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"Nourish"

She’s no very good at cooking, is mum.
She’ll even admit that herself!
Although, I’ll confess, she’s no bad as some,
I’d still rather dad cook by himself… 

It’s silly, you know, the pressure she feels:
“The mother must cook in the nest!”
But there’s more to a mum than tasty meals,
Far much more than the cartoons suggest.

See, mum takes care of me in other ways,
“Nourish” doesn’t simply mean “food”.
It means being there, knowing what to say –
Giving the world (and more) if you could.

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Keywords: 
Poem, parenthood, love, cooking

A Better Mood by Food

Victor Temprano

My third day in Edinburgh, and my stomach groaned ferociously as I stepped out of my cheap hostel across from Ryrie’s on Clifton Terrace. I grimaced as my insides shifted and moaned. Hunger only added to the general malaise I already felt, a result of travelling too far too fast with too little purpose. I kept asking myself why I’d come here, what I was hoping to gain from it — and coming up with no good answers.

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A Blessed Afternoon Tea

Maggie Mackay

The table is set, clothed in embroidered white doves
and matching napkins. There are silver pastry forks
beside bright Royal Albert plates, three places,
my mother not quite sure where she should sit.
The room fills with scents of dried fruit,
Ruth and Miriam’s familiar sweets,
and home-made raspberry jam’s modern sweet,
wafts of white sugar and farm butter.

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A Burns Supper

Stephen Murphy

The smell of haggis, totties and turnip wafted through the living room. We had just moved to this three-bedroomed semi in November of ‘84 after thirty years in a tenement in Possilpark, where Mum had brought up five of a family. She had a Burns Night every other year but this was the first one I had really taken notice of. It was like a house warming for her as well. There were roughly sixteen people there that night, but we fitted better than we ever would’ve in the old tenement.

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A Disappointment

Brodie walked home from school. It wasn't far, but it was all up hill. Even though he lived close to the school and walked down hill in the mornings, he was always late. Could never decide what he wanted for breakfast in the two hours between getting up and the school bell going off. It was always last minute and rushed. Sometimes there was just too much to choose from, if mum had just been shopping and he couldn't make his mind up between lovely buttery crumpets, posh chocolate rolls from France that left flakes all over his mouth and jumper, or even eggs and sizzling bacon.

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A Dog's Dinner!

Charlotte Bennie

Occasionally, we have a Big Nicht Oot, especially over the winter, what with the festive season and Burns’ Suppers. And, of course, Mr. Dog comes along. I once met a woman whose Guide Dog never accompanied her at evening functions; she felt he’d be too tired.

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Keywords: 
animals, fine dining, Scots

A falafel experience

I was on the plane with the rest of the pupils who had signed up for this once in a lifetime trip with school. Eight days in Israel over the February half term. I was excited but also nervous – not a fan of flying and not really knowing that many of the children going. I was almost thirteen and this was a major holiday without my family.

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A Feast of Marzipan

Tim Sinclair

A grey-haired man pauses in the kitchen doorway. He is lost in wonder as he looks across the room to the two ovens, enamelled in a cooling duck-egg blue. The pale colouring contrasts dramatically with the black of the cooker top and the polished steel of the hotplate lid. It is no larger than any standard cooker, but this is cast-iron and it's a new design. It stands serene beside drab kitchen cupboards and the ubiquitous white fridge. It is a marvel.

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A Fish Supper Done Right

Under a charcoal smudge of clouds,
the wind bristling and grating our cheeks,
we huddle on this bench, determined.
The waves before us whip and churn,
the harbour itself seems to tremble.

The greasy papers on our laps,
a searing warmth, a molten centre.
The vinegar smell, the comforting rustle;
the beauty of a Scottish fish supper.
Our scalded tongues devouring every crumb.

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A flower yet to flourish

Alex Anderson

The lonely soul sits to sigh
though desperately wanting to cry
“Where are you, my sweet,
come, sweep me off my feet
and be my one true love.
I have so much to give
but I can only wait to live
I am a flower yet to flourish
needing my own one to nourish
my need to be loved and loving.”

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Keywords: 
Poem, love, kindness

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