The Sunday Whirl, for wordle #33, subjected us with the most difficult words ever. They are: amorous, subtle, inkling, laden, genuflect, vanilla, mission, bark, crusted, precipice, December and trivet. I tried to take them in any direction other than baking, but I’m not sure it’s possible.
AH, DECEMBER
by Mike Patrick
Flickr image by tin.G
Ah, December,
you arrive so subtly,
giving no inkling of the precipice ahead.
It’s taken a few years,
but I know you now.
Oh, yeah. I know
my amorous missions
are doomed to frustration
as my wife genuflects
before the gods of kitchen.
For your duration, December,
her only thought is of the smell of vanilla,
chocolate bark melting in pots,
and trivets buried under golden-crusted pies.
I never cross her mind.
She won’t stop
until every flat surface is laden
with pies, fudge, cranberry-pumpkin bread,
white-chocolate-covered pretzels, cookies
and things I can’t even name.
Be glad you contain Christmas, December.
If not for that one redeeming grace,
I would choose to erase your cold hand from my life.
The Poet's Quill 
Yummy! If this is true, I’ll be right over. I especially like “as my wife genuflects
before the gods of kitchen”
I may have used a little poetic license in writing this, but not much. Sandy turns into a baking monster every December. If she was like this all the time, I’d weigh a ton.
This made me smile, especially the image of your wife genuflecting “before the gods of kitchen.”
Drooling!!! Your last stanza is so true!
“as my wife genuflects
before the gods of kitchen.”
Mike, I love that bit. Quite the image you have created there. Nicely done with such difficult words.
Pamela
I was drooling as I read this, and I’m sure you feast thankfully on the delights you have listed. Tomorrow I shall make the first mince pies, as my sewing group prepares to celebrate the feast of Saint Nicholas on Tuesday.
I know I shouldn’t laugh, because I sense that this poem is a genuine lament. However, the thought of your being ignored in favor of the “gods of the kitchen” tickles my funny bone in some inexplicable way. I really hope you don’t mind. I also hope that you avail yourself of the pies and cookies and other goodies that cover every surface in the kitchen. 🙂
Whirling Haiku
Wonderfully fun use of the wordle words, Mike! Wish I lived next door! “Trivets buried under golden-crusted pies.” is a delicious image. 🙂
I want to come to YOUR house! Hee hee. Loved this poem though it leaves me feeling snack-ish!
This is an excellent contribution, Mike. I love it. You are lucky to have such an industrious wife. 🙂 It sounds like fattening up could become an art form at your house over the holidays. LOL
Hahaha… Loving the comments nearly as much as your work Mike. LOL Priceless! Your wife can always come here and bake. The least fav room on mine in the house is…the kitchen!! I am so not a natural cook, I can cook but, do not mention the word bake to me at all. Haha
Great fun write from you 🙂
A great poem Mike.
I must say that the table in your house at Christmas sounded tantalising.
Wow, great one Mike! Your wife really does sound a whole lot like me lol.
Ohh yummy — I understand your viewpoint as well as Sandy’s. I agree with you, and am glad Christmas is contained in December — or Ray and I would be in more trouble than usual … nothing tastes better or smells better than homemade … and there is rarely a warm treat I dislike!!!
Oh, this is definitely rich–I can relate, as I try to squeeze time to write amid my holiday baking!!
I have not done a wordle yet – nor have I done Margo’s prompt this week. So instead I am visiting all the industrious writers. This is great Mike!