Poem: Words Work

 

Words Work

by Shannon P. Laws

 

Consume whole sentences
into your being by writers
who never flew, can’t be true
Hide in ignorance, uneducated writers
that mass of writers
Eat those words
Dotted on the page
set for the digestive tract
turned for blood

I wallow in my own mind
this clay of form-fitting madness
the sheets are heavy
the pillow a stone
the clock a whip
snaps me to attention

While outside, heard through a window cracked
the freeway, a river of cars, sounds like wind rushing
in the trees, or the waves finding shore—NO
tires on old pavement working the graveyard shift heading home

And then, there it is
as clear as a cloudy night
We are all travelers

 

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Poem: Broth

sizvideos-water-hole
Water hole in Portugal, Serra da Estrela, Covão dos Conchos. in summer

Broth

Ten dollars an hour for twelve hours
—watch, stir, refill, stir again and watch.
My tool a large paddle punishes coconut clumps
Beats at them and their natural oil-tendency.
Tomorrow I’ll beat at raisins
Somebody’s gotta do it.

My day hovers at various levels of self-induced hypnosis
I’m on a lake of coconut directing my boat to stay still, hold still
do nothing but wait my turn to go down the cyclone

Leave the job to muscle memory
exit the body to float above the nation
visit the places and people of my imagination
I am someone else.
I am somewhere else.
A person who eats expensive granola

Meat cooks in water, bleeds out juice
Vegetables roll with the bubbles, lose their color
a slow boil
a long boil
add noodles
Soup

Poetry: Cinnamon Roll

Get some frosting on these rolls, asap!

Warning:  FOOD PORN  So it is Valentines Day and I am on a diet.  A special diet called “eat less and work out more you lazy ass!”  Ever been on that one?  Temptation is freakin’ everywhere this time of year!

Was at a local bakery the other day and saw these monster sized cinnamon rolls smothered in cream cheese frosting.  Those bad boys, fresh out of the oven, were just begging to be picked up, pulled apart and have all their cinnamony goodness licked off those tasty little rolls of soft dough…
*wipes off drool*

If I can’t have one today then I shall write about it.
Here is my poem, Cinnamon Roll:

Frosting on top
hides your swirlie dark
pockets of flavor spinning like
a galaxy of goodness to be consumed
The baker hides
your rings with cream
cheese, peaks of white spread
over your landscape make it fun to explore
One bite will
allow my tongue to
see what I already know
is there, a bit of heaven that
curls the toes, a kiss of fat to my hips

A baker slowly adds cream cheese goodness
to a pan of some sexy rolls