Since my dad was a preacher at a little country church, you could say that I grew up on Sunday Pop Luck Dinners.

Image via Wikipedia

A hot Sunday at the old country church
The sermon has just ended
They sing the invitation
Outside tables are set up under the trees
A nice breeze gently sways the limbs
After the invitation another song
Some ladies come out the door
They go and put table clothes
Over all the tables and then the food
The song ends and so do the ladies
As they pause for the closing prayer

First out are the young boys
Nearly jumping down the steps
The preacher in his black suit
Speaks to everyone as the come out
The men gather by the newest truck
A nice black model A
Talking about their farms and work
The young girls giggle as they
Act like they are ignoring the boys
One boy tries to sneak up with a toad
Till grandma gets him by the ear

At least four ladies brought fried chicken
The preacher walks along admiring the food
Snap beans, corn on the cob, fried okra
Black eyed peas, fried green tomatoes
Big bowl of strawberries and blackberry cobbler
All grown, raised, picked and cooked
By the members of this little country church
The only thing bought were the coca cola’s
And the very sweet ice tea
A bell is rung and the preacher calls them together
Just a short prayer before they all dig in

More of my Writing:

3
Liked it
Comments (6)
  • SANDIE on Jul 4, 2009

    Like the story is there any more?

  • Darla Smith on Jul 4, 2009

    Great poem! Really brought back memories.

  • Mystify on Jul 4, 2009

    Nice story poem,sounds like a great sunday dinner.

  • Daisy Peasblossom on Jul 4, 2009

    I remember those country gatherings–church suppers, harvest dinners, family reunions where all the ladies brought their best recipes and tried to out-do each other. The other end of the story, Sandie, is how they discussed all week who brought what, who couldn’t wait to scarf up some-body-or-others best, who grabbed up their untouched dish to take it home in shame, who gave away scads of cookies or bread the families who hadn’t had much to contribute. My grandmother had 8 living sisters and they all lived in the same neighborhood; girls don’t resort to fisticuffs. They use words.

  • lisa on Jul 12, 2009

    Why must you post things about food? Only to make me hungry? :)

  • CutestPrincess on Jul 24, 2009

    Great poem, strong concept, well written.

Leave a Comment

Hi there!

Hello! Welcome to Authspot, the spot for creative writing.
Read some stories and poems, and be sure to subscribe to our feed!

Find the Spot