image from dreamstime.com
poem submitted to "What Poetry Soup Means to Me" poetry contest, Tom Woody, sponsor
Words dissolve in a simmering pot~ not soup, but something more. Each ladle releases a new verse, a flavor never before tasted. Some mix their sorrow as deeply as a roux, while others scatter hope like coarse black pepper. A smidgen of resentment bitters the broth while laughter improves the brew. I bring my scraps, my burnt-edged rhymes, my half-chewed thoughts still warm. The pot absolves the awkward lines, transforming them into poesies. And when the steam has filled the room, when my tongue is tinctured, I leave not fed—but changed, undone~ with someone else’s hunger inside.
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
