PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

get out my big old speckled enamel pot and lid

my sharp knife, and wooden spoon

time to make soup

made for myself, by myself

on a rainy day just like this

I slice into the green onions, celery, carrots and asparagus

all coarsely chopped up

I am out of some choi sum



make a note to get some sum at the Chinese market

next time I’m near there

say hello to the old smiling Chinese owner of Hop Sing’s

he’s a nice man with warmness in his eyes

must have to do with being able to please his customers



mix in the shaved ginger and garlic into the pot

put in a tall pitcher of cold spring water

now stir water into the mixture

all together like friends

don’t forget me and my old wooden spoon

we’re old friends too

feel for the little plastic bag of pine nuts on the table

throw in two handfuls for good measure





I throw in some quartered leftover bay scallops merely for taste



I remember times when we would grill them on your barbeque

wrapped with turkey bacon and water chestnuts held place with toothpicks

I hope they don’t get too rubbery



a few pinches of salt to taste

put the pot on the stove

a slow low heat will do



stir in my secret wish

a wish individual as the curved moonlight



time to start the spinach couscous



I’ll mix it into the soup when vegetables are ready

it adds some color and thickens the texture



grind the pepper



the noise is all I hear alone

reminds me of the grind

of fatigued thoughts

and mindless routines





snap back to into reality



I smile serenely, when I smell the smells

I hear the pot percolate



put out my bowl and spoon on the table

get a bottle of good white wine

uncork and pour a glass



ahh, the sips of life



slowly lift the lid

steam my face with my handy work



fill my bowl

get a hunk of crispy French bread

drizzled in virgin olive oil



light a slim white candle



and savor the flavor brought to my lips

Mmm mmm good

making a soup for me by me



listening to the hard cold spring rains

I hear a little thunder roll off in the distant night



I’ve left nothing out

nothing but the conversations

while eating homemade soup alone