Without Salt Or Pepper

Without Salt Or Pepper short poem

Photo by yoppy

This morning I caught the blues.
I stood on the edge of the spoon with nowhere to go.
I tied my shoes and searched for my muse.
There she sat, distance postponing an ooze of stew.
With the end of the ladle short.
The end of the table so far. I sat.
I felt like a schmuck,
sitting on the edge of the spoon.
This hunger pang unfair.
Following me ladle to the tip.
A table clothed in decoration.
I envied the way it loathed.
Laying flat with no idea of what was going on.
It would never know the hunger that ached mid-spoon.
The ingredients that drove this passion.
The smell, the feel of steam that rose from the middle of the bowl.
The meat, the vegetables.
The brew of broth I longed to taste.
This space mid-spoon.
My heart raced in mourning
Standing on the edge of the spoon

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

Without Reason

Without Reason short poem

Living in a cyst, it would explore the breast. The black ethics goes beyond the bounds of mystique of non-movement. A while away a conflict comes out of the body. Melts into a face. There is no flesh, no skin.

The Salt Tree

The Salt Tree prose poem

In the road to the South, which hasn’t ended yet, from the yet not finished North, at the ball’s surface which had lost its center and produced sacred shrines fighting each other all along the road, there, that white tree

Divinity Without

Divinity Without short poem

Your fangs open like lips. I am ready for the kiss of death at a war zone, where I was adrift holding the flame, moments stabbed by hot bullets. Black and white words break the embrace, I cannot study the

Journey Within And Without

Journey Within And Without short poem

I accept my flaws I forgive myself I forgive my imperfections both real and percieved I gaze at me with love I appreciate my goodness So what if it is fragmented? I embrace myself and reiterate,’ I am worthy” Thus

Salt Or Snow ?

Salt Or Snow ? prose poem

Everythin’s spinning. Leaves flying. Round and round. Sadness floating. Still here. Damn good it was. Real lucky I was. Now scares me. Forget it ! Remember the funky happy song! What are you waiting for ? F**k you all off,