I take back what you have stolen and in your languages I announce I am now nameless.
My true name is a growl.
Margaret Atwood

26 April 2018

dig for it, in the sand\box or sea, and this will make no sense other than ...

twisting fingers for want of the pot
my crab claws - at your service, mad-damn!

hunger spots angels, weaving pasta for a golden nest
I'm craving the little people, pimping shrimp
for the green broccoli forests

the ache of pressure builds in these bones
my internal barometer fit to burst
I muse of the time when I'd stimuli
smoked mussels for the clit kick

the plate cares not a whit for the knife
scraping its skin but I wield the blade
to satisfy my empty-handed heart
you broke mine
I break mine

garlic butter sluicing down my chin
hot pink-red lobster knuckle knocking at the door
the moment wrongly netted in another memory
for 5 stitches in an 8 year old chin
salty tears for a hand slipping free
I fly across the gym on a rainy lunch hour

*
for Real Toads: a list with a twist

Izy asks us to consider the list poem and add a twist to it - and we need to list 5 things

~ can you figure out the list here, the underlying theme?







4 comments:

  1. I see a smorgasbord of seafood, linked to specific memories, passionate moments, heartbreak, a childhood accident, all served up in a delicious meal.

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    Replies
    1. LOL - yup, started with my hands, arthritic - "crab claws" (pain in the ass, really) and being hungry - for stir-fried shrimp and broccoli .... and the mind wandered off ... maybe it's a bit like the adage, never grocery shop on an empty stomach, you'll spend more than intended ....

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  2. Food-related incidents. I get that. Works with music as well. Great poem.

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thanks for sharing your thoughts, I greatly appreciate it.