Tag Archives: bitterness

Sayonara Umami

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Since the word prompt today is “bitter,” I’m reposting a poem I wrote three years ago that deals with the subject of the five taste categories: sweet, sour, bitter, salty, umami, (and spicy, which they added even though it isn’t really a taste categoryi: We were to choose which taste we would choose to give u if there were one flavor our tongue would no longer be able to distinguish. Here is my choice:.

Sayonara Umami

Every day my word prompt takes time away from me.
I lie in bed and write and write sometimes till two or three.
But today they’ve found another part of me to waste,
for now they’re going to take away one aspect of my taste.
Salt or bitter, sweet or sour, are tastes I must maintain.
Umami is the obvious choice that causes the least pain.
They say monosodium glutamate is what creates its savor.
Seaweed, cured fish, aged cheese and meats are what contain its flavor.
(These foods I hate and so at last, I’ll never have to worry
about detecting those weird tastes in saté or in curry.)
No more lurking fish paste. No more furry tongue.
No more adult flavors found revolting by the young.
So for once, dear “Word Prompt,” I shall to you relate
my thanks for taking from my life something I really hate!

umami,

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/bitter/

NaPoWriMo Day 3: Unlove Spell

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Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge is write a charm – a simple rhyming poem, in the style of a recipe/nursery rhyme. It could be a charm against warts, or against traffic tickets. It could be a charm to bring love, or to bring free pizzas from your local radio station. I’ve decided to give a recipe to dispel the pain of an unfaithful lover.

Unlove Spell

For relief from suffering­­­ and a cure for love,
pluck a feather from a dying dove.
Press the feather in a hemlock crotch,
then fill a cauldron with his favorite scotch.
Wait for dark and stormy weather
to stew the hemlock crotch and feather.
Then add as listed all given below,
stirring steady with flame turned low.
Write your lover’s entire name
over and over and over again,
then shred this page of purple prose
with a thorn you’ve pried from a withered rose.
Add the paper, shred on shred,
recalling what he’s done and said.
Cast in the pot, till your mind is freed,
each slight recalled, each dreadful deed.
Add a patch you’ve torn from his favorite chair
and a single strand of his pubic hair,
wedding pictures of Niagara,
nose trimmers, hair dye and Viagra.
Add his hernia girdle and knee-length socks,
his shoes, his T-shirts and his jocks.
Cut all his pants off at the knees
and add them to his soggy T’s.
Stir the cauldron round and round.
If music’s playing, turn up the sound.
Sing along to the lyrics of
song after song of broken love.
“Don’t come home a cheatin’ with a lovin’ on your mind.”
Let these lyrics fill your thoughts—or others of their kind.
Call his mother on the phone. Say what he’s done to you.
Record her comments, rip out the tape, and add it to the brew.
Call all his girlfriends, all his buddies, everyone on your block,
Tell them that he’s impotent and has a little cock.
Write a note of what you’ve done and tape it to the pot.
Turn off the flame. Walk out the door. Forget the whole damn lot!!!