all so calming.

To purchase prints, visit Laivi’s online shop. For her latest news, follow her Instagram.

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Alarie Tennille: of clocks and clips

Tick tick tick . . .

“The Persistence of Memory” by Salvador Dali (1931)
DALI'S CLOCKS
by Alarie Tennille

Scientists have cut time
into tiny, equal ticks,
but we all know it is fluid,

dripping ever so slowly —
an I.V. refusing to kill pain
or worry, 

sweeping us away —
a tidal wave any time we’re 
on the beach of contentment,
reluctant to gather up our things
and head back to our car.

Yet we persist in counting it
as though that’s a skill required
for our final exam —
the one we keep dreaming 
we didn’t prepare for.

~ from Running Counterclockwise (Kelsay Books, 2014)

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