Ledge. How is a collection of poems like a ledge?

It enjoys the privilege of a shelf or precipice. My grandmother said she heard that collected poems have been observed scuba diving in a reef.



Suspect yet charming like certain foods. I'm thinking blood oranges. Pineapple mint.

Qualify. How does a poem qualify for a title?

Or does the title qualify for a poem?
And what of individual words?


Time to return to tea & question: leaves & water.

Unshakable. What is unshakable in a poem?

An unshakable faith in word and the space in-between. An unshakable exploration of both.



What is unshakable in a meal? The unshakable faith the ripe has in a bowl. Or the human hand to hold.

Malice. Does a poem wish words malice?

Or words, malice to a poem? Neither, I believe. (And what faith-system might that be?) And yet, there are wicked poems and poems wickedly written and deliciously spoken.



In cooking ingredients, cookware, knife, and recipe need to coexist and soar. Mindfulness with a tinge of heat & laughter. Remember, a tongue is the possibility of flame. I do believe, charred peppers (yellow, orange & red) are a delightful, spirited conversation.

Ritual. Is there a ritual to writing poetry?

Two (not mutual exclusive). (1) Whatever it takes for inspiration. (2) Whatever it takes to create a writing discipline. Candles, do no harm. Neither the cat. Neither a cafe. Nor a museum.



Hunger is a personal ritual to cooking. As is the desire to feed people. Cooking inspires poems; I know this personally.

Intersect. With what does a poem intersect?

A place in words. Thus, sound & memory.

Happy Thanksgiving. Instead of turkey, serve a poem.


GRATEFUL TO BE IN PLACE

All life begins
with a list:

wash windows
clean oven
oil table
prune flowers/change water
open refrig/take inventory

eat the spinach
milk expires in 3 days
fish in less

No stopping you

eat last serving
chicken soup
for breakfast

buy candles
plug in small space heater
cat demands petting
(your intention, anyway)

As you write, the unexpected

a book is a room
& words: sound

Out of somewhere
where you are
not
that Thanksgiving
song

yet
snow-less
& sled-less
& grandmother
some 50 years,
dead

Wet. What is wet poetry?

Wet, as in "behind the ears?"
Wet, as so fresh as the letters are not completely dry?
Wet, as in the subject matter. Rain, monsoon, drownings of all stripes.
Or soggy. Boggy.
Remember, the weight of water overwhelms paper & pen.


So logically we move to wet food. Soups both hot & cold. Mostly steaming & fragrant to the kitchen as flowers to a table. To chicken soup add curried cauliflower. Yes, no one is looking --enjoy it for breakfast. A savory start. Consider, soup as the idea form/format/inspiration for the next poem (as in the last).

Physics. Does poetry adhere to the laws of physics?

Yup. Matter. Bodies of letters falling. Palpable energy.


A good cook understands (perhaps, without verbalizing) the byways of physics. Energy rearranged on a plate for a grateful mouth. For that matter, conversation also.

Glass. Is the surface of a poem like glass?

Definitely. Except when it is as stone and/or crater. Or crinkled paper.


In a meal, the glass surface usually is a container. Except when we are speaking of ice and deliciously and tremendously chilled. As in a martini. Of course, it being also contained by glass.

Eerie. Are poems eerie?

Sometimes, eerie as the word eerie.


Though not as otherworldly eerie as Buddha's hand. Or the odoriferous durian?

Prey. What does a poem prey upon?

Silence. And is well fed.


A meal cannot be created in total silence. A cook should mediate upon incomplete silence while she turns up the heat. Perhaps, too, a poet captures the beveled edge of things.

Bartender. How is a poet like a bartender?

The bartender tends the bar. Keeps conversation & liquids in a fine balance. The poet (a wordtender) tends to the shape & sound of letters, until a receptive ear arrives.



So, is cooktender (cook-tender?) instruction in a recipe? Or an Old English word for the one who tends the meal? Perhaps, we should ask Gertrude.

Shimmer. What makes a poem shimmer?

Two things. Pen on paper. Light.


The sheen on soup can shimmer and rival any accompaniment of words. Especially chicken.

Honey. How do you tell if there is honey in a poem?

The ear is the grand marshall of taste.


Honey in tea is grand. Honey on particular cheeses is divine. The language of honey rivals the word-gestures of wine.

Olives. How are poems like olives?

No, this is no more a riddle than a meal. Olives come with and without pits. Poems come with and without narrative. Logic is simple as a dominant hand.


Olives can be the center of a meal (pits or pitted). Simply add to the olives of your choice: feta cheese, tomatoes,fuyu persimmons, cooked green beans, fresh parsley, a twist of pepper. The color alone is worth the mouth's wait.

Harvest. Is a poem a harvest of words?

Exclusive? Prose, also?
Perhaps, you were saying, harvest of sound.

& the taste in the mouth equates to the harvest of a meal. And its color. Quite orange. A healthy orange.