Pacing between bookshelves I pick,
flick through cookbooks,
Selecting a bakers dozen delights,
realising my pantry isn't as full as I thought.
Not enough flour -
Plain, corn, rice, sticky rise, besan, iah urid, but not wholemeal.
Yeast, but not eggs.
Mint and basil but no dill.
And the sesame seed bottle is near empty.
My belly rumbling, my head, my throat, churning.
This is all an attempt to focus thought,
concentrate it in on the action -
Of creation, the desire of realisation -
Of taste.
None of these recipes are dinner.
Not the first time I've cooked for hours
And forgotten to eat;
Come down in the morn to chaos
And nothing for breakfast.
Yet, its this or be attacked by my own mind,
harried by the Unfinished... Unfulfilled... Unthinkable...
This or trip and fall.
Create, consume, or be swept under
Dragged out until not even flailing, I sink
And though my fridge might be full
The drowned have no hunger at all..
2019.06.15
A first offering on a new platform. Hi everyone. I'm not sure yet just what we're cooking here, but I'm certain it will be full of flavour.
@JPGPoet