Pumpernickel

Photo from Pinterest

 

coarse Westphalian fare
rye of flour and berry
endowed with a deep
rich brown earthen
aroma hinting its
peasant born history
soured but slightly
fermented by starter
a savory staple with
ham and a full bodied beer
makes a fine hearty lunch
or for lighter indulgence
with gouda green grapes
and a crisply cooled Riesling

seldom does poetry
celebrate food but
sometimes the muse
arrives hungry

 

 

From my book Ephemera

Remembering to Never Forget

“No Names” by Alice Lok Cahana 

 

one smoldering mind
immolated a continent
blackened the skies of
the world evermore
stained the skin of
complicit humanity
marking each man
then alive and born since
all his children and
those yet to follow
through all that remains
of this bleak haunted
age of our kind
we depraved and
conveniently blind
marking every last wretch
of us sons of Cain all
with indelible guilt
for the numbers
the numbers
oh God damn us all
with regret of creation
lamenting the numbers
the numbers
the skin and bone
atavist shock of
those numbers

(originally posted January 2014)

The Somme

“Trenches” by Otto Dix

(Originally posted here February 2014)
 

coarse soliloquies silently
scraped at those thoughts
still alive in the trenches
regimental regalia lay muted
by phosgene and field guns
a million bones melted
down into the farmlands
of barbed wire watershed
wounded by tank treads
and howitzer wheels leaving
permanent scars and
perpetual echoes of thunder
in dreams of a continent
destined for more cataclysmic
ordeals modern legacies
fruiting political genes since
first seeded by clans in the
bronze age who realized
new tactical purpose
for murderous blades

Pumpernickel

Pumpernickel Bread
Photo from bread.com

coarse Westphalian fare
rye of flour and berry
endowed with a deep
rich brown earthen
aroma hinting its
peasant born history
soured but slightly
fermented by starter
a savory staple with
ham and a full bodied beer
makes a fine hearty lunch
or for lighter indulgence
with gouda green grapes
and a crisply cooled Riesling

seldom does poetry
celebrate food but
sometimes the muse
arrives hungry