As he spoke of life he bristled
A soft rustiness in his voice
Calling you to listen
While challenging you not to
Those who listened seemed pleased
Those who didn’t seemed confused
Both unable to turn away
Captured by the cadence of the moment
Some thought about what he said
Some called him a fool
Yet, all continued to listen
To the sonorous tone of his voice
Some would return
Some would not
It mattered not to him
For he knows
He is an acquired taste
Seaweed, another nutritious meal,
With an acquired taste in a meal,
I desire for my breakfast,
What is the purpose,
Is it the cellulose,
That is so delicate to be pulled by the force,
Enhanced by the source,
Here, I found the origin,
I wish it would taste addictive like margarine,
Or tangerine,
In the summer,
I blenched it with salt and water,
It could not get any better,
What is more settler,
I grab a bowl,
The essence is rich,
Yet, I extract it for more,
I don't want to get the tongue sore,
I let the broth do more,
It is an enjoyable meal,
I set it on the chill,
I wait until till,
What does it call then,
I could have it by ten,
How much I appreciate it, till then.
The peach sits
heavy in my palm,
its fuzz a soft promise
against my calloused hand.
I bite in too soon,
its flesh hard and sour.
A pit splits open
revealing cyanide
disguised as an almond.
The juice drips
down my chin,
sticky and acidic,
but I swallow anyway—
wanting doesn’t wait.
Like fine wine,
She's an acquired taste.
Some will like her,
Others will not.
They can take her
In small sized portions,
Samples,
Or one sip at a time.
Not a full glass,
And never in one go.
She may be
What they want at first,
But so time will move
And while wine
Goes better with time,
She is decidedly not
Or so they will say
As they grow tired of her.
She is no longer for their palate,
Their taste, liking, or desire.
She is not what they long for,
At least not any more.
Not the way she was before.
She is an acquired taste,
She is not for everyone,
But maybe she is for someone.
In 2016 when I bought my town house,
one of my first visitor's was my ex-spouse.
He wanted me prepared for life's breaks and knocks,
so he gifted me my very first tool box..
I never acquired these skills in our long marriage he was the fixer,
and I never felt disparaged.
A hammer comes in handy and pliers too, but
what is a lever supposed to do?
I own an "adjust and flow aerator", which I'm not using now
and never will later.
There's a pair of clippers way too sharp for my hair.
If I need some snippers there are beauty shops here..
If I'm suddenly threatened and fearful of my life,
I'll pull out my non-functioning exacta knife.
He also included a package of white grease, which
came with cautions, does he want me deceased?
Some tools now sit idle in there neat canvas case as
I'll always hire a handyman when needed at my place.
The quiet heart dines with memories stored
payment acquired from every charade
some are of dark times by my own accord
I've no concern about how long they've stayed
some are pleasant guests lost in a daydream
when life was consumed in joyous fashion
and moonbeam faces held smiles all agleam
as emotion fills each cup with passion
pleasant or dark each memory is mine
though a few are shared with lovers I've known
they may not have kept them if so inclined
these that I have are memories I own
they flicker like candles time looks upon
the yesterdays lived, that have come and gone
2/25/23
Kids and dogs tend to like me.
The kids because they sense
I haven’t grown up yet,
The dogs sniffing the essence
Of a long-lost puppy inside.
Adults seem to be more standoffish
Probably put off by my lingering puppy grin.
Eventually we find a common ground
As I have been defined as “an acquired taste”.
And cats, self-centered as they are
Often seek my counsel (aka treats)
Sprawl before me in feigned submission
Purring, as cats do, in conquest.
©10/23/2022
Our innate magnetism Poetry Contest
You are what you eat; it is true,
So cannibals are people too!
5/06/22
Killing with an Epigram contest
Sponsor: Margarita Lillico
Faith is a purchased, acquired
taste; when faith well tested often
left little trace – auto insur., house insur.,
marriage certificate, legal documents galore,
the myth of a handshake, like the welcome
at the door, even the priest not free to freely
explore, known for his faithless donations,
and perhaps nameless more – “Praise the
Lord, and pass the ammunition” – we trust
in God's Love, but for human failures of
faith, settle for contrition after contrition –
“Turn the other cheek”, but never to the
point of retreat – man's victories, arguably
his soul's defeat –
The odor of spoiled milk
waged a scented battle
with a too full diaper.
His pablum drool
swung on a saliva string.
"Ain't he cute!!" I asked
"He's my baby brudder."
John G. Lawless
12/1/2020
An Acquired Taste for Wine
David J Walker
A sip only
And
Only a sip
That might be savored
Avoiding the bitter
The soured
Searching for the
Unique in flavor
A bouquet
That which does not
flower
Before its time
Rather than
Falling into the dark
Drunkenness
Of the wrong wine
I sit on the fence
Would like to be eccentric
But don’t quite pull it off
I still cater to way too many people
Yet I’ll never become their puppet
So beware to those who
Try to pull their stunts
I don’t handle well
Being manipulated
Though I’ll applaud it
If well done
I no longer have it in me to be
That lovely little cheerful girl
The naïve type I used to be
Especially when dealing
With people who’ve been known
To try to take advantage of me
I can move on but can’t forget
I’m OK with being an acquired taste
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on July 8, 2019 for contest YOU AND YOURS, LET'S GET PERSONAL sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 2nd
Originally posted on December 2, 2018
gain human conscience
make understandable science
I want to be a fireman
I want to be a cop
I want to be a celebrity
Don't want to work at I-Hop
I want to be a quarterback
I want to be a split end
I want to be a running back
Don't want to be a lineman
I want to be a doctor
And wear a long white gown
Or maybe I'll be Mayor
And get the keys to the town
I want to be a general
And lead my troops to war
I don't want to be a librarian
That looks like a real bore
I want to be a movie star
And drive a fancy car...
But did you ever hear a kid say
You know what?
I want to be a poet!
Sweet sweets, the marrow and feets. This lusting for organs, sinew, and meats. Lovely is this vibration of death echoing along my taste buds. Warm, pungent breath. Like a holocaust nightmare filling my lungs with blood. I’ve that slow motion gaze. Trapped in a moment on repeat. It’s flavor. It’s a dream. The dull click of bone shards meeting my teeth, and the pop of my jar meshing together in one single romantic duet. Lament for decay, consumption. Everything devours everything and we’re all lost in oblivion. Beyond the mouth of madness, down the hatch onto our final movement. Stomach lining of the abyss is where we’ll meet at last.
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