Poetry Soup Kitchen
Poetry Soup Kitchen
On a dark and stormy night, when the temperature plummeted to zero below,
A poor soul was lost and frozen, in the cold and blinding snow.
All was darkness, all was quiet, all around, until just a tiny glimmer of light far away was found.
Nearly frozen to the bone and feeling so alone,
The lost soul stirred at the sight, one hope that yonder glows.
One weary foot into deep cold snow, then the next, and again, he made his way into the night, pressing against the wind.
The light grew brighter as each step brought him closer yet, to a home with windows alight, him shivering and wet.
A sign, nearly covered with ice and diamond flecks of snow,
Ungloved,frozen hand wipes it away, so the words would show...
“Wordtown Wanderers Poetry Soup Kitchen, won't you please come inside?”
Knock knock, ding dong, then the door opens wide!
Light, heat, voices, and smells of food, no lie…
More signs with more words to read, instruction, and directions explain…
no person greets the weary stranger, the silence around was strained.
Following the signs, both written, heard, and smelled,
The Wanderer enters to see letters on every shelf!
His mouth began to water, so hungry and thirsty was he,
So he got into the line with others like him so it seemed.
Along the wall were tables, with huge steaming soup pots.
People standing behind them, to serve you what they got.
Finally, he arrived at the front and with a huge bowl and plate,
He was served a little from every pot,and then sat down and ate.
Oh! heaven in the first bite! Warm and meaningful words, a bite from each offering brought tastes he'd never before heard.
Feeling so welcome and satisfied, the stranger fell asleep…
… Only to wake the next day with consequences to Reap.
The people who had served him such fancy beautiful prose,
Said that tonight was his turn to share recipes he knows!
“You will cook your own soup today and serve it to us tonight,
Don't you worry, we've all been there, beginners, so it's alright.”
The stranger decided to do his best to return the kindness shown,
For the next few hours he poured his heart into soup of his own!
A dash of melancholy, a pinch of descriptive prose, don't forget good Grammar, and metaphor, a big dose!
Everything he needed to make his poetry in the big soup pot…
The kitchen had an abundance, all the words were all in stock.
When dinner time came around his hands began to shake…
What if they don't like the kind of soup I make?
The line began,a bowl in hand, the people all were served.
Then such a silence fell, no noise ,no not a word !
Then a loud clatter as a woman dropped her spoon…
She stood and started a slow clap. Then each one of the others did too!
Applause rang out as someone gave a shout and the stranger, a stranger no more, started to cry but on his anxious face was the biggest smile he'd ever worn before!
From that day on the ‘not a stranger’, ate so many unique and wonderful things,
And shared his recipes and soup and today his heart Sings!
Every once in a blue moon, when temperatures sink really low, they get another stranger to come in from the cold.
They welcome everyone with a warm and full bowl, they share their love and heart with this poetry soup for the soul.
Copyright ©
Crystol Woods
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