To a Poet
Ah, Poet – you serve up language
in tiny bite-sized pieces
Like a primped and garnished
entrée of nouveau cuisine.
But can the experiences and emotions
that splat across our lives
Be properly piped onto a plate
sauced and orange peeled, just so?
Instead, with your words drag me
inside your skull to peer out
Objective made subjective
to feel, taste, touch, me within you.
And then and only then, my Poet,
your work will earn from me
The coveted cordon bleu.
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7 comments:
I'm hungry again, and dinner was only two hours ago. Nice images. Thanks for stopping by my blog and congratulations on what appears to be a recent addition to your family--Rebecca.
I feel like in this, perhaps the poet you speak to is yourself. Is that right? It's like you are coaching yourself in how best to be a poet. Interesting --- I do feel sometimes we do know ourselves best, and have great advice to give ourselves...if we'd only listen. ;)
Welcome back to poetry.
Delicious poem and makes the reader think too.
Thanks so much for reading. Kg -- maybe it is to myself, that is a very interesting take on it.
I do appreciate everyone's comments.
Thanks for the tips. I'm not much of a poet, but I try. What do you mean "trigger" language?
What I mean by "it" is that I was protecting the secret of what happened from my mother. For if I told her, she would kill him or harm him in some way that would put her in jail. Therefor there wouldn't be anyone there for my sister.
I tend to get to the point when it comes to telling things. I prefer that, than beating around the bush.
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