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oatmeal water
| Open Poetry #5 |
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oatmeal water |
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bsquirrel
since 2000-01-03
Posts 7855
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Just to show that, yes, I am capable of happy work, too. I can't control where my mind takes me.  Mike -oatmeal water- A bird outside was talking to another bird. I couldn't understand what it said with my Human ears, or My child's eyes fermenting in my adult-like body. What I did hear, though, and understood clearly, Was the pot of water boiling on the ring burner. Steam and hissing and all sorts of noise -- Pay attention to me! Don't leave me stranded! In retaliation, I stood up from what I was writing, Went to the early morning kitchen light, And fixed myself a passable breakfast Of citrus and oatmeal, Glass and bowl. Sitting back down with chunks of cereal Floating in oatmeal water, I noticed the birds were gone; But somewhere still, I could hear their song. |
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Meadowmuse Member Elite
since 1999-12-27
Posts 3263 |
I loved the description of your morning...neat perspective. It is in the details of our lives that one can find the stories. Thanks!  Claire |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
Cute! Maybe the birds were your early warning system that the oatmeal was going to burn?  |
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
This is a happy poem! Happy and cute! Denise |
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Rosemary J. Gwaltney Senior Member
since 1999-08-26
Posts 997northern mountains, Idaho |
Sounds like me trying to cook and write at the same time! I love the line "My child's eyes fermenting in my adult-like body." Exquisite wording there. I like this. |
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bsquirrel
since 2000-01-03
Posts 7855 |
Thanks for all the praise, and I'm glad you all enjoyed this. These types of poems are what I call antidotes to myself. Due to a ... very interesting ... past, I seem to be fixated on issues I wish I weren't so fixated on -- abuse, anger, regret, longing. Well, those aren't so much issues as pieces of a very broken puzzle. But we all need our escapes, and sometimes, my poetry is too real to me, to close to the truth, to be fantasy. I love having fun, and do, but that just doesn't seem to enter my poetry very much. So here's the antidote to too much seriousness. Long live fun! Mike (this post is pretty ironic, considering the next poem I'm about to post ... the truest thing I've put up here yet, and one that's finally let me step back from a very fragile relationship and see it for what it is) |
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