The menu doesn’t nourish like a meal,
But helps the heart decide on what to do.
Consider how true knowledge twists what’s real.
Words conceal whenever they reveal.
There’s always something more to struggle through.
The menu doesn’t nourish like a meal.
What’s fully true is more than we can feel
Though what we feel reveals that pure truth, too.
Our knowing turns and teases what is real.
Food may be a medicine that heals
Or poison that consumes us as we chew.
The menu doesn’t nourish like a meal.
The heart insists the brain submits and kneels
So it can help them both explore what’s new,
Obtain sure knowledge teasing what is real.
Impulsive day is eager for a deal.
May dreamy night’s correction shelter you.
The menu doesn’t nourish like a meal
Nor does true knowing circumscribe what’s real.
Linked to dVerse Meeting the Bar. I am hosting today and the form is a villanelle. You are welcome to link a villanelle you have written for this prompt. The modification I made to the villanelle form is to not exactly repeat the second line of the couplet theme.
Photo: “Sweet Corn” by the author
Good roots avoid the sunbeams.
They much prefer the dark
Away from light and sources bright.
They love the mysteries of night.
That’s where they leave their mark.
But leaves prefer the sunlight.
That’s where they dream to toil
And offer all until the Fall
To help their Whole stand true and tall
Then rest on peaceful soil.
“The roots are also incredibly light-sensitive; but in contrast to the leaves, they don’t like light at all.” Stefano Mancuso and Alessandra Viola, Brilliant Green: The Surprising History and Science of Plant Intelligence, Island Press, translated by Joan Benham, 2015, page 50. If you think plants are vegetables, this book is worth reading.
Linked to dVerse Poetics hosted by Björn Rudberg with “soil” as the prompt.
Linked to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads for their Tuesday Platform imagined by Marian.
Photo: “The Details of Blooming” by the author. The scene is from the Chicago Botanic Garden.
In my mountainous castle well hidden away
There’s my beast getting restless for lightness of day
And the blood that I seek must be innocent, sweet,
So delight feeds the brain and my rapture’s complete.
How I long that the travelers wandering by
Are so pure that they capture my sensitive eye.
How I long that they tarry so I’ll taste a bite
Of the glory of goodness lost deep in the night.
Ah, look! There’s a traveler coming toward me
To my mountainous castle all lost by the sea,
To the doom that awaits him whose way seems so sure
With a heart pumping love and excessively pure.
He is knocking! Let’s open the door to his death.
He is breathing but soon he will not take a breath
And then at the table aged wine I will drink
And the meat, raw and bloody, may finally stink.
But wait! My hand moves but it can’t free the door.
The traveler turns. He won’t knock anymore!
Have I grown out so ghostly my body has gone?
Have I nothing but fantasies I can put on?
Linked to dVerse Poetics hosted by Kim with the prompt “to write a modern dramatic monologue about a plot to do away with someone (or something)”.
Photo: “Fantasy Forest” by the author. The scene is part of a bonsai forest at the Chicago Botanic Garden.
The first time I drove these fast, multi-lane interstate highways connecting Chicago and northern Indiana I was alone and I thought I was going to die or get my butt kicked since I wasn’t supposed to be on them. I was driving a cheap, used car I bought from a classmate without asking my father’s advice because I didn’t have a brain in my head. A week later, after the car and I survived I-94, that car suddenly lost oil and brought me, safely, to its final stop on a country road. Driving back to my childhood town these memories take advantage of the opportunity to hold my attention. My sister is still there with her family. There is also my former teacher. His children, who have children now, I remember as children whom I baby sat while their youngest sibling was being born. My parents are both there, side by side, but where they really are, and perhaps who they really are, I will find out in the not too distant future. One by one, they joined my youngest brother whose misfortune with automobiles was worse than mine. I can still see my father opening the door for me as we gathered that day. How he cried! I hear Omar Alfanno’s “Un Hombre de Verdad” playing from my phone over the car’s speakers. My heart tells my mind that enough is enough and they give me a chance to listen. I touch repeat.
APRIL’S EYES HAVE CLEARED
EARTH WAITS WARM AND PATIENTLY
BLOOMS SMILE EVERYWHERE
Linked to dVerse Haibun Monday hosted by Toni with the prompt to write a haibun about singing to a song while driving.
Although liberty dies
There’s a Moon that will rise
Casting moonlight below.
Oldish dreams fail to grow.
Patient stars ever will
Turn around but look still.
Evening Sun creeps to set.
We’ll eventually get
Some new day some may see
Although maybe not me.