This topic came from Alison Monkhouse, who I know through the Shindig and some really good conversations.
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What if things got simpler?
If the preparing of a piece of toast
was a work of art.
If the bread was sawn with a beloved bread knife,
handle familiar and weighty,
and the noise of steel-on-crust,
the feel of the vibration of knife-teeth as they bit,
was a pleasure?
What if the smell of the fresh-cut slice
and the mouth watering reaction to the glory of it
was gratifying enough to make you sigh?
What if the toaster was a contained furnace,
a miracle of engineering and research and design
a machine of fiery transformation to be revered?
What if the ready Pop
was better than any champagne cork
and the searing touch of freshly-charred bread,
pulled from the furnace, delivered to the plate,
reminded us of how much heat we can take
if we know there’s reward.
Note from J:
I stopped. Poetry is HARD and I think I’m trying too hard.. attempting to be clever and overly- contriving something. It started as fun to write – some sort of crazy over-blown ode. But then the line it opened with “what if things got simpler?” suddenly didn’t seem to hold any more…and I sort of lost faith….
I wanted to do stuff about toppings and butter – frankly some of that sounded rude – and it’s been… Of everything I’ve written in the past 5 days – this was the one I fidgeted and fiddled with most. It’s the one that feels like I’m defeated.
I don’t dislike it, horribly..and I have as I promised I would written with heart and what I can muster…but it’s feeling clunky and awkward. It needs to be done, for now.
Also – I chose & created the images before I’ve written the stuff – and the image is a proper “what if..” road-less-travelled type image.. whereas the “poem” is tiny minutiae…
So… I’ve stopped. I could be here until midnight trying to make it better or “right” or I could call it, stop now and get back on the horse tomorrow, a bit saddle sore, but more refreshed.
Yes. That’s my choice, for today
fuchsia blue 