In mid-July, Bill and I rode our motorcycles on a 700 mile round trip from Belle, MO to Sturgis, KY and back. Why? We went to work with other Christian bikers at the rally. To read more about our trip, click on the following link to read my blog post over at A Joy Filled Woman.
Click on this link - joyfilledwoman.blogspot.com/2016/07/the-2016-sturgis-kentucky-bike-rally.html
I love sitting on the glider on my front porch and watching the humming birds at the feeders AND I also love sipping a full-bodied cup of dark roast coffee.
This week, I added my camera to my favorite morning activities.
I have posted a few of my favorite pictures below. Be watching for poems, because I can already feel words starting to swirl together and form lines of poetry when I look at these pictures!
A Feeding Hummingbird
blurring wings never slowing
sipping sweet nectar
Sallee Bonham July 27, 2016
Triple digit heat has been assaulting central Missouri this week.
My desire to bake anything in the oven has completely disappeared. However, Bill and I still want to have a sweet dessert. This is when I start making microwave mug cakes!
he crumb topping on this mug cake is gooey like gooey butter cake on top of a cinnamon applesauce mini cake. THEN, it gets even better, you warm up and drizzle caramel sauce over the topping and add a pinch of sea salt. I love salted caramel sauce!
The following link will take you on over to Bonham Business so you can print out the recipe for this quick and easy, summer recipe.
Click on this link: bonhambusiness.blogspot.com/2016/07/applesauce-mug-cake-with-salted-caramel.html
I want to exist in
an air conditioned cocoon.
As the outside temp rises like sin,
I listen to the window A/C's tune.
Cool air dances around my toes,
as I kick back in the dual recliner.
The TV announcer is speaking in prose.
My peripheral vision catches a flicker -
The digital thermometer display,
caused the brief movement.
Ninety-two at mid-day.
The dogs lay splayed out in contentment -
Canine ornaments adorning the carpet.
The A/C purrs like a giant cat in the window frame.
My attention is caught by the televised flea market,
where bargainers have their one day of fame.
I will arise from my air-conditioned cocoon,
when the evening shadows stretch out under the trees,
and the temperature falls down before the rising moon.
Then, I will emerge from my cool chrysalis – free.
Free to cut the grass in the evening air,
Free to listen to the humming lawn mower,
Free to watch my dogs bounce around the yard like kids at the fair,
Free to watch the sunset and take a shower.
July 10, 2016
June 22 my husband and I were in the Rocky Mountains just west of Greeley, Colorado on Crystal Mountain.
Why? My oldest daughter married her sweetheart and my handsome husband performed the wedding ceremony. What a blessed day!
Cassie and Curt wanted a simple, rustic wedding with immediate family members present to celebrate the wedding with them.
Bill and I drove the 800 plus miles from central Missouri to Greeley, Colorado in about 14 hours. My sister met us at a local gas station that is about six minutes from her home in Greeley and led us to the house.
Shortly after we arrived, my youngest daughter arrived with her family after a sixteen hour trip with a toddler, a baby, and a second grader.
The wedding took place the day after everyone arrived in Greeley.
To read about the naked wedding cake cookies I made Click Here
Labeling each other,
according to the color of our largest organ,
a three millimeter layer of skin,
divides the whole human race into,
meaningless factions of color.
Skin color should never be an adjective;
An adjective that accompanies nouns like
man, woman, child, or violence.
Maybe we should start labeling ourselves
by the color of the blood we bleed - red.
Violence has a color - red
Red blood that drips, drops, and drains
Onto surrounding surfaces when
the integrity of our skin is broken
during an act of violence
I began writing this poem after the Ferguson, MO shooting and the ensuing media blitz.
The poem was tentatively titled , "Violence." However, the word flow wouldn't gel, or emerge, after a dozen lines.
When I encounter this issue while writing a poem, I save the poem and go back to it at a later date.
I had reread the original poem two or three times, but the necessary words continued to refuse to emerge from my brain and flow through my finger tips to complete it.
The recent shootings caused me to go back to my tentatively titled poem, "Violence."
Today, the word flow did indeed emerge from my brain and flow through my finger tips, or gel, for me. After three or four edits, reading the poem aloud twice, and giving it a new title, I deemed this poem to be finished.