Why do you look upon me with reproach,
two-eyed fried eggs? I swear, only hunger
and hopelessness have led me to encroach
into the kitchen. The quite pushy monger,
who sold me a used cornucopia
from China, promised me a Peking duck.
Alas, a mustard and a cowpea are
all what drops out if to say “potluck!”
according to instructions… My onlooker,
my oversalted prayer, my lone prey,
my bitter daily bread, forgive the cooker,
whose wife not long ago passed away.
A sleeplessness, a heartburn, an egg white
in frying pan, an endlessly long night.
30/07/2019
Cornucopia Cooking Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
That sickeningly sweet aroma...
Like the begining of a fruits unraveling
Snaking out like a smokey escence
From black and blue dyed fire
That ripples down in uneasy overheated waves.....
The dullest star becomes a nightmarish light
Slicing through the blue flames
Creating even brighter colored sparks
Oversalted raindrops gather in the corner
Then race each other down a flesh made landslide
Green and Red lights seperated by a blazing crystal
Dance a waltz together in and out
Twinkling little jewels across a black dance floor
Weaving into a magical and daring trance
They seperate and choose new partners
I find my heart thrumming in time to their spins
A beautifully familiar tune captures my attention
My pulse races as I look up into open arms and a smile splits my face
I take the hand that I know so well
And I realize what I've been scared of missing all this time...
It. Was. You.