Don’t know what was wrong with Aunt Jenina
Though her face bore a dull green patina
Her pancakes sure tasted good
Like buttermilk pancakes should
We rued the day she switched to farina
When I was young, on winter days
If it was really cold,
My mother made farina
(Which is healthy, I am told).
The bowl, when placed in front of me,
Was steaming hot and full
And likely many people
Would be tempted by its pull.
But I was not among them,
For each spoonful was a chore.
I ate until I hit a lump
And then would eat no more.
I still won’t try farina,
Oatmeal, porridge or the like.
If those were all my choices,
I’d begin a hunger strike.
My breakfast needs a bagel
Or a muffin or some cake.
A bowl of something mushy
Served to me? A huge mistake!
Blue is the color of the sky and the sea on a sunny day
Blue skies are skies that are ripe for sailors and for sailing, and
we all wonder what's at the bottom of the beautiful 'deep, blue sea'
Blue is the color of the 'blues,' a uniquely American musical style
one that originated in the context of a hard-scrabble existence
be it in the coal mines of Appalachia, the cotton fields of the South
or the concrete jungle ghettos of New York City and Chicago
This blue has even sneaked into our holidays: Elvis had a 'blue, blue
blue Christmas' -- hubba, hubba; and it is the color in one of the lines
of perhaps the most often recited, well-known American poem ever:
'Roses are red / Violets are blue...' even though they're usually purple
All of which begs the question: Which blue is true? Is it
positive or negative? Is it the beautiful sky and sea blue
or is it the blue of no job and no hope? Perhaps the answer
is that it's both, as Richard Farina once put it so succinctly:
'Been down (blue) so long that it looks like up (blue) to me'
January 05, 2019
Entry in "Blue" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
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