Poetry : Tues 15 Aug
The food at the Soul Food Shack reminds me of my mother's home cooking. Good, simple, tasty - cooked by people who love cooking - and not just Momma Cherri. I was watching Andrea, one of her colleagues getting food ready to serve, and she reminded me of how my mother used to cook, inspiring the following poem.
But you can see the steam, the spoon, the pot, the fire
Beam out their response.
Poems arise partly out of my imagination, partly out of real life
conversations with people who come to eat at the café. A couple of young girls seated around at table took me on another flight of fancy and inspired this poem.
Cast conspiratorial shadows over the darkened table.
Hems high, Earings dangling low,
The haphazard gaudiness of sparkly and over-frilly tops,
Jewelled belt, and wine-red leather handbag
Combines with the understated elegance
Of a modest bracelet and upright postures
To make the scene sufficiently intriguing.
Casually, legs crossed, sitting on a soft canvas jacket,
Looking at a map, the one on the right wonders
How far to the next lay.
The next morning, I notice a girl in a motorised chair having breakfast, aided by an assistant who cuts up her food and helps her to eat it. It is not so much the intensity with which she approaches the experience which grabs my attention - or the thought of whether the effort of getting food to mouth increases appreciation or frustration for her, but her laughter which inspires this poem.
As paper napkin stuck to thumb
Waves about in air - so unexpectedly ...
And a laugh follows it like the shadow
Of a string of a kite
Caressing her face,
Her body relaxing.
And as the napkin is removed,
The wonder of the movement of a loose silver bangle
Up and down her forearm
As she raises and lowers it in front of her -
Pristine painted fingernails
Aglow with pride.
I move towards the centre of the Dome and notice a girl reading under one of the trees there.
Bathed in green light
Under a green-lit tree
She devours a story like a meal.
Savouring each chapter like a mouthful.
Each mouthful a careful combination
Of words and images,
Balanced on the fork of her eyes,
Held by her mind.
She lies back, relaxing in a green world -
Digesting the world within the book
As it draws her in
To a new, green universe within her.
Alison Martin at the Press Office was the judge of yesterday's competition on the theme of 'Cheese' and she chose the following poem - which included a poetic drawing of a slice of cheesecake - as the winning one from 20 entries.
It floats effortlessly towards the table
A small slice of serenity atop a simple china plate.
The eyes of the waitress are elsewhere
Utterly unaware.
The fork slices through
Softness envelps and disguises the sharp metal prongs.
Suddenly ...
Resistance,
A short, yet satisfying crunch.
Sharpening the senses.
Anticipation almost at an end.
First taste
An explosion of textures
Aiming to savour every ounce of essence.
All too soon a solitary crumb
A distant reminder
Of innocent ecstasy.
Sarah Holmes