In the kitchen I stand, creating culinary delights,
Every day I cook, with all my might.
With love and passion, I whip up flavors divine,
Hoping my creations bring joy to those who dine.

While I toil away, serving on silver plates,
Her majesty and her troop demand meals with a sigh,
But deep down I dream of a day,
When my efforts are acknowledged, in some way.
Or rather I dream of a day where I'll sit and taste of the royalty.

In this realm of spices and pots and pans,
I find solace, creating dishes with my own hands.
Each ingredient tells a story, a tale to be told,
As flavors dance together, creating something bold.

Though recognition may not come my way,
I cook with love, bringing sunshine to each day.
For in the kitchen, I find my own bliss,
Creating culinary masterpieces, a pure and simple bliss.

happened upon an extravaganza of spring’s hallmark,
the cherry blossoms outing their munificence of color,
I happened to position myself direct below a tree,
the thicket
of blossoms so, well, thick, that sky was obliterated ‘cept
for pointillistic spots of blue sun, yellow sky that poked
through the
few de minimus interstitial spaces permitted, and was
struck silent, by-for-before shimmering eyes that uttered the
requisite oohs and ahhs,

and

words came to me weeks later,
when the memory, now fully decanted,
reappears
courtesy of a giant tech company’s code tinkering,
merging and splurging the combined images in the
photographic memory
of my devices,
as if to say:
your life is
points of light and color and scent
as you write now
amidst the hubbub of jackhammers, raucous horns a blaring,
the homeless screaming on the street at god,
the fatalistic headlines of hate and
the pallor of a low level haze of perp~gray
between you and your true elfin self,
and you are not surprised,
but sadly, but not entirely,
bemused
that the photo’s true utility was to
remind weeks later
that all that my eyes utter
is not just
woe, double trouble and toil, toil,
but to Hey Jude and George,
step out and see the park on a Sunday
in its entirety and to glory in
your being
by being
a point in that tapestry spectacular
of ingestion, digestion and final comprehension and
a happy
exhalation

A Hard Knock alum, not permitted to blossom
No one ever there who'd care to clarify "how come?"
Deep down, in the depths of my heart shaped chasm,
I know what's about to come in is the inevitable outcome
That I forgot to remember I was still and forever running from
Or,
More likely
Subconsciously, finally and fully drained, exhausted and done
This was not that much fun

©2024