When sugar burns,

The baking stops.

No longer white and flowing from the cup,

It turns hard and black,

Like stone.

Lips so sweet

Can also lie;

What's warming can wound--

Much in a kitchen can cut,

But burns are the most painful.

Though you bind them, they blister,

And heal only by slow degrees--

Like sun crossing the cutting board, left dumb and blank as a woman who believed.



  1. Too good, but hard
    My endings... yes
    and your beginnings!

  2. Sad but true. Beautifully written Fireblossom.

  3. Mama Zen is so right - the stench is awful.

    But your poem is beautiful. (and it's always the believers who suffer)

  4. Yes, it does stink like Mama Zen said so perfectly.

    much love

  5. Oh honey! Love isn't always like this. I promise.

  6. And those burns heal very slowly.

  7. OMG!


    This is some good poetry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    "The true artist will let his (sic) wife starve,
    his children go barefoot,
    his mother drudge for his living at seventy,
    sooner than work at anything but his art."

    G.B. Shaw

    Aloha, Sistah

    Comfort Spiral

  8. A beautiful woman who believed will always be sweeter and richer than the liar.

  9. My fight coach used to say,
    "A cut heals one percent in one day" ?

    It's true.
    I can be hit and bruised and cut, I'll heal. All that may remain is a scar or two.

    But that's just our shell.
    Our souls do not heal quite so well.

    And even though the scars may not be as clear,
    they run much deeper I fear.

    But heal we do !
    And, in your time, that is my wish for you.

  10. I came for my fix and was not disappointed.

  11. The cutting hurts but the scarring strengthens. One must know a liar in order to know when a lie is being told and unfortunately it is one of the knowledges that can only be gained through real experiences.

  12. don't let it burn. don't let it get that far. turn it off! turn it off!

  13. It's lucky that tears sooth the heart as water sooths a burn...and dissolves burnt sugar!

  14. Oh, yeah. And when you press your arm against the woodstove, quite by accident, it blisters and stinks of singed hair and skin. It seems like there's such a fine line between lovely comfort and burnt ugliness.

  15. I always think it's sad when the sun slowly crosses anything in the house, like a mark of infinity lost, or something.

  16. I think somedays I've just woken up in a world where there is no truth but my own and I say it over and over but no one has ears to hear it....I hear you ...

    xxo Gabi


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