mundane musing the thirtieth


I long for the green saplings of asparagus

Inexplicably I savor even their woody stalks

Like a punishment, fibrous and cleansing

I am mostly disallowed from eating vegetables

Instead consuming processed sugars and

Refined grains out of necessity for nourishment

Of some kind

I dream that perchance, when not surveilled

I puree deep purple roasted aubergines

Savor courgettes fried in butter and olive oil

I barely season them

They are delectable in the nude

And I eat them in secret

My eyes wander the food desert of my


My wrinkled bag of a stomach protests

Its dedication to cheese and milk products

Searching for something less

Child-like to eat

The bitterness of gourds and greens

The spiciness of radish and dandelion

I open the cupboard

Chock-full of bread and noodles

Cookies and sweets

Bottles of wine sleeping on their sides

They appease me for a while

Strange, but sometimes I wish I were a


Gleefