Recipe Poems

A Conjuring by A Conjuring

Grandmother's Bread by Wilda Morris

Raspberry Mousse; or, Wherein I Unwittingly Assist My Ex-husband, Who, On Behalf of our Son, Prepares My Mother's Day Dessert by Joanie DiMartino

Deconstructing Chicken by Adina Cassal

Collage by Lisa Mase

Foraging by Carolyn Wells

The Baker by Janine Certo

A Poem That Wants to Call Itself a Recipe by Jax Peters Lowell

Corn Chowder by Penny Baert Zywusko

Kugel by Sharon Lask Munson

Muffin of the Morning by James B. Nicola

simplicity by Lois Baer Barr

Recipe for Disaster by Jonathan Pacic

Affogato by Lettie

Fall Harvest by Holly Mitchell

The Apple by Kerry Ruef

Brunswick Stew by Lyle Estill

Two Poems by Brenda Butka

Bread by Eva Szabo

Squash Blossoms by Allison Wilkins

Our Table by Joan Seliger Sidney

Recipe for Spaghetti all'Amatriciana by Georganne Harmon

The Agony of the Leaves by Gail Bellamy

Greens by Paulette Licitra

Strudel by Eva Szabo

The Almost Adulterer's Guide to Menu Planning by Michele Battiste

The Pie Series by David Colagiovanni, Melissa Haviland, and Becca J.R. Lachman

Midsummer's Night's Spaghetti with Saffron by Johannes Berchtold

A Cannibal's Suicide by Dean Kostos

From the Garden by Nancy Vienneau

orang slizez jell o shotz by Amy Stetzl

Phở bò Hà Nội by Kelly Morse

Cooking Class, Marrakesh by Georganne Harmon

Spread Triolet by Dana Stamps

The Things Kids Eat by Paulette Licitra

Maybe This Year by Esther Cohen

Braociole by Joseph Bathanti

Basque Cooking by Richard Hedderman

Two Poems by Adrienne Christian

Jailhouse Crack by Harlan Richards

Cinnamon Sticks by Wally Swist

Best of Both by Nancy Vienneau

A Poem That Wants to Call Itself a Recipe

by Jax Peters Lowell

April 2015    

  1. Start with not seeing something all your blind existence.
  2. Marinate under strong light until beads of blood appear. This should produce the first shard of insight.
  3. Follow idea as far as your headlights can see.
  4. Run down every shadow until its shape is slippery with possibility & you can’t sleep without your thesaurus.

    (The bones of the poem should now lie panting on the page.)
  5. At this point, march time backward among orphaned trees. Open the sky for business, jump into your own metaphor for a lake. A little sex wouldn’t hurt here. Ask a stone where it aches.

    (This step should take some time, make music, but avoid a steady rhyme.)
  6. Fold into a drawer and let stand, at least a fortnight. Play mixed doubles, protest for peace, anything but attempt to write.
  7. Uncover & read aloud. Pay special attention to the silences between the words. They should leave you breathless.

    (Repeat above steps as necessary.)
  8. Poem is done when a sharp knife comes out of your heart clean.

To serve, garnish with words like electrifying, inexplicable, epiphany. Say it all came to you in one mad swoon.

NOTE: Tears can be substituted for blood in Step 2


  Jax Peters Lowell iis a recipient of the Leeway Foundation Transformation Award for poetry and fiction. A commemorative edition of her groundbreaking novel Mothers was released in 2014. A long standing celiac, she is widely known for her bestselling books on living with gluten intolerance. The Gluten-Free Revolution (Holt) was published last month. She lives in Philadelphia in a former bread factory.