mining liquid ice, cream vanilla something
at dawn, sugar, fat, whipped smoke rising hope
better than hate at breakfast, face etched snarling
a circuit ******, roll and tub down *****
slippery, thumbed a feast of biscuit crumbs
off a plate, table and at feet. Arrived
at loathing a choir rabid, sings morning.

I pray
I pray fire
furnace roar from your centre
circling cells, sparking breath, spirit
rising

I pray honey
warm milk sober flow
as gauze, to shield and sooth
your wound

I pray kitchen tonic
sweet ferment, anise spice
molasses bitter—the nourish
and gather

I pray leaf and flower
brewed to healing power

I pray squirrel play
great leap, and hover—  
catch and clamber
chase and chatter

I pray snowdrop
nestled in cold darkness, knowing spring
always follows winter

I pray river
ancient friend steering you to salty depths
and home

I pray sun gaze deep breath full surrender
I pray blue sky long view
sleep’s cover
I pray love of a mother
I pray

Cake
You can eat it too!
My frying pan
Is half empty

Hate me
Because I am good
No!
Because I am great!

Michelan Stars
Trips to Mars
Candy bars
Mason jars

Drunk I am
Said the can
To the packet
Of ketchup

Baker's square
I worked there
Line cook nook
Splatters shook!

The kitchen man
Burns the water
The ******* fan
Yearns for slaughter

Impatiently sitting on the bench ahead
Cup stares at me as if wanting to be fed
So I grab Cup and find a boiling kettle
Fill Cup with water hoping it will settle
But Cup begins to steam and nag
So I search the cupboard for a tea bag
Choosing one from the others, I quickly drop it in
The water changing colours, makes me throw it in the bin
I think the dark stuff is something bad
And Cup seems to look pretty sad
So I try to swallow the black stuff away
But my method seems to make Cup dismay
Before I begin, something hot hurts my lip
I didn’t realise that Cup could nip
So I hurry towards the kitchen sink
Tip Cup upside down, before I can think
Cup throws up, being upside down
I forgot Cup got sick when moved around
So I put Cup back where he was
I can see that Cup feels better because
Cup is no longer steaming or spewing any more
Come to think of it, I don’t know why I touched Cup at all!

When can you call yourself a poet?
When you write down a word?
When do you let yourself know it?
When you are finaly heard?

When can you call yourself a poet?
When you get a like or a love?
When do you show it?
When your confident, sort of?

When can you call yourself a poet?
When you get a sunshine?
When do you let other people know it?
When you reach a headline?

When do you call yourself a poet?
When you are published?
When do you flaunt it?
When you are considered established?

No.

You know when to call yourself a poet.

When your hands are always moving
When your writing about even the kitchen sink
When your mind is always turning
When the white becomes stained with ink.

As I’m leaving I run into you on the kitchen floor
Sharing with the appliances your miserable company
Giving me your melancholy stare
I can help you not be alone but I can’t help with lonely
You called me boney as I put my back against the cabinet and sunk into my seat on the hardwood floor
Now we both feel lonely don’t we
We aren’t a pair, a puzzle, or each other's other halves
We’re not even complicated togetherness
We’re two people and we’re alone
No amount of bodies on the kitchen floor will fix that
I had to go but still I sat, in the ditch next to you hurting my neck looking up to speak
I missed my ride home I was looking for a girl that I knew, she had the same name as you, have you seen her?
Sam says she was last seen in the basement dancing, equipped with a convincing smile
The ******* the kitchen floor looks like she's been here for awhile
But I’m too boney to lift her up and make her dance side by side with a memory
I guess we’ll never know who she is
Where did the dancer go? She’s dancing with dust bunnies under the fridge
She drunkenly holds onto the steering wheel
This version seems a bit more real
I don’t feel as well as I used to due to two names just listed on the loudspeaker
Thank the lord that I don’t
Or I’d be dancing with the dust bunnies, reliving a memory, feeling lonely on the kitchen floor
I’ve certainly been there before
Nobody ever sat with me, I erased it from memory
This is the difference between alone and lonely

The prince and I are not friends,
though he seems a nice enough guy
and I respect him and I value the role he plays.

However my uncle,
my father's big brother,
knew him better
and fed him snacks.

As a boy
the prince would slip into the palace kitchen
between meals.
Sometimes he would persuade
his big sister too.
And my uncle would sit them down
and find a snack for him
and perhaps for his sister
and he would make them laugh.

I know this because of the prince's note.

The prince sent a note to my aunt
and it was read at the family gathering
following my uncle's funeral.

A cheeky boy from Catford,
a kitchen worker,
and later the royal chef,
laughing and showing kindness to the young prince
and to the future princess royal;
now remembered and valued by family
and also by royalty.

What do you think of that?