INGREDIENTS

I wonder what makes one burn

hot and another just warm?

Where was I? What was I thinking?

How many times have I passed

this way?

Like mom scrapes the last dollop

of batter into a pan, God adds identity

and a tablespoon of personality for

flavor, a drop of vanilla for the meek and

chili pepper for that redheaded poet

I love to death; she sets my pages on fire

and the rest of me too, with her hot words

of what it’s like to live in a city of sin

where everybody dances to the blues,

and all that jazz.

This nothing thing I have in my head

that I think with, that makes me

unique, this consciousness, my

identity… Who am I, anyway?

This ME who says,

“I do not have a soul,

I have a body.”

When I was a fourth my age, I was a farmer

with animals and a garden full of vegetables.

When was half my age, I was a teacher

and things were no different, just another kind

of crop, and me full of fertilizer to spread.

At three quarters my age, and till now, I

just float on this placid river with mountains

here and towns there. Bridges hang from the

sky and I lay back, hand trailing in the eddies,

and wonder want all that fire was for?

Reviews

[Lorry]

And just like that fertiliser, the older we get the more we realise that everything is covered in sh*t and nowhere near as good as youthful us remembers anyway.
That fire I think was all my optimism, which I think was intended to last a lifetime, but as any kid knows, there is only the now and we thought it would last forever. Now here I am on the other side, left thinking that at least its peaceful here and no longer have to pretend that youth was the be all and end all of everything. Just keep refilling my coffee cup, which is decaff now, which nobody warned me about and just leave Mr be in my rocking chair, scowling at all those with youth and energy, while hobbling in and out of the bathroom every ten minutes, while wishing that the one time fire had turned me to ash and got stuck in all those bright youthful eyes! 😃

[Vol]

Lorry,
I know, right? My past is a fantasy to rival The Hobbit, nothing back there is real, but i love wandering its trails anyway, and go there often.
Vol

[Marie]

You have highlighted the difference between being young and being mature in this excellently penned poem, Vol. All the things you have been in life have led you to the point you are presently at. Now, your life is filled with peace as an older version of yourself and you flow along placidly with life like a cool mountain stream, not rushing to reach the Sea of Eternity, just enjoying the view as you go. The fire is part of youth, but now there's just a few dying embers left in the ashes! Wonderful write! Thank you for sharing...

[Vol]

When you are seventy-five, you've collected an encyclopedia of memories, thoughts, experiences and life...

[Marie]

Indeed, Vol... At this stage of life, they are all we have...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"just another kind of crop and me full of fertilizer to spread" Brilliant line.

I like the fractions and where the speaker was at that time in his life.

wonderful story poem.

[Vol]

Jacob,
My Dr. once looked at my x-ray and said,"you have an intestinal blockage." I looked at him and said, "No way, I poop three times a day!" He smiled and said, "Sorry, my mistake, you're just full of s**t." I hated when that guy retired...
Vol