By Arcassin Burnham


Feeling full of progress , it's processing me,
Recycling my past and bad dreams you see,
Florida boy in a gallon of heat,
Who the hell gave you permission
To speak,
Girls I deal with are a close case to me,
This recipe sure smells good to me,
In the midst of people throwing dirt on me,
Will always remain having enemies,

Versatile,
Even in this matrix that we call home ,
We ain't alone,
Fake smiles,
That laugh upon me like the joker from the animated tv,
Winter,
Heart is cold even for my family also in a crisis,
Don't tempt me,
I ain't a killer , you know the rest,
Anxiousness inside my chest.


/

Wait a minute.
‎is there ever a link between us in this place tonight?
‎you didn't just reject me,you clipped my wings.
‎there's no links,
‎to the table I bring,
‎a new kind of fling,
‎the devil in the pale moon light sings,
‎the father and the mother gather up dreams,
‎the dragon and the pregnant woman's aura screams,
I could be all romantic,but you just leave.
‎that's alright with me,
could've been the one to show you what the world had to offer,
‎Give you the right medicine,
‎I could be your doctor,
‎Steal your hear from another,
‎like the phantom of the opera.

they think that chicken soup
for the human soul
can cure me,
but I am vegetarian.

My family What's app group
Is homemade soup.
It keeps me calm,
Soothes me like a balm,
Reduces tension of the day,
Appeases my appetite for what is happening in some way.
Family relationship is savoury broth,
Holds a strong bond and growth.
Photos and videos,
Not to forget audios,
Are seasonings which enhance the taste,
Just some, only the best.
Gossips,jokes and sayings need time to simmer,
To reach full flavour.
Family moans and groans,
Are birthdays, death,sickness and new borns,
Raining with condolences and wishes,
Tangy, no preservatives.
Family members are garnish,
Quite a relish,
With active members as crusty croutons,
That promote sociability  and traditions.
Passive members are fresh herbs,
Rarely a comment,only few words,
But,are there to bring out the lovely aroma.

I had soup today
Tomato flavour to be exact
I asked the sky
Do you want some
The sky replied
No sweetheart
The sun as enough soup
To feed the whole of the day

I made a bowl of soup for myself tonight.
Red bean, kale, and quinoa.
I toasted two slices of bread,
buttered them,
let them cool.
I planned on dunking them
in the soup
to sop up leftover broth.

While the canned food heated
in the red saucepan
on the first burner
to the right,
I did simple tasks.
Recycled bottles from days before,
put away the dishes in the drying rack,
fed the cat.

I paced back and forth,
in my purple socks,
from my bedroom
to the kitchen,
listening to an old record
that sounds like nostalgia.

I did simple tasks.
Small, achievable things.
Self care comes
in many forms.

Carrot and coriander, why are you so pally?
With your 'c' sounding names and you both being edible,
Well I've got news for you boys,
I think you're absolutely terrible.

Carrot and coriander, why are you so pally?
Just because you both like soup and a little bit of season,
It doesn't mean you should be so close, it's not a good enough reason.

Carrot and coriander, why are you so pally?
You hang around in cardboard cartons, talking trash about other ingredients,
Well its just not acceptable boys, and I'm really not feelin' it.

Carrot and coriander, why are you so pally?
People think you're great, with your complementary flavours,
Well I'm sorry boys, think you're tasty? Do me a 'kin favour.

My feelings and thoughts are running in constant loop
They're mixed up and messy like alphabet soup
and the noodles don't clearly spell out L-I-K-E

Just when I think my head's sorted out and right
The word "love" tries to invade in another bite
Ughh! What the hell is up with me?!


Here's a bit of food for thought:
Do I like you or do I not?
I want others to know you're romantically "mine"
but the problem is I'm not romance inclined..



See, things get confusing when platonic and romantic mash
So, irritated, I throw my bowl in the trash

i am the
crockpot
on the
counter hot
above my rubber
bottomed feet that
scrape when
you move me

something's bubbling
around my edges
is it soup
or discontent

how should i know
i'm just the crockpot

something's burning
on my sides
is it chili
or my confines

i can't tell you
i'm just the crockpot

leave me out on weekdays
say you need me
say i'm useful
to keep things warm
all afternoon
but before you know it
touch me and
you'll get burned

liquefied ivory trickles down the drain
picking out lavender to the sound of rain
/
back alley blues from the white picket fence
trade your broken heart for dollars and sense
/
the early morning glow is where uncertainties grow
as we dream our young dreams, static courses below
/
a muted flash of LED lights and i
view them like a dot painting across the night sky
/
please try not to crash your car
pull yourself out of the tar

the sky, a cauldron
steaming soup is getting cooked,
moon, butter floats on.