Bread is a simple word, but not to some of us old fools. Is it the stuff we bake or is the money we wish we had? Or do we drop the “a” and smile for we feel good? Huh, what do you say? Daft old fool is at it again.

I remember as a little boy, light bread was a rare commodity. It was biscuits, corn bread or big tall golden light rolls; they were the bread we did get. Every meal biscuits from scratch were made. Roll them out then into the old kitchen range place them to bake. Home made biscuits were what we got. Now how often do those we see?

Once when I was in the first grade, I did go home with a friend and spent a long weekend. Golden Fralin was his name, up on Porters mountain he did live. His dad was a farmer and his older brothers did work the farm. But the one thing I do remember and have for many years.

His mom of course, baked bread for every meal, but oh damn her biscuits. They were big, thick, and only half done. Thick and a golden brown, with a few on the edges a little more brown, the way I liked them.

Golden and I were on the go, he showing me all sorts of things that were so different from where I lived in the village. Lunch time was a biscuit with a slab of American cheese. I ate blackberry jam instead and ate apples. But oh, Mrs. Franlin’s breakfasts and dinners were gourmet.

I was considered city folk, for I lived in the village, had electric lights, indoor plumbing, and we had no cows or horses, only chickens. My mother was a school teacher and my father was an electrician/lineman.

The one amenity the Fralin family had was a big old battery radio. Everyone in the family, including granddad and grandma, who lived with them, all played a musical instrument and had a good ear for music. At night they would play and sing.

Golden and a couple of his brothers went on to be professional musicians, but that don’t matter.

At home on Saturday morn, when no one had to go to school, of course poppa was home, and we would have like, pork chops, gravy and biscuits or fried salt pork and gravy; man that was some fine eating.

Bread, oh yes, love my bread. My wife learned to make light rolls and on special occasions she will make and bake four or five pans. And always there is one small pan that are what she calls burnt, nice and dark brown for me. I butter all of them then sit and eat buttered rolls and jelly or jam. Love them with cranberry sauce.

Guess I will forgo the rest of this topic. Think I will go pop a can of Pillsbury biscuits and bake them for breakfast. Brown biscuits and apple butter with fresh brewed black coffee.

You all have a nice day, I am hungry.

© By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)




Oh the aroma
Of fresh baking bread
Emitting from oven
Entering my head


When it is done
Spread with good butter
Next day on scale
Beginning to mutter


How can just one day
Of indulging like that
Something tastes good
But make's the hip fat


© By Sharon (Sunyskys1943@aol.com)




What is there that can be said
About a topic like bread?
A poem on kneading dough?
Not the upper crust I know.


Perhaps, to say something nice,
Of nourishment in each slice?
I even enjoy the heel -
Two with jelly makes a meal.


Even better is French toast,
Eggo’s brand I like the most.
Well, with nothing else to say,
I’ll loaf the rest of the day.


© By RickMack (Rmrickmack@aol.com)





The kind of bread I like the best,
Isn't something you'd serve a guest.
It ain't biscuits served with honey...
My kind of bread? They call it MONEY!


Bucks and shekels and even Rupees
That's the bread to give me, please?
Never had much in my past..
Had it now, I'd have a blast!


It's said that bread is the "Staff of Life"
And money only causes strife.
But I got misery and that's no lie!
So hand me a quarter and pass the rye.


© By Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)







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