You used to feed me
I thrived on your provisions
The loving cup once overflowed
And you kept it filled from your reserve
You showed me possibilities
My imagination ran wild
And I wanted you more than sustenance.
A feast for the mind
A banquet for contemplation
But now we’re both starving
Unable to feed ourselves
On the meager scraps left in our larder
Stop with the metaphors, you say…
But I’m having trouble plain speaking
All those pretty possibilties
Are lodged in my throat
And your indifference is choking me

Header photo via Pinterest.

56 thoughts on “Starving

  1. Love the skeletons: here’s Quevedo on love beyond death —

    Alma, a quien todo un Dios prisión ha sido, Soul who has imprisoned a God,
    Venas, que humor a tanto fuego han dado, Veins who have supplied multiple humors,
    Médulas, que han gloriosamente ardido, Marrow that has gloriously burned,

    Su cuerpo dejará, no su cuidado; Will leave its body, not its love;
    Serán ceniza, mas tendrá sentido; they will be ashes, but they will have feeling;
    Polvo serán, mas polvo enamorado. They will be dust, but dust enamoured.

    My translation / don’t trust it.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Well the idea is there! That is a pretty cool photo. I’m really behind on my reading, Roger! Will catch up soon! Also, found a little info about the Jennings connection to Ireland. I might indeed be more Irish than I thought!

        Liked by 1 person

      1. Basically, yes. Love is a flame and the remains of the body are still hot with the fires of love. It’s one of Quevedo’s most famous sonnets: Amor constante mas alla de la muerte … a beautiful love poem … along the lines of my love will never die … but oh so rhetorically intense.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Beautiful! My Spanish is rudimentary too but I can follow it a little better than French. Although my heart’s desire is to speak both those languages with proficiency if not fluency. And oh poetry in either one? Swoon!

        Liked by 1 person

    1. I usually write first and then look for an image. Once or twice, I find an image that prompts a piece. A lot of the photos I use are my own. If you don’t see an image credit, that’s likely the case. (Unless I forgot!)

      Now having said that… Recently, I pulled out my father’s 1922 edition of Poe’s Tales Of Mystery and Imagination, illustrated by Harry Clarke. They are some of the most bizarre, gruesome and fascinating works I’ve ever seen. Lately they have been prompts for some of my darker poems and stories.

      Happy Friday, Jay!

      Liked by 1 person

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