I deliver my dish
Deboned
Sliced
Soaked
In blends
Of citrusy sours
And bitter herbs
My salty sole
Seared
Served
In garlicky butter
Sauce
And a side
Of pickled relish
Author: TheOtherKLM
Privately seeking public approval,
An introvert who talks endlessly
Teaching learning.
Fat fitness fanatic
Shuffling organized clutter
Trapped in the meandering mind
Conforming to opposition
That creates destruction
Of communal chaos.
Replenish
Our solemn duty
Replenish resources squandered
Refill our dubious drought
As living waters wander astray
Once-fertile fields with harvests hard-earned
Craves nurture for soil now dry
We must give as we take
We must mend what we wound
Earth begs a sustainable cycle
Her thirst we cannot ignore,
Sow seeds where they will grow
Where living waters freely flow
We can feed Earth’s hunger
We can quench her thirst
We can preserve each vital source
Replenish, recharge, refill, reload
Our earthly steward moral code
Welcome to my plog
Welcome to my plog
where
poetry’s the point
Don’t be surprised
though, to find
an article
essay
short story
other arrangements
of words
I thrive
on
word
play
The addition
the removal
the rearrangement
of words
help me
better
understand
my thoughts
my emotions
my place in
this confusing world
So, explore and
hopefully
return
But don’t
be surprised
to find a revision or
two
on what I
posted previously
Blessed Bacon
There’s a moment,
after bacon
is placed
in searing pan,
sizzling,
sweating,
a moment
just before
the sizzling
strip surrenders
to heat,
risking being
burnt black,
that’s the moment,
when fat
submits its will
and finally renders,
that’s the moment
bacon earns
blessed exaltation.
Just listen
We all have stories
waiting
for us
to shout
out.
Why won’t you
stop
talking?
Take
a break.
Please.
Please.
Maybe
it’s your way
to say
“I can
relate.”
But
what does
your non-stop
talking
really
communicate?
“Are you done?”
“Listen
to me.”
“That’s great,
but let me
tell you
what happened
to me.”
“That’s so sad,
wait ’til you hear
what happened
to me.”
“Me.”
“Me.”
“Me!”
I watch
as you
recite your
latest yarn.
“Me, me, me!”
“Do, re, mi, fa…”
so long to go.
I watch
others, eyes
glazed
over “me,
me, me…”
What
are they
thinking?
Are they
listening?
Maybe
they have heard
enough.
Maybe.
It’s your
turn to
listen