NAPOWRIMO Days 15,16 and 18--Belated
Very late and in no particular order, here are three more NAPOWRIMO poems. Hooray! Now I'm all caught up--poetically, at least. And no, the post title has nothing to do with anything, save I thought it had a pretty ring to it. *laugh*
Okay, no more hem-hawing. Here you go:
The gravy swirls into smooth bubbles which pop
brown across the stove top. Hot outside today, the air above
the stove is hazy; away from the burner the bubbles
murmur to a stop, but memories are always astir.
While cooking anything its hard not to think on things passed.
People of the past. Bridges burnt like plastic spoons left
in gravy pans while fixing up a pot pie. They bend till
they are backwards, beyond use. So I cook for myself.
For any kind of sustenance can provide substance to the
most maudlin moments; flake of the pie crust, shape of
mouths smiling through morsels of food, cold beers, wood table,
till suddenly the meal is over and the night creeps in upon the kitchen…
Dinner: scent of oven, bubble of gravy, cooking alone, the quiet of a hot
afternoon in a bridgeless country of spoons that can no longer stir.
The Numbers Game
Seven billion people in the world; seven billion chances to get it right. Growing every day.
If life were any
what would we
see at the
end of it?
Beauty queens in sparkling
gowns under spotlights? Late
night skin-e-max? A clash
of MMA giants? Death of
our spouse? Tickle fits and
(Sublime cosmic divine presence with the white light at the end of the tunnel and everything?!)
So just another gorgeous
empty show of beauty
and god in a moment?
Don't close your eyes
unless you must. You
might miss it.