Persephone’s Return
Mama, mama look at me. I’m still you daughter: nothing’s changed.
I love him, mama, I can’t help it. All the others, they just saw all your
connections. Little girl with her mother’s strings to pull. But mama,
he saw me. Not just that girl, that little virgin. Someone’s daughter.
Do you ever wonder what I think and feel? What I have to say?
He does, mama. And he listens. No one ever cared before, but he does.
We can talk and talk for hours. Can’t you see: He loves me.
Please don’t make me leave him, mama. I believe I’d die without him.
I can’t stand it if you hate me. Mama, please don’t turn away.
HOW TO EAT A POEM(A-GRANATE)
Poems are quite delicious and can be used in a variety of recipes.
The trickiest part is learning how to eat them… or more to the point,
learning how to prepare them for eating.
Some grocery chains now offer the words in a ready-to-eat state.
Purchasing poems this way costs more,
but the convenience is well worth the extra money.
The biggest problem is the juice.
Poems juice can easily stain your hands,
clothing and countertops,
if you aren’t careful.
(Because of these staining issues,
many poem lovers choose to only eat them at home.
Some will go so far as to suggest they only be enjoyed,
while relaxing in a hot bath.)
Many people claim that the easiest way to eat a poem
is to score the verses multiple times
and then soak the words in a bowl of water, for up to 10 minutes.
Because they will float, it is best to weigh them down, slightly.
After the words have gone through this soaking process,
the emotions will pull away from the imagery
(or meaning, as it is referred to)
relatively easy.
Remember, the poems should remain in the water, while peeling.
Once peeled, pour off the water.
Since the images are heavier than the emotions,
they will remain on the bottom of the bowl… for the most part.
The emotions will drain away with the water.
At this point, it is very simple
to retrieve the images from the bowl and eat as desired.
They are extremely yummy just by themselves.
A second way to eat poems is similar to the first
in the respect that a bowl of water is needed.
Score the words several times and then cut or break into fourths.
Hold each quarter over the bowl and hit the verse side,
firmly, with the back of a large spoon.
After the meanings fall into the bowl,
follow the remaining steps as mentioned above.
Poem imagery can be safely stored in the refrigerator
or even frozen, for later use.
However, these words are so delicious
that they are most often consumed in one setting.
Have you eaten YOUR poems, today?
(most words borrowed from:
http://pomegranateinformation.com/pomegranate/how-to-eat-a-pomegranate/ )
The penultimate prompt for PAD November: begin with a number
Three
Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead.
_________________Benjamin Franklin
there was something, air perhaps, or water
something in the garden dirt
or something in the plants
brought those to town with secrets
lured them in and held them mute
let them hide the past inside
let them shape it as they would
so their lives could flow around it
undisturbed by yesterday.
Like a city full of dead men
they were safe.
.
through looking glasses
we emerge inside our selves
in ways we would not
imagine dreaming.
Flick gray tails and run
down trees, cheeks
puffed with seeds.
Stroll beneath chairs
wash our faces with
pink paws, yawn.
Streak the sky with white
long unbroken streams
and crystalize our fire.
Break rock with time
and tentacular toes.
I am puppeteer to make
an avalanche of words
emerge from you
You control my tides
with gestures whip
my depths to froth
I see you
beside me
You see me
standing by you.
today’s prompt was to write a poem of temperature
I chose to think of winter.
hemispheres
does the sun feel earth’s
cold shoulder
as she turns away
to face another, distant chill and constant
not a lover, other.
polar as the dark dichotomy of night
beckoning her northern hemisphere?
we shiver
in the wind of polar stars
sun caresses
our southern hemispheres
searing tender places with burning glances
and drinking dry dark chasms with hot breath,
while we,
wrapped in wool
close our eyes
dream of palms
and salty spray
