Limes

The astringent has it place.  Often in demand.  Squeezed on avocado or chicken.  Or the combination.

The astringent in poetry?   A leanness, leaning toward a bite.  Not bitter.  No sarcastic.  A defined line
and minimal.   And, yes, the color:   no complaints, there, especially for those back East.  Perhaps, cold is a subset of astringent?

A shout-out to Mrs. Green for another bag of beautiful, bold limes.

Tulips

To be precise -- orange tipped in yellow, fully-open succumbing to gravity.  Akimbo.

Food?  How beautiful is butternut squash.  Or golden beets.  Or an egg yolk.  Does a poem benefit from being cheerful?  I know a poem is bereft if there is no color.  Black, of course, being the pinnacle.  As mentioned before, don't shy away from red, though.

Cook by color; write by color.

Poke'

As in fresh tuna with soy sauce & sesame & onion & scallions & lettuce leaves to nestle as bowl.   Get the best sashimi-grade tuna and try at home.  Better yet, get a friend to make it.

So, what of poetry?  I'm thinking, what are oiled poems?  Not in covered in petroleum sludge.  No more like a dipping olive oil.  Sometimes buttery.  Sometimes grassy.  Always welcomed.  A light touch; not much needed.  Sometimes a light touch of sesame oil is pure inspiration & necessity.

Shoes

Red, of course.   The connection to poetry?   Every poem benefits from an accent of red, whether explicit or implicit.   And food?   Who doesn't smile at a pomegranate or a red apple or a tomato? Who doesn't love a red sauce?

P.S. Uncertain about ink -- a bit strident, don't you think?

Comfort

Yes, there's comfort food.  What's the equivalent in poetry?
If it's a poem I'm writing, probably the seasonal needs be visible.   Who can deny the persimmon, pomegranate, pears (of all kinds), berries bold.  Sometimes the seasonal is neither fruit nor vegetable.  Consider fog which I'm convinced is substantial as an eggplant and ubiquitous.