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

"aspic of the moon: three-quarter" &
"this white plate"

by Brenda Butka

July 2014    

aspic of the moon: three-quarter

take a full moon, a thick
disk of light, suspend
it quivering in fog
so the whole jellied night is silver
inside and out

so we wait whispering
in our lawnchairs
the evening congealing
around us in our plastic baskets
under the catawba tree
a slow thing

until it is served up
mainly the moon, trembling
on midnight’s cold plate
somebody’s already taken
a forkful


this white plate

half in the soapy water
the dreamy nonsense of chores
washing the face of the moon
a plain white plate leans
against the dishrack fence
the simplest thing I could find
manufactured on the other side of the world
rising out of the foaming sea
to bring me everything I need
at suppertime


  Brenda Butka writes and cooks on Sulphur Creek Farm, where she and her husband raised three daughters and now host an organic farm project. She also practices medicine at Vanderbilt.


Photo used under Creative Commons.