Ingrid Bruck is wild flower gardener and a poet inspired by nature. She lives in Amish country in Pennsylvania. This site shocases selected works by her.

In Praise of Grits & Cherokee Moon Sonnet- Published by: Sanctuary Magazine: Empowering & Inspiring Women with Compelling Content, Sanctuary’s Poetry Corner

In Praise of Grits

I love corn in all varieties, shapes and textures.  

Fresh on the cob, slathered with butter and salt.

Corn, knife sliced off blanched cobs.

Yellow or white grains, served whole or creamed.

An unpeeled ear, charcoal roasted, rubbed with lime.

Ripe corn from the garden, frozen or canned. 

Shucked and dried kernels off the cob. 

Ground into flour, made into corn muffins.

Pounded into masa, patted, slapped, baked into tortillas.

Boiled rough cracked corn in salt water for grits.

 

I love grits, they travel me back to Texas 

Where our boys were born and raised. 

Good old-fashioned grits (never instant), 

I boil stone cut grits in salty water.

We eat grits for breakfast with butter and cracked pepper.

Or a traditional southern dish of grits and fried 

Smothered in creamed gravy, with greens on the side. 

 

Grits open up miles of clear blue Texas skies

Where the sun shines so bright, you have to wear shades,

Where you can’t gage far from near on rolling prairie grass, 

Where long horn steer and antelope roam on ranches, 

Where the legend of Bigfoot Wallace, Texas Ranger, 

Lives on in the hill country along the Llano River 

And bluebonnets grow bigger than his feet or appetite,

Where Big Tex stands at the Dallas State Fair entrance

(Even though he burned in a fire in October 2012 

Until they rebuilt his fifty foot frame, cowboy clothes),

And where old-fashioned grits, the only real kind,

Boil in a pot of water for exactly twenty minutes 

As every lover of the movie My Cousin Vinny knows. 

 

First Published by: Halcyon Days Magazine, Issue 18, Summer 2020 


***

Cherokee Moon Sonnet

Bull moon paws the sky.  

He paces the night,

Rising, waxing gibbous, waning,

a friend of all seasons.

 

Light binds time in moon cycles:

two fortnights make one month,

three months stitch a season,

four seasons sew a year.  

 

One horned, two horned, one horned— 

steadfast and true, 

bull races and snorts 

to the end of his time.

 

Extinguished and rekindled,

bull’s lantern floods through darkness.  

 

First Published by: Poetry Hall: Chinese & English Bilingual Journal Vol 3 No 1 April 15, 2020



Sanctuary's Poetry Corner: https://www.sanctuary-magazine.com/poetry-corner.html


Date Published: January 2, 2022

The sun shines red & fading colors- Published by: The Skinny Poetry Journal, January 15, 2022

lost December, a snowstorm & a coffin - Published by: failed haiku: A Journal of English Senryu, Volume 7, Issue 73