A Bowl of Poetry Soup
Passed down through generations I hold a gift of soup poetry,
it doesn’t matter if it’s hot or cold, as long as it comes in rhyme,
free verse is also tasty when I add a good analogy,
and sometimes I add a little bit of limerick and thyme.
The flavor that I savor is in the magic of the recipe,
boiled in the heat of the night or chilled during the day,
I have tendencies to stir and sip quite constantly,
just like my great grams used to do and say.
She wrote journals of emotions holding dreams of aspirations,
when she died they were handed down to me,
I learned that while making soup poetry I need inspiration,
and keep craving verses that will set me free.
The combination of deep love and gaining old age,
brings me satisfaction when thirsting for release of pain,
sometimes it’s nice to add some haibun and sage,
because adding a little cilantro can leave a senryu stain.
Footles of noodles and chicken marinated in raspberry villanelle,
reminds me of growing up when I was sick with heart ache,
my soup poems were yummy in my tummy with some garlic ghazal,
and when feeling the sorrow of loss, I’d add a fibonacci flake.
The soup poetry that tastes the best are the recipes from the soul,
and when the cooking is done I can sip from a poetry soup bowl!
My Poetry Soup Recipe
January 26, 2017
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