SOLSC – Day 17
Being out shoveling these last few days and being cold because of the blowing wind made me stop and think about when I was kid. The cold didn’t bother me then because I knew if I needed a respite from it I could head to me grandmother’s house. She lived down the street from us.
Of course there was the warmth of her smile, listening to the broken English she spoke and always something to eat. Her warmth was matched by the warmth of the big black cast iron stove that dominated her kitchen. This is a tribute to her prize possession.
Black Beauty
Proud and Majestic
Beckoning but foreboding.
A massive cold iron frame
encasing a flaming heart.
Dispelling the cold of a winter’s night
with a rosy glow.
A behemoth to a toddler,
a comforting giant to an adult.
Welcoming some to a warm bosom
while making others shrink away with a fiery stare.
A presence, filling the room
with a aura that emanates throughout the house.
A cool attitude signals a want;
a cozy warmth says. “All is well.”
Filling the air with delectable aromas
that make the mouth water.
Imparting a distinct taste to baked foods
that nothing else matches.
arjeha 
Fascinating how the cold weather brought memories and inspired a poem. I admire your word choice in this poem.
Thank you, Terje.
What a special memory the cold has brought out. My grandma had a wood-fired stove for a while too. There’s nothing like it.
The heat it threw and the homemade bread that came out of its oven…nothing better.
Great poem! Thanks for sharing such a wonderful memory.
You’re welcome, Rose.
That brings back fond memories of frosty windows and warm houses A lovely poem.
Toasting bread over the open flames…probably not healthy but oh so delicious.
I can just picture that biack behemoth residing in your Grandma’s kitchen, I can smell the aromas of foods cooked and the warmth that it gave off. Happy thoughts on a cold day!
She took such good care of it. Every Friday she would let the fire go out and she would polish it til it would shine.
Wonderful memories, natural for a poem. Glad you remembered and shared.
Never know what shoveling snow will make you think of.
Just beautifully done, Bob – you have a gift for poetry!
Thanks, Tara.
Lovely piece. Isn’t it amazing how an inanimate object can hold magical pieces of our lives? Thank for sharing the stove…for me it was the Hot Air Grill in the house where we warmed ourselves in winter by standing on it as our slips blew upward.
That stove was a presence in my grandmother’s kitchen for years.
I love your poem, brings back more than one stove in my life. One grandmother cooked with one, another just had the big pot-bellied one in the living room for heat. Special memories!
My grandmother also had a heatrola in the living room that would provide heat to the rest of the house.
What a wonderful memory to find shoveling snow. I love the personification in it, especially the line “a cool attitude signals a want”.
Shoveling lets my mind wander, much like cutting grass in the summer. Never know where it will lead.
Such a delightful memory you have of your grandmother and the black cast iron stove.
I could see the stove, feel the warmth it brought, and smell the fine food you shared. I enjoyed your poem today on this once again chilly March day.
Thanks, Amy. There was nothing quite like the homemade bread that was baked in that stove’s oven.
Such a poignant post from you today. The introduction was lovely and the poem is very moving. You really captured the feeling of being a little boy in your grandmother’s kitchen and her pride in her beautiful stove. I wish she could read the poem you wrote.