Tine After Tine
tuning fork for matching pitch
long-handled fork to scratch an itch
fork in the road to force a decision
(fork not as good as knife for incision)
garden fork for hard-packed soil
forklift spares your back the toil
bicycle fork suspends your wheels
favorite fork: the one at meals
HM 2015
all rights reserved
Showing posts with label kitchen poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kitchen poems. Show all posts
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Saturday, January 24, 2015
deeper wisdom: what the knife knows
Illness precluded a Friday post, but a visit to the doctor (combined with 72 hours forced rest) has led to a slight improvement and a Saturday post. In response to the Ditty of the Month Club challenge hosted by Michelle Heidenrich Barnes and inspired by Joyce Sidman's work in Winter Bees, I offer the following. Like Liz Steinglass, I opted to explore the wisdom of an everyday object rather than of nature, and I took a little liberty with the form as well.
What Does the Knife Know?
What does the knife know?
Red tautness of tomato's skin.
Onion's shallot's garlic's kin.
Juicy slick of vitamin.
Jolt of pit or stone within.
What does the knife know?
Tender coarseness of the crumb.
Whack of steel on boarden drum.
Whorl and loop don't armor thumb.
Better bleeding cut than numb.
Heidi Mordhorst 2015
all rights reserved
I have only just realized that knife goes with spoon. I guess a fork poem is on its way...and is anyone else having trouble, as they read these deeper wisdom poems, screening out repeated mental blarings of "What does the fox say?"
What Does the Knife Know?
What does the knife know?
Red tautness of tomato's skin.
Onion's shallot's garlic's kin.
Juicy slick of vitamin.
Jolt of pit or stone within.
What does the knife know?
Tender coarseness of the crumb.
Whack of steel on boarden drum.
Whorl and loop don't armor thumb.
Better bleeding cut than numb.
Heidi Mordhorst 2015
all rights reserved
I have only just realized that knife goes with spoon. I guess a fork poem is on its way...and is anyone else having trouble, as they read these deeper wisdom poems, screening out repeated mental blarings of "What does the fox say?"
Friday, January 16, 2015
pick up an object: spoon poem
I liked
Amy's idea and Hope's spoon
so much last Friday
that it carried me
like a weebling egg
to this:
Scoop
scoop of my heart
in a crude wooden spoon
scoop of my heart
soured and soon
there will be nothing left
no sweetness or cream
bowl will be empty
empty will dream
of scoops of white foam
spoonfuls of fizz
filling my heartbowl
where yearning is
HM 2015
all rights reserved
Go live at Live Your Poem today with Irene and the rest of the Poetry Friday crowd. How I miss you all between Fridays!
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