Friday, November 9, 2012

Pumpkin curry. Why is poetry scary to some?

I eat pumpkin curry but the making of intimidates me for some unexplored reason. Perhaps, the cutting up of the heavy, recalcitrant, bulbous body.

Why do some announce: I don't read poetry; I don't get it.

Perhaps, they make pumpkin curry on a regular basis. I could learn much from them.

Am I suggesting fear is a teacher? The unknown a mentor?

1 comment:

  1. no daggers shining she steps back
    from the open door

    is there a chance that the risk
    should not be taken?

    no answers present themselves
    as they gaze around the portal

    unseen by the guards and their
    incessant chatter, she bends down

    and inspects the stones thrown in patterns
    tries to make a sentence or a phrase

    but no power is found beyond her own
    and she feels the coax of sleep, a warm breeze