Plums and Croissants

Thinking about France and the French – with the final round of their general election due tomorrow – brought my poem “Croissants” to mind.

I’m surprised by the relative dearth of poems celebrating the simple pleasures of food and drink.  One of the few poems in this category is “This is just to say”, by the American poet William Carlos Williams (1883-1963).  Its originality and simplicity have earned it a place among the most popular poems of the last century.

This is just to say:

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

I make no claims for my “Croissants” poem being anything like as original as “This is just to say”, but I did think the same sort of simplicity was fitting, to celebrate a simple pleasure.


Name derived from shape
of lunar light, but
their virtues are solar;
embody warmth, a bright
golden haze of optimism.

The oven is open.  A cozy
glow gentles the morning air.
Black coffee nestles
in the cup.

They flake and crumble
in the mouth.  Soft, subtle
pastry eases its way;
deliquesces with
the coffee.  Enfolds,
cajoles, comforts you into
the cares of a new day.


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