Felled

You're thinking of trees, right?  I'm seeing felled camellias -- blooms on branches disembodied.  Past prime.  What is a felled poem?   Perhaps a fragment?  Sappho ascending and descending.

And of food?   What wind and rainstorms do to fruit.  Also birds.  Also people.  You and me.

Knife

A friend admonishes -- no knives in the sink.  Across the hide of a tomato, I assume is not suspect.  What's slices (or dices) a poem?  I suggest a one-word answer:  breath.  

Blueberries

What a season for blueberries!  Basket after basket.  Always a treat of color, and they fit so well in your palm, begging to be enjoyed.  Just like petite purple potatoes -- but no quite.

So, what's the equivalent in poetry?   Short, of course,  and unexpected yet satisfying.  Not haiku (they have a sense of salad and breeze and mountain about them).  I think just a few words, perhaps a line only.  A line full of color.  Vibrant.  Totally itself.  Perhaps, a line curving.

Eraser

Keep food bright and uncluttered.  Color, by the way, doesn't clutter.  So bring on the hues.  The same with poetry.  How to accomplish the latter?  Keep an eraser at hand.  Actual and metaphorical, that is.   The mouth and ears are wonderful erasers.  So go ahead and read poems out loud; you'll feel how (or how not) they've been edited.  Stir away.

Celebrate

No reason, no occassion necessary to celebrate good food (colorful and shapely) and vibrant words which make your mouth dance.  Celebrate the simple -- daily.  Celebrate with friends.

Paperweight

So curious this word -- paperweight.  The weight of paper.  The weight of  word.  The weight of the ripe.  The weight of perfect color.   The waiting for the ripe -- food and word.

Just now, what does the paperweight secure?  

Golf

Golf favors a small ball much like haiku favors few words.
And what food to pare with both?
Salmon and a colorful salad.