More Poems About Buildings and Food

[SophieC]

And possibly cardigans.

Let's go.

I am horribly unprolific.

Day One: Artichoke
Day Two: Peat
Day Three: Shopping with Derrida
Day Four: Today You Are Not Going to Die
Day Five: Disengaged
Day Six: Expectations
Day Seven: At the End of the Airfield
Day Eight: Script
Day Nine: Love at First Sight
Day Ten: Agnostic
Day Eleven: "I've never wanted to read your poems,"
Day Twelve: Symbols
Day Thirteen: Jack
Day Fourteen: Survivors
Day Fifteen: Hypochondriac
Day Sixteen: Fire
Day Seventeen: After University
Day Eighteen: Jasmine

[RobynD]

Oh, goody, another first-timer! It'll be fun, cardigans and all, you'll see. Welocome to NaPo!

[new leaf]

Buildings and food? Why not both at once?



Happy NaPo, Lemonthief! Glad to see another first-timer here.

[SophieC]

Thanks for the welcomes. And mm, house cakes. Let's roll with the foody theme.

Artichoke

You tell me you want to steal my heart
as if it is the Crown Jewels, or a small slice of the moon,
but it is more likely found in the kitchen.
I give you an artichoke heart.

I cup your fingers around the moist
fleshy globe. And you hold it as you would hold
a baby for the first time, suddenly afraid
of your muscular hands. You did not expect
something so tangible,
so freely given up, and look at me
for instruction. Now that you possess it
you are unsure.

First you want to preserve it,
pickle it in a jar like a science experiment
and place it on a shelf where no one can reach.
Or you could tear small strips
to the core, for a knife would be sacrilege.
Perhaps boil it whole, sink
your teeth into the soft tissue
and consume.

After a while you say
you do not want it. You would rather
an artichoke’s thistle head – tough leaves
packed tight round the centre –
for I have destroyed the mystery of love.

You tell me you want to steal my heart.
I am only being honest.
I give you an artichoke heart.

[new leaf]

Oh, yes. They know what they want, but they don't recognize it when they get it. Well done.

[PClem]

Like the crown jewels and they get a thorny artichoke instead! Great metaphor!

[Emily Bronte]

I do like what you're doing here--the image you develop really works. Fresh take on the subject too. Keep it up!

[M]

Fantastic extended metaphor...and so true. I'll be on the lookout for more. Thanks for the read!

[Scavella]

Yep, I like it too. Nice start!

[Aditi]

Oh, this is special! And quite neatly laid out for a first draft. I enjoyed this, and I keep thinking of Neruda. He has a poem -- Ode to an Artichoke -- different in sentiment, but I like the connection.

To more --

A

[Blythe]

I like it too. Enjoyed reading from start to finish, only tripped over a few rough patches. Great start lemonthief!

[SophieC]

new leaf, PClem, Emily, M. Wooley, Scavella, Aditi, Blythe - thank you so much for the comments! I really do appreciate your taking the time.

Aditi - I've not come across that Neruda poem, I'll have to look it up. I do love his odes, he seems to cover most things!

I'm fully aware I've bitten off more than I can chew with this one, but, I guess that's in keeping with the food theme, eh?

Peat

i.
I remember the jut
of rock, how grass stitched
into a thick jumper
against strong winds.

Somehow peatland
felt like home on a Sunday;
golden, heavy,
immutable.

I was surprised then
when my dad corrected
the guidebook; height
is never exact here.

ii.
“People keep eroding the footpaths
which destroys the wildlife,” you chide,
as I revel in the crackle of heather
beneath my boots. I’d like to hold
your hand, but you insist the path
is only wide enough for one.

I imagine you in the early hours
bowed over an essay on attrition,
immersed in footnotes,
and wonder whether you see
in textbook diagrams.

“These poets,” you wink,
or I imagine you wink, I can only see
your back, “just see what they want to see –
the colours, the beauty of nature,
the river roaring, etcetera.
But they don’t really see.”

iii.
In The Halfway House
you drain a pint, keep one eye pinned
to the Man Utd score.

“I bet they win again,” I groan.

“Maybe,” you shrug,
“but one day they won’t.
They’ll get relegated, and suddenly
you’ll have wrinkles, and love
will seem old, and even
the brickwork of your house
will crumble.”

“That a stone should outlast Shakespeare,” I quote.

“Then why bother?” you ask.

iv.
if I could be absolutely sure
i would unzip myself from my skin
step onto the knife-edge
where at the tip
a moleskine blazes

i make a coffee and wait
for the mug to shatter

v.
we lie together.

i can tell by your soft breaths
that you’re dreaming,
while the usual fears

erode at my temples,
gingerly test
the holes in my skull.

and i think idly,
wouldn’t it be nice
if i was a peat researcher

and life was simply a case
of sticking exactly
to the path.

but it is not.

[poetic gypsy]

Your poem reminds me of one of my favorite quotes, and I'm not sure who the author is, but here it is anyway:

"Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and start a new one."

“These poets,” you wink,
or I imagine you wink, I can only see
your back, “just see what they want to see –
the colours, the beauty of nature,
the river roaring, etcetera.

Thank goodness for poets!! Two very nice poems here. Keep up the good work.
Danielle

[-willowfire-]

I enjoyed both of these, especially the first. Both really solid entries. Can't wait to see more!

[SophieC]

Love the quote Danielle, and thanks willowfire!

*groan*

Shopping with Derrida

Stop wondering where you presently exist.
You’re blocking people from the fresh fruit rack,
enraptured in my scribbled shopping list.

“Please don’t make this difficult,” I hiss,
“it’s only meant to be a little snack.”
Stop wondering where you presently exist,

‘cause I admit, I’m getting pretty pissed,
and biting on my tongue to hold words back.
Enraptured in my scribbled shopping list,

you’re really doing nothing to assist,
I swear I’ve had it up to here now Jacques.
Stop wondering where you presently exist

or hell, I’ll have to drag you by the wrist.
Just help me find the fucking biscuit packs.
Stop wondering where you presently exist,
enraptured in my scribbled shopping list.