Dining on Poetry

My mouth gushes with ink

My mind convulsing with bursting thoughts

My stomach so full of metaphors and rhymes

I’ve been eating poetry

I lick my plate clean

Not a stanza  left

My chef and waitress have gone home,

done with preparing lines and have stopped posting frequently

Not even a glass of Haiku to quench my thirst.

I arrived at the WordPress Diner for breakfast of Villanelle and Ballade

So sweet in repetition, but need a Rondeau to drizzle on top.

My mouth and stomach could hardly take it all in, but I was still hungry for more.

I take a perfect bite of a ending couplet,

which reminds me of a food critic said in their blog:

“Poetry makes the uncomfortable, comfortable; and the comfortable, uncomfortable.”

I decide on comfort food for a brunch

I ask for a glass of Micro-poetry with Burlesque and a side of Cinquain.

With fork and knife in hand, I greedily cut into each word

Why did the poet choose this over that?

With my belly so full, I leave my table with the staff knowing all to well that I’d be back.

I take a walk down the street,

and see the sign “Memory Lane”,

to burn off my calorie-knowledge,

I look into each soul and a see a recipe.

I take my time looking through the small town grocery and look for the very best ingredients for my new found recipe:

An organic adjective

A whole english jargon inter-weaved

A bag of rhymes

A pound of similes

A container of stressed and unstressed syllables

I take my spot near the window, again, at the WordPress Diner.

The sunshine on my pages as I cook with my ingredients following the recipe, but adding a pitch here or there for creative licensee.

I post for other diners to snack on

and I get lovely reviews!

WordPressBlogger123 liked your post on WordPressWriterIAm

appears on e-mail and fills my heart with pride for my scrumptious creation.

A little peckish before my noon day meal

I dig through my previous diners scrapes,

and chow down on some Found poetry.

I look at all the choices on the menu and it’s so hard to decide!

An appetizer of Concrete with a lunch of Harlem Renaissance style?

Oh, what does my palate desire this time?

A waitress comes around, finally, and takes my order

I order a tall glass of Canzone and a meal of Free Verse

Thoughts, line breaks, and emotional good-byes dribble down my chin

I have no use for a napkin because dessert!

Ghazal with an icing of Horatian ode

I use a Limerick to wipe away my tears.

Satisfied, I start chatting with my friends to see if they are free to bake

Some reply back that they are living life to write another day

Others have kids and jobs, who let’s that get in the way?!

But my true friends have notebooks in hand

Renga is the cake we will bake!

So many layers, how will it fit in the oven!?

There are almost too many cooks in the kitchen,

but the styles and favors they bring!

Finally, we all settle down to enjoy a slice.

We talk of new recipes

and other bloggers

The dishes we’ve tasted

always the subject of these chats.

I can’t believe my eyes, it’s tea time,

Memoriam stanza is what I’ll sip.

I drift off and almost miss supper

I feel like a farmer’s boy running home late to eat dinner of Idyll.

Rushing into the WordPress Diner once again

I know exactly what I yearn for,

I worked up an appetite running here,

An Epic is what I should feast on!

I dig in and so enchanted on the story, I drop plenty of crumbs on the table cloth

Hunger past a long while ago, but still not full I say:

“Go big or go home”

My final dessert is a enticing Ode.

I begin to wonder,

Excessive eating can lead to obesity,

But what does bingeing on poetry do?

 

poetry-720609_960_720

Pixabay/user:Counselling

 

 

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5 responses »

  1. you definately have a “taste” for poetry…. what a very talented post!!! It was like watching a TV show with only words– very discriptive 🙂 LOVED IT

    Like

  2. There once was a girl on WordPress
    Who said that poetry is a must!
    She writes poetry all day
    And doesn’t let anything get in the way!
    What a fine writer she is!

    Like

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