An empty soup from the flesh monger
Sky spilled salt, a pinch of star
Blood boiled over a bone fire, liquid hunger
ladled from dream's open jar
Stirred with a moon beam
eaten with a bottomless spoon
shared a bottle of vintage scream
tosher friend gone too soon
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Online) - Published: January 25th, 2025 03:32
- Comment from author about the poem: Flesh monger is an old word for butcher tosher is a scavenger of the sewers
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 50
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Online)
Comments7
Good write SB. I feed KP with food from the sewers. Urgh! lol.
Thanks so much Orchi appreciate the read and comment. By the way, doesn't she get a lot of gas that way?
Much like a dinner for one facing a reflective surface. This friend appears to be a Jack of all trades, and a vagabond at that. But I just got off a shift, so my mind isn’t the best. 🙏🏻👍🏻🕊
We give what we have to give. Thanks so much for the read and interpretation that is highly valued
Thanks as well Soren, 🙏🏻👍🏻🕊
Wow! A profound poem, my friend. I love the complex, multi-layered nature of this and how it uses surreal imagery and dark symbolism to explore its themes, as I read it, of loss, memory, and the lingering ghost of those who died. Your note was very helpful in keeping me from pulling out the old dictionary. I knew what a flesh monger was, but I confess, I've never encountered a tosher before! I suppose I would have known standing downwind! 🤣 For me (again, not sure if I am on the mark or not), the tosher represents a friend or a person who was on the margins in one way or another. I am not sure if I am anywhere remotely close on this, but it is what came across to me when I read it! Well done, Soren! ❤️🙏
Thanks Tristan I appreciate so much your reads and interpretations, as I have told others, I do not believe in wrong interpretations for the art of the poem is in the eye of the beholder. You are in many ways on the trail that sponed this piece and the tosher when I was writting it was me the poet and asl all poets do they offer empty soup of dreams and lost memories and their only friend that eats with them is themselves the scavenger of words that leaves too soon.
Ah. Yes. That makes perfect sense, and I really do appreciate the explanation. indeed, poems take on a life and meaning of their own once they leave the poet't hands end enter the minds of readers. It's truly the the beauty of poetry and art in general.
We simply make do don't we? Such beautiful imagery, you made magic out of nothing. 🌹
Too kind again my friend. Like a tosher poet I make things out of scraps. Thanks so much for the read and kind words they are always most appreciated.
A fascinating poem
and great brevity!! 👍
And the AN,
helped immensely! 🤩
Thanks for sharing my friend!
Best regards ✌️ Thad
Thanks so much Thad for the review and comment it is most appreciated
Woah what a poetic intrigue! Kudos for a sublime muse!
Thank you so much for your most kind and generous comments they are highly valued.
It is so hard to sit at a table with nobody else there soren, this happened to me when my wife died 5 years ago. All is different now though.
Andy
Thank you Andy your observation focusing on this point is at the heart of this poem's meaning thank you for noticing.
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