Food: Taking Poetry by the Throat

When Robert Lee Brewer handed out his challenge assignment this morning on Poetic Asides, I imagine his grin and his thoughts. “They’re gonna be all over this one. I can see it now.”

He was right, you know. We did stomp all over this prompt-of-the-day. Food is right up my alley, as my backside can attest. He wanted us to write about regional cuisine—either the food itself or some aspect pertaining to it. This was my response.

Granny’s Guarded Secret

It sits, having conquered gravity

To reign over table and diners.

Six layers of diabetes, waiting

For consumption by the sliver.

Who’d’ve expected one pie

To feed twenty sugar addicts?

We wait, breathe held, for slicing

To begin so that we can let

Our portion melt, slither, find

Our centers to give that rush

To bodies needing Pilates more

Than three kinds of caramel in

Six stacked shells of doughy goodness.

© Claudette J. Young 2012

Meanwhile, over at Poetic Bloomings. I found In-Form Poet proceedings for the day. Poet Jan Turner invented a new form not long ago, which puts limits on some areas of form, while leaving others untouched. It goes like this.

Write a Tri-Fall poem:

• Three stanzas of six lines each
• Rhyme scheme of a,b,c,a,b,c
• Syllable count for each stanza: 6-3-8-6-3-8
• No specific meter
• Little to no punctuation
• Any subject will do

Since I was already subject oriented from the Poetic Asides prompt, I stayed on the subject of regional food, parked myself at Granny’s table, and wrote about what had been placed before me. My goal was to write a story in this poem. I’m hoping to capture a memory. You’ll have to tell me if I succeeded in telling the story.

Sunday Lunch

Table long, groaning now

under weight

of platters, dishes, and elbows.

Ham, chops, eggs galore vow

to stay late

just to erase dieter’s woes.

 

Clasping hands for prayer

waiting now

‘til men get theirs and kids do too.

Smells so good this home fare

“Where’s the cow?”

Utters late-comer with “moo.”

 

“Stayed outside,” replies Gran

“Sit and eat.”

all bowls cleaned, platters empty too.

Belt loose on a lone man

children sleep

in laps of soft-talking moms.

© Claudette J. Young 2012

Related articles

• Poetry, Music, and Good Times (happilyeverafter71011.wordpress.com)
• Poem-a-Day Challenge: Day 16 (stargazer12.wordpress.com)
• A Poem We Will Go (claudsy.wordpress.com)