3Prompts – 3Poems

A poem about taste:

Artichoke

Picked as buds before they open –

tight-packed petals folding back

in purple-feathered blooms –

till then they’re all about defense,

even the inner, most translucent leaves,

more tender than the naked skin

of new-born mice, are tipped with thorn,

heart guarded by a thicket dense enough

to stifle breath and strangle.

 

An artichoke takes patience to prepare.

Steam or boil the best part of an hour,

cool.  You’ll need a bag or bowl

to catch discarded leaves, mayonnaise

or golden melted butter to dip

the fleshy bottoms of each petal

and slide them through clamped teeth.

 

It tastes simultaneously

robust and delicate –

difficult to define,

instantaneously

recognizable, well-paired

with cream and chicken.

This thistle vegetable

requires time, it’s all about

teeth, tongue, lips and palate.

 

The final denouement is worth

your wait –  the long un-robing,

the extended foreplay.   Eat

so you may understand why hunters

believe that they consume

the virtues of their quarry’s character

while nibbling on his heart.

 

A Skeltonic verse:

Sometimes We

     Sometimes we

     go out to tea

     just to see

     what we

     can see.

     It could be

     marvels tame, but cute

     a bumbershoot,

     a scarlet newt.

     More extravagant and weird

     the man with beard

     who disappeared.

     His simple trick

     made me quite sick!

     What makes things tick?

     I think I might

     reconsider second-sight

     fairies, elves, and djinns,

     moon-swept inns

     on lonely moors,

     creepy tours –

     Victorian lanes,

     clanking chains,

     so de rigueur

     a connoisseur

     could cast no slur.

 

 

A paean to things that happen again and again:

Repeat and Change

 

There’s comfort in what comes again, same place,

same circumstance, same when.  I like to know

the sun will rise, without fail, no surprise,

like to watch the moon change phases, raise

my arms, chant my praises to her lambent

lovely light reigning softly over Night.

They form a frame for Life’s chaotic play

which tumbles us through changes every day,

shifting boundaries so willy-nilly

we are brought up short and silly, confused

as to what happens next; annoyed, perplexed,

intrigued and entertained, stressed by sameness,

stressed by change, loving both what’s old and strange.

Their punctuation to my day and night

helps stave off fright, when every instinct says

to run away, I stay to play another day.

 

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Daily Prompt, NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s