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.