The falseness of convienience. Addatives, canned, bottled, bagged, frozen plasticised. Fake nutrition not only in food but relationships and anything that was real. I'm not even sure what is real anymore. Ah but for a ripe peach from the tree. Heaven forbid, it might not be clean or have a worm.
I'm old enough to remember real food; grown in the yard, washed, cooked and happily eaten. somewhere in that future of synthisized food no one will ever know the delight of tasting a lucious, ripe tomato or plucking an apple right from the tree and eating it in the orchard. Much food for thought here dear poet, no pun intended.
(soaked in brine
soar tinged flavours of sunshine
seeking respite,
timid flavour
teeming with juicy vivaciousness
trimmed of skin and pride,)
displayed side by side, they await
that lid opening of demise
where their worth, will be realised
at their food chain, fated
tepid ending
A tepid ending that in its time and course fertilise the next batch of edibles we may assume. Love your poetic response! That's the poetic song and dance right there.
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The falseness of convienience. Addatives, canned, bottled, bagged, frozen plasticised. Fake nutrition not only in food but relationships and anything that was real. I'm not even sure what is real anymore. Ah but for a ripe peach from the tree. Heaven forbid, it might not be clean or have a worm.
So true Soren. I remember even getting quite troubled by Soylent Green when it first came out.
Yea that thought still troubles me.
I have a saying: Killed by Coles.
oh makes one wonder if Woolies is any better 😀
Nope.
3 more comments
I'm old enough to remember real food; grown in the yard, washed, cooked and happily eaten. somewhere in that future of synthisized food no one will ever know the delight of tasting a lucious, ripe tomato or plucking an apple right from the tree and eating it in the orchard. Much food for thought here dear poet, no pun intended.
Snacking in the orchard, like a self serve wonderland and homegrown mealtime preparation is one of my dearest childhood memories. Thanks kindly.
No point looking at me .. I'm pickled .. a circumstance preserved for the overprivileged but internally grateful
...here's looking at them, Kid. To have a choice is awesome. Pickling can be fun!
(soaked in brine
soar tinged flavours of sunshine
seeking respite,
timid flavour
teeming with juicy vivaciousness
trimmed of skin and pride,)
displayed side by side, they await
that lid opening of demise
where their worth, will be realised
at their food chain, fated
tepid ending
A tepid ending that in its time and course fertilise the next batch of edibles we may assume. Love your poetic response! That's the poetic song and dance right there.
thanks for sharing
your inspirational poetry
and inspiring me, kind Poet
what a gift to receive
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