I’ve seen a picture of Jupiter,

One of earth’s satellites snapped for sure.

Seems she’s a revolving ball of orbiting gas,

And for quite many years, so shall pass.


I’ve seen a documentary of the Amazon Forest,

Huge, gigantic, sprawling, mysterious to its corest.

The pythons, poison frogs, and gigantic bugs,

Left me thinking of how the life cycle tugs.


I’ve seen a special on the African crocodile,

He eats anything that passes by; his voracious style.

The Mara River is chock-a-block full of his kind,

And many zebra and wildebeest do truly mind.


I’ve viewed photos from long winter hunts,

Deer roaming free and easy that once.

Their bodies a trophy, their racks on the wall,

It seems that really, they are not quite so tall.


I’ve felt the heat of the burning sun,

It makes me crazy; there’s nowhere to run.

Such a fiery hot ball that blazes our sky,

Earth’s in its clutches, it is, that’s why.


I know that an iceberg was grand and tall,

That no trees or flowers grow there at all.

I know that there used to be lots of bears,

I do hope it is well, that each one fares.


When I am in church, I hear about Heaven,

I remember all my life, even before age seven,

God lives there and it’s where we all must go,

But there is no road to drive or paths that show.


I hold well to the floor,

I run, jump, skip, and do so much more.

Gravity keeps me in the right place,

Yet I cannot see it, there is no trace.


A body is truly a magnificent thing,

All the air I need fills me to sing.

It keeps me healthy and quite alive,

I cannot see this air that helps me thrive.


I have not visited Jupiter, nor will that be,

The Amazon really isn’t the place, for me.

Africa would be fun to visit and tour,

But the Mara River might be left out for sure.


I have not shot a gun, nor hunted a deer,

Nor visited the sun, that’s nowhere near.

An iceberg is so very north and so very cold,

And Heaven’s a place where no tickets are sold.


So, does it matter, that I know this is there?

I understand some things and I truly do care.

I have seen pictures, read papers and feel the sun,

But, perhaps going there would be no fun.


It seems to me, that it is important to learn,

There’s tons on the earth, we all must discern,

Yet, I don’t need to see with my eyes, all I could know,

Animals never belonged in cages, living on show.


If I had a wish that I know would come true,

I would wish all the animals would never be blue.

They would be free as they were meant to be,

And we could be happy without having to see.


I would wish from the bottom of my heart,

That a zoo would not be, not even one part.

Just that animals should live in their home,

And follow their natures, free to roam.


To learn of our planets’ mysteries and laws,

We don’t need to see with our eyes, an animal’s claws.

To learn that these wonders truly exist,

Evidence bubbles forth from abundant scientists.


I saw an elephant mourn her child,

I saw a cub eaten, and a lion roar wild.

I saw a dog shudder at anger and rage,

I saw sadness in eyes long left in a cage.


We are equal you and I.

And they all are too.

One helps the other in a cycle, it’s true.

I want to be home, each and every night,

I believe they do too, it just seems their right.


~ Linda Socha Jaworski




Copyright © 2014 Linda Socha Jaworski. All Rights Reserved.



Arabic Honey Cake

Arabic Honey Cake


Recipe By: Hanadi

Serving Size: 6

Preparation Time: 0:00

Categories: Cakes Desserts Ethnic Nuts Middle Eastern




1/3 cup butter

3 eggs

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 cup flour, all-purpose plus 1 tbl



1/2 cup butter

1/2 cup sugar

1/3 cup honey

1/2 cup slivered almonds

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon


Butter a 10″ pan. Preheat the oven to 400F.

Beat the eggs, sugar and vanilla until it whittens. Add the melted butter and mix well.

Sift the flour and BP. and add to the previous mixture, mix gently

Pour in the prepared pan and bake 10-12 min.

Meanwhile prepare the topping.

Melt the butter on med heat. Add the rest of the ingred. and bring to a boil stirring constantly.

Pour the topping gently on the cake and return it to the oven for another 15-20 min.

