The cooking of spices steaming from rice and chicken
Grandmothers’ voices, one soft and one crisp, worn with wisdom and time,
And so doting.
Open arms for hugs and smiles for exchange
Sweet and salty fragrances mixed with the invisible care of hands rise from the tables
Similar voices embrace each other in song and laughter
When the family gets together.
Around this time, I really miss our family halfway around the world. And family parties are the best – great food and great merriment. Our grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins… Nothing can replace the gatherings we have and the memories that stay so vivid in my mind. I really hope there is time and chance to visit them all soon.
This poem was supposed to describe something with at least three of the five senses. And what is more rich in senses than a party?
Thanks for reading,
John Sinclair Cigarettes. Trick Series 1916 .
If you are trying to focus on what he’s doing, don’t.
Hiding his hands under foolish grins like a donkey’s
Our eyes are the fools, only voice matches to ears.
A small tip to the hat, perhaps? To subtly suggest.
Passengers of a story are we,
Taken by flamboyant hands and cups to shake.
The illusionist rotates the power of our
Mind, into a weaving of his own.
This is a golden shovel, which was Saturday’s prompt -yes I am late and yes I will catch up – based on Robert Frost’s poem, “A Fountain a Bottle a Donkey’s Ears and Some Books.” To be honest I do not quite understand what the line embedded in the poem (read every last word in each line) means, but there was a certain whimsy to it that made it funny and mysterious. Just like a busker I recently saw performing, who made oranges and grapefruits appear from cups, and a twenty dollar bill from inside a lemon. I have always loved magic, it proves we cannot always trust our senses but also shows that humans love to be surprised and believe the impossible.
Thanks for reading,