Moveable Feast

listen to ‘Moveable Feast part I’ on Audioboo

listen to ‘A Moveable Feast Part II’ on Audioboo

Serration, bone to steel

Flesh—august in size, reeling—as moon-dance

Retracts its severance clean—immobilizing each the touches call

Penetrating, as one might a birthday cake, icing fresh the frosting of the elder pull—deliberating the wish to his recall—A whet-some yen shivers to pang—expiring through renewal, prior to the first arrival of a candle’s expending spell

Fever travails preeminent quells upon a selfish stage,

A variety of salts spray acerbically into the risen wound—

Gashed, unsealed, tormenting the object of permutations crave

Five-course offerings sustain savored grips to greed,

Where corporeal reins unbridle thee—beckoning forth a beacon to what this hunger weaves—writhing, as do wanton words, stricken roué from the expiated speech spoken by the faithless tongue

Shards of decadence purvey the hedonic vale, while

Sweet temperance restrains caution’s warning aright,

Creation stands in splendor, formulating realities from this succulence inside

Carving stations imbibe, in marinades a march to the witness stand—Marionettes proceed, as automatons—eager to obey this parlance prepared with that, which is offered as an exemplary of love

Provision’s table preserves those affirmations told, blindly braising catered affections toward pot-luck’s creed—“from whatever is available, a moveable feast is hence pronounced.”

Symphonic measures waive discordant beats—and yet, our fast bears gifts of providence, draying deep the depths untaught

Tantalizing archaeometries boldly season lust’s sautéed prevarications, as glimpsed within starvations

eye—proffering an awareness to the unfinished measures entwined resolves—

Telemetries unnoticed culinary fare, can, and often shall, alter the associations conducted by one’s own essence—where in that, the otherwise self-reserved—march pedantically—to arrhythmias held aglow—aroused by, in, aroma’s capacious light

Forbearance, indoctrinated by depravity, commiserates amongst the ranges tined apart—from whence once there lived dormant a voracity dispersed, now spurned reaches ensnare us from delicacy and it’s fanciful fate preserved, whilst, here astir, are now such strange edacities aligned

Is it illusion or dominion o’er its savored self? Breadth—breaded in charisma, dignity—seared and fried, unclothing of its sired mystery, dancing deep and baring all—a prelude to the tendered fragrances beheld by imagined sin

Exposure is surmounting—resiliency’s ceding to this simmering felt—mixing, churning taste to touch—celestial flavors adroitly spooned within

Steadfastly engorged, the thickening becomes—glazing’s sticky-sweet spreading thin, until the unraveling of will succumbs anent desire’s lissome kiss  

Through a bronzed seduction—exigencies claim throne again—dictums pronounce, all denials be denied…and echoic of the evening prayer, indulgencies reap concurrence loud…for what passion sows…God shall not withhold… such longings repressed for Heaven’s gain…need not be-gone nor untold any longer…

In rapt, mere moments from, the sprig of parsley shall go unmentioned, as it rests—abandoned, like the guilt deposed hollow by permissions song—

Regret may loom austere in times we’ve yet to meet, yet tonight…indulgency’s smile can only dared be replaced, by the psalms permeating through the apertures of need, blessing all those dining before the salvation’s granted here, where all creatures have a seat, at this, the table of God’s feast

Well, missed a whole week of posting.  Feels good to be back on tonight.  I've dealt with them on and off for years now, but hopefully these little funks I find myself in don't become as regular as they've been over the past couple months going forward.  Definite thanks to all the awesome poetry I did get a chance to read over the past week though.  Thank you Ipad:)  I do apologize for not commenting for the most part, just hadn't been up to it.  

But, that said, I did really love the two prompts since last weeks OLN.  Anna had a killer Postmodern article that I encourage everyone to read if they haven't done so yet.  While obviously missing out on the event itself, I have posted my piece for Meeting The Bar, from 10/4/12 over on my WP site, for those who want to check it out.

And for this piece I'm sharing now, for Open Link Night 65, is inspired by Claudia's Foodloose Poetics post from this past Saturday, 10/6/12.  Using food in one's poetry can be done in so many fashions, and adds flavor to one's work.  I'm guessing you like poetry, and if you also like food, (who doesn't right?), then you'll love Claudia's article and the delicious poems linked up to the Poetics event.  

Feeding the Cats

a visitation to the floor above

seeing if the bowls have emptied

since two days prior, to which a 

similar prologue marked that

ascension too.

some days the blue bag empties

quicker than others, often spiraling

awareness to the forefront of mind.

the importance of the message,

magically forms symbols along

the next blank line, below those

used to notate milk, bread & eggs.

other days it seems as if a fasting

was underway, where hours would

morph to days, yet the levels of

the bowls would not diminish, 

remaining consistent to the day filled full.

nerves then conjure, for fear that something

is amiss, that perhaps an illness had swooped 

in through the cracks where whispering air 

somehow sneaks its way inside.

behind the windows and the winter-seal,

there is a leak someplace, yet energy ceases

quickly, leaving another line to make upon

the never-completed list of actions to remember.

but lack of appetite should not be questioned,

as each morning they beg for a slice of turkey, 

a tradition that never should have been started,

hands stretch long, nails just so extend, enough

to get attention, but never attempting to pierce

the skin.

I watch them circle the kitchen floor, 

tails high, singing the songs I do so enjoy, and

they seem fine to me, fine as they always do.

so perhaps the mystery of the bowls 

patternless exhaustion, has more to do

with sending a message, perhaps, " hey,

we've been eating the same stuff time and again, 

how bout switching things up now and then."

so today, as I made the trek up the flight of stairs,

the bag is no longer blue, this time I bought the 

orange instead. 

seconds after the bowls were filled, the two came

flying from where I wish I would've paid closer

attention to, as I've failed in finding their secret

hiding spaces now for many years.

they heard the sound of clink-a-clink-clink, and I 

imagine how their heads perked up, listening to

the sound of some foreign feast being served, as if they

can tell that by the sound that was made.

but pleased I was, when they buried their heads deep into

the bowls, the orange one, well, she of course, had to see 

if something different was in where the black one was feasting there,

only to find out it was the same as she had just tasted at her own.

yet, for unknown reasons, she refused to go back to her own, and decided to finish her lunch at cocoa's bowl, which is fine, because he just shrugged his head the best he could, and quickly found his mouth upon the food she had moments prior left in abandonment.

later that afternoon they came to my room, 

not at the same time, but each came by to say

their thanks, the orange one announcing her entry 

as she's often accustomed to do, proudly chanting, "meow-meow," a few times until I pet her head.

the black one, well, he didn't make any proclamation of hello, he never does do that though, instead, he sat in bunny shape( it's what we've always called that bread loaf posture they often take) and sat there by the register, watching me watching him.