I am preparing for myself a feast of words,
a banquet of utterances,
caramelized letters left to simmer
which I will devour at the appointed hour.
My hand will lift the candied oaths
from long wax paper, unrolling like a tongue
to speak again in morse code
saccharine phrases I let drop,
rebounding from my larynx to my lips
and playing themselves in staccato--
a stumbling rhythm upon my teeth,
composed in haste.
They will read themselves back to me
from dishes laden with poetic feet,
scripted in India ink,
made heavier by lead
deposited by the quill's pointed edge--
an instrument to measure
each phoneme for its metric weight,
and moving outwards in,
place all in my mouth
regardless of taste.
So will go my sentencing.
That is to say,
the pulp of my words to determine
how much my heart outweighs the feather.
Author notes
This is a second, expanded version of a poem I posted about a month ago ("The Feast (First Draft)"). I'm much happier with this version, but I know it could still use a little editing, so go crazy with your criticisms and tell me if I should change/remove/add anything.
The inspiration for this was the common saying of someone "eating their words."
All comments, especially constructive ones, very highly prized. (And usually reciprocated!)
A contest entry
- November Rounds by CitrineSunrise.
700 points, ended November 12, 2008, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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This poem aptly describes how I feel when I am about the read and judge poems of this calibre. It is a dish to be savored slowly. The metaphor was very well done and I will remember "a banquet of utterances." I look forward to your entry in the next round. Peace, Liz
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Being a lover of both food and poetry I found this metaphor particulary delicious. I enjoyed this poem very much. The last line is great. I love the way you brought back the feather/quil image and made it say so much in the final thought of the piece.
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well done
Flows well. Good rhythm. Good word choice. Good imagery. I am somewhat perplexed by the last line, the reference to a "feather". But perhaps it is just me.
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My
A true poet as I realize just how lame my writings are. And again I search for what may never be.
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I lkie this, a chain of words like beads on a string making a fine decoratiion...of this singular thought...the worth of our words...so very well done, creative anf thoughtful...PK
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