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The Beggar Poet's Hexagram 50: The Caldron

stevef

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Somewhere I read it is not appropriate to eat snow,
but what if it has fallen without a hint
of wind and it hasn't touched anything
except a cloud, midnight
and pockets of air that have never been breathed in
and the last drops that fell
landed on my tongue?


Do you suppose a number of flakes will settle
on my brow,
refresh my temper


build up until the numbness spreads
and dissuades images of broken bones,
soiled fingernails
and erroneous leaps from yesteryear
from arising?


What if I use it for soup prepared with freshly dug vegetables
washed in a stream equally as pure


salt less with only a touch
of pepper prepared in a glass bottom bowl?


Would it sustain my journey
into the mountains
to get away from an echo
which approached when I was tired,
my feet didn't touch the ground


the moon hidden behind red gauze
at noon


when steam rises and bubbles pop,
I breathe in
and allow the odours evoke centuries old odours
that enveloped a gathering which raised cries
for succour,
reparation
and retribution into the morning light


a distraught mother who felt her child wrenched
from her side and pulled along
as if a pumpkin seed
on a string


what had he eaten before, this adventurer into foreign lands


horses blood and roast femur
carved from carcasses which couldn't withstand frontal assault


who breathed in the aroma
like his ancestor
but forgotten behind layers
of grass being sown,
reaped and eaten
because that was all
to sustain a multitude


who saw his mother
beside a swollen river with her teeth on the ground


a few bandits standing by cooking their evening meal


the nipples of a fox,
the eye of a rat
and an earlobe cut from the prettiest victim
of the day’s rout


the scent filled his head, stung his eyes
and clouded whispers of joy
that meant to say
how much he appreciated each spoonful.


What if I take it back with me to the foothills
and use it to supplement my meagre rations?


Would it engender strength to fight off illness,
the vitality to suppress fear
I will expire when my teeth fall out




inspire a delicious sense
I have arrived where only healthy animals roam,
the lantern is always bright
and I can see the footsteps leading up to the girl
I was meant to marry
but refused her hand because walks on lonely trails
were more inviting
than the tasty dishes she prepared
but with condiment
and ingredients she stole from the local shopkeeper.
 

canislulu

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I am not sure whether to say "Oi vey!", "Mama mia!", or "Thank you."

Perhaps she will cease to be a thief after stewing alone in her own pot awhile.
 

stevef

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Hi jumpingmouse

Touched with a little forgiveness, she might, but from the beggar poet.....?

Steve
 

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