It starts with sitting all alone in a train station.Then moves to the lonely walk through whole foodsas busy regulars rush around them - paying no mind.From here they walk back through packed streets
To a hotel room where they might as well besitting alone. Not entirely surrounded with a mobof cheerful people but still not living the definitionof being alone by what the dictionary might say.
For anyone else, this is probably a moment theywould have forgotten. Something shuffled intothe deck of cards that is life - very rarely pulling an ace from their sleeve.
The first step is a sharp knife that is sunken into a wedge of brie. No knife is used for the separation of bread - it is simply torn apart by the wild horses -no limbs in sight to split them apart on.
Such a simple meal - accompanied by a beverage - which doesn't fill up the stomach at first glance. Holding it in their hands brings on the feelings ofhundreds of generations.
With the seeds falling on the table, the consumeris soon surrounded by a mess they don't have the skillsto clean up. It's easy to wipe the seeds up but it's notso simple to take care of the brain.
Second. I'm really excited you're tackling food poetry again, because you're good at it and food is great.
On your first poem, like I said in the pad I like this poem a lot because it does feel like reflective of something more than the reader is seeing, you're giving the reader like a tiny window into a bigger story - but then leaving a few really loaded lines that make it seem like there's something big we're missing. It definitely gives it a mysterious quality, and prompts reflection on the narrative. I like your voice and word choice quite a bit in the first poem too. Looking forward to your NaPo Jack!
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
The average amount of seeds in bread goes from zero to twelve.
Seeds often fall on the table of life but with this bread, there is somuch effort that goes into retaining the ingredients. They are partof the overall flavor of the bread that is antagonized by the butteryspread.
Sometimes life needs a little bit of help with the taste that it's goingto leave in an unfortunate soul's mouth.
Just like sometimes good memories can turn bad. The certainreflections on things thought to be happy can be turned around bythe memories that accompany it.
When they first look back on the seeds in the bread, they thoughtthat it was one of those happy memories. One of their very fewhappy thoughts. But the longer that they look down on themself, sitting at a table spreading butter on bread, they realize that it wasn'ta happy memory at all.
It was a reflection on the overall loneliness that they have spent their entire life suffering through.
~
The average amount of seeds in bread goes from zero to twelve.
Another good memory turned sourlike a blueberry that looks ripe on theoutside and then turns bitter in be-tween their jaws. It's something that
they wanted to be looking down on.On that picnic table representing every-thing in their life and waiting for the antsto come and sample everything.Sitting among everything else are the simple blueberry pancakes. Some of the ingredients are from the local fieldsand others are reminders of the oldmills by the Spanish springs.
Each bite of those pancakes is a reminder of the day so far and the workthat they've done to dine on the flatfruit cakes that were presented beforethem.
This is one of the few memories that they can look back fondly upon.
A series of fond times that haven't been taken away by growing up,and recovering the bad thoughts that had been painfully locked away.
All in attempt to protect the inside of their mind. They've slowly hurt themself to hide away in an alternate galaxy where they don'thave to feel any fear while eating batter shaped into the head of a mouse. The specific one representing capitalism.
But still they try to wipe away all the bad thoughts of adulthood tofocus on pouring syrup on the divots in the grid cake before them.
And then they realize these irons aren't sold anymore and they aregetting old.
It's an unpopular opinion. You can complain about thepresence of walnuts withinthe larger product, but it'ssomehow offensive to pointout that bananas don't exactlybelong in bread. And you shouldn't get hatemail for disliking having theape's favorite food in some-thing you would have likedto eat a sandwich on.
It's an easy dessert to misspell with reminders of the family that they miss. They'd like to go back a step to when they were sitting on a stoop step, their grandfather smoking a cigar, and they're writing a new comedy routine. And turning to the other grandfather That was what they were looking forward to but they never got to have such a moment. Death had taken away their hopes and dreams to be a comedy queen and a farm core dyke. So now, like with every other dish, they sit alone on the roof of their apartment building. Eating bits of apple strudel while they act out parts of their new comedy routine and move about to tend to the community garden.
It's moving between the moods of a society that values itself on its ability to give a per- formance with every meal served. And this one is one of the most theatrical on the menu.
One cube of sugar or two? Yes or no to lemon? Is the lavender too strong? Or is the tangerine just right?
Part of the walk about the stage, across the finely woven and perfectly colored carpets, are the elegant clothes that hang over layer of petticoats.
Where did your gown come from? Oh - is it home made? Or made by a maid?
Watching the guests' eyes as they judge the birds drawn into the wall paper. It matches perfectly to the golden cranes supporting the granite table top.
That is such a unique table. It seems perfectly French for the rest of the room. Are we eating in your Louisiana style?
And there it begins. That the guests are different from the host. They all were born into high society but born into different parts of the country with opposite morals.
As I'm reading these, it's definitely stirring up a lot of memories I have with some of these different food-items too! It's interesting how deeply food is rooted into our memories, relationships, culture etc.
I really liked the Blueberry Pancake one - I think because it felt pretty straight-forward and emotionally very expressive. But I think my favorite so far is this last tea-party one - your imagery and little details and dialogue are just perfect, it's a fun read with a lot of depth.
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
Wow, I haven't read many poems in my life about food, so these were a real treat to be able to read! I really enjoyed your banana bread poem - I myself am not a fan of banana bread (although my entire family is) so I really liked the humor you placed into that piece. I also really liked your Colonial Tea Party poem, especially the stanza where you wrote "Oh - is it home made? Or made by a maid?"
Keep up the great work!
-- "And I love the thought of being with you, or maybe it's the thought of not being so alone." ♡
It's a very simple concept. Actually simple this time.
Boil the water and wait for the kettle to whistle. Place the honey in the bottom of the cup, squeezethe lemon juice on top of the honey, and leave thecitrus rind in the cup with the newly inserted teabag.
Now comes the water, flowing out of the kettledown its graceful path to create the vibrant beverage to clear the throat of sick creator.
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