Gone are the days when I had the force
to pummel the dough into shape.
Gone are the days when the bread in the house
was all mine.
Now are the days of disaster, ageing bones
of fragile alabaster,
too frail for the weekly bake.
The bread that we eat now is plastic,
shaped by other hands.
The bread that we eat now
is not made by me
but by other people who don’t take such care,
loving the feel of live swelling food
rising to desirable altitude, light as air.
Gone are the days of gourmandise,
for the treat that’s mainly aroma,
bewitching the household with appetite
for good old-fashioned bread and cheese.
You’ll find other variations on the wordle here
Vivinfrance's Blog 
This is wonderful Vivienne! The delicate process and the sad realization meld together to speak your heart. I truly love this poem, from one bread baker to another! I kneaded this! 😉
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Thank you, Walt. There are a lot of those moments lately – things I can no longer do, places I’ll never see. Growing old unhealthily is NO JOKE.
But I love your pun!
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Such a sad poem. Is there no bakery in the village?
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There is a bakery but their bread isn;t marvellous.
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😦
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Viv, even with a stand mixer you can’t manage it? Or is this poetic licence… Questions aside, this is one of your top poems. I simply love it.
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I have ta mixer, but bread needs hand kneading to activate the gluten, which makes the taste and texture come alive.
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So fulfilling, the making of bread, the writing about the making of bread. I was struck square in the olfactory and felt it in the heart! 🙂
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This is wonderful! I might even bake some bread soon!
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Fresh baked bread there is nothing better. Very creative use of the words, Viv. Thanks for your thoughtful comment on my poem. I am still deep in my mourning of Michael’s death, but I am trying to move forward one step at a time. He wouldn’t want me down in the dumps, I know that.
Love,
Pamela ox
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You have been busy
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I love to eat it while it’s still steaming, with lots of butter that melts in seconds.
Your poem made me hungry, Viv. And again I forgot it was a wordle – the words just fell into place.
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Great use of the prompt, V. Salute!
(My old friend was a bread baker. I was always more of a cookie man. Bread seemed like so much work and–once the work was over–no cookies.)
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I always enjoy your Wordles! Is there anything like the taste of warm bread, fresh out of the oven with lovely butter on top.
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my neighbour bought me a warm homemade Moroccan bread with little pot of homemade strawberry conserve the other day as a thank you for feeding her cat. So much nicer than chocolates
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“Good old fashioned bread and cheese” and that smell that “bewitches the household” so well put, Viv…makes me think I really ought to try my hand at homemade bread. I make banana bread but that’s all. 🙂
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there are not many meals better than fresh bread and cheese..I love to cook but have yet to develop the appreciation or skill for baking. might be a patience issue. 🙂 nice piece
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Love the last stanza.
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Sadly many of the ways we lived our lives in the past are being lost. This is not so we have better healthier, lives but because someone wants to make a profit out of us. Much like cattle we are consumers and now have a herd mentality to do what everyone else does. We are poorer for this and much more dependent.
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So much I like home-baked bread.. and I’m lacking time… hmm but I hope you get good cheese at least.. it lift plastic bread.
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I agree. France is the place to go for good cheese. except they don’t appreciate Cheddar!
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PS. I hope you don’t mind me linking to this as you inspired a poem I wrote? If you do, just let me know and I’ll remove it. *smile*
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I’m honoured, but I couldn’t get to your blog – I’d love to read yours!
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Well, this is the link for that particular poem: http://ccchampagne.wordpress.com/2014/05/18/we-once-dined-in-paris/
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Ah… What a lovely, yet slightly sad, poem! And so completely different from any of the others I’ve read so far too! Brilliant!
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Indeed! And it’s the pummelling into shape that counts. However, I am very fortunate in having a daughter and a granddaughter who love kneading dough, and still sometimes come and bake bread for me.
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You made food for thought 🙂 with this one.
I think one of my most memorable meals of all time was my share of a freshly-baked loaf of bread in a remote village after coming through a mountain range. No butter or anything else. We were REALLY hungry at the time, though.
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