Sunday, January 18, 2015

In the Beginning



I sleep two time zones,
wake in the small day between.
Darkness on the face.
No rest on the seventh.

The dustbin lid cracks down
on kitchen dreams.  Ashtray speaks
with gently-hammered elbows
and knees.

Only a blue-lit kettle
shines through the deep. 
Everything is transformed,
microwaveable.

I thank the god of oven mitts;
my fingers free to make
evening and morning,
and it is good.

At last we sleep
on the crumb-strewn floor. 
Evolved.  Immortal.
Creation under my nails.


tk/January 2015


Brilliantly delivered by R.A.D. Stainforth...





15 comments:

  1. oh yes! Love those last 4 lines! Unforgettable times.

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  2. Aooealing. Engaging. Holding. Winning.

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  3. Oh the blue kettle. The blue kettle! I adore the blue kettle (and everything else but oh, my lust for the blue kettle!)

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  4. Yes. And where would we be without the god of oven mitts.

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  5. Each day in life is like quite a long testing time, yet at the end of each day one can be glad to at least find an escape for self. I like Mr. R.A.D.'s intro before the read, and how fascinating it is to watch him read & deliver as if noone or nothing has been set to watch the whole act. Effortless reading, & just natural!

    - ksm

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  6. I love the things you think.

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  7. I am so in love with the first two stanzas, they are so beautiful and creative, specially the part about kitchen dreams and small day in between two time zones. That's brilliant.

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  8. the god of oven mitts - that's a god I could get behind

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  9. It is the most atomic rompy- pompy i have ever known.......

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  10. I think I know where the inspiration.came from for this wonderfully tantalizing poem.

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Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence.
― O. Henry (and me)