Read more at: http://www.internationalrecipes.net/find/Arabic_Honey_Cake

Read more here:

Iraqi Honey Cake


Part II St. George’s Christian Orthodox Church Tbilisi, Georgia

We are on our way, and we know where we want to go, but en route, the biggest surprise of all is how gargantuan Mother Georgia appears; she is coming closer and closer to us as we ascend this hill which seems a mountain!  I enjoy the offering of wine she holds and would love to accept it (no café up there though) and soon we are standing upon yet another terrace.  The view becomes more and more beautiful and now we are in front of St. George’s Orthodox Christian Church, our destination.  It is a small church, and we three peek in the door, which is open and inviting as a soft light allows us to see clearly. It is dusk and the church feels kind and welcoming; we stand on the threshold though because we have no scarves to cover our heads, and no aprons to cover our slacks.  Protocol dictates that women’s head must be covered and skirts worn upon entering the church.  A friendly priest is standing in the center of the church and an unassuming, gentle woman is near the back; Keti speaks to the priest in Georgian, and soon we are invited in, regardless of our inappropriate attire.  He welcomes us and then offers to a synopsis of the church’s history; as he speaks my friend translates.  We can see that the church is freshly covered from top to bottom in icons, icons that had diminished over the centuries and now were being repainted completely and with fresh, natural paints.  The priest explains that only paints mixed from natural ingredients are being used to regenerate the icons.  We see how very proud he is of what has been completed so far as he continues to explain that the paint has been made to last thousands of years!  The colors were indeed extraordinary, made from flowers, rocks and different types of dirt.  St. Georges was built in about 500A.D. and quite nearly buried underground for many years, having been recently unearthed in the 1900’s.  The priest explains that he serves this parish with two other priests and their weekly services are generally full.  This church is quite small, but quite lovely too.  After our time inside the church, he asks us to follow him to the rear and down a short path to another area; a small terrace.  The priest points up to where Mother Georgia proudly stands, and explains that he hopes to build a small water fall there behind the church, to entice walkers up there, to come down for rest and to enjoy the scenery and the church.  The nighttime view of Tbilisi is spectacular; the expanse presents a vibrant, twinkling city where the very very old, meets the modern and new: the diversity in architecture is magnificent.  We all feel so happy!  We walk back to the car via the other side of this grand old hill, and make our way across the city to a beautiful hotel with a terrace restaurant.  Up there, while enjoying a brisk night breeze, and Georgian tea and cake, we take in the view, the view of where we’d just been across the city on the big hill where Mother Georgia watches over her Tbilisi, and that was equally awesome.  That’s just one evening in Tbilisi!  The moral of the story: Have a Georgian friend!  Thank you, Keti – you are the best!Image

St. George’s Georgian Orthodox Church: Part I

     At the bottom of what seems a small mountain, our lovely friend Keti, parks.  We look up, fascinated by a gigantic, metal statue that seems to overlook the city of Tbilisi: Mother Georgia.  My best guesstimate is 30 meters high, but from a distance, difficult to say; research confirmed her height to be 65 feet!  We begin our accent, up to the first church, perhaps 100 or more steps.  The stone steps appear very old, and well traversed.  This first church we met was built partly into the mountain, and we cannot see the inside because it is closed, but the view is beautiful; Tbilisi at dusk.  Again, up too many steps, and another even more beautiful view of this vibrant city spreads before us. The poverty abounds though, on this gigantic hillside, ramshackle houses rest below us slightly distant from the hill, with roofs made from a kind of tin; debris strewn everywhere, and houses that seem themselves in such disarray that only their inhabitants could know to whom each belongs. This scene rests near the bottom of the large hill, just below the glittering, beauty of sparkling lights and life of the city than stretches farther than the eye can see at this moment of nearing dusk.  Again, we ascend more stone steps, along ancient walls, designed by Georgians of old with large stones, patterned within the wall by square flatter bricks.  We are on another level and stop as there is no passage upon which to move further up the hillside to our destination of a Georgian Orthodox Church under renovation, yet working nonetheless.  We are in front of a room, with an open door, and an elderly, smiling woman gleams at the sight of us; she is warm, welcoming and somehow angelic; small, perhaps 4’10” tall.  Our friend speaks to her explaining that we’d like to visit the church, St. George’s, higher up the hill, and she smiles understanding well there is no path, and then she readily guides us to pass through her home!  Among the mess of houses resting now on the hillside itself, with many paneless windows walls, few inhabitants, and doors that don’t lock or exist, on this chilly night, we move through this lovely woman’s home.  Her meager home allows for immediate understanding why she is wearing a wooly hat, long skirt, sweaters and many coverings.  And, the passage through her home, gives one a peek at her life: little furniture, just a table, a chair and this large bowl of grain.  Yet she follows us, smiling, guiding us happily to our destination; in a moment we are through her home and already climbing upwards, the elderly lady calls after us, reminding our friend which way to go, and Keti smiles back over her shoulder assuring our kind new acquaintance that she remembers the way, well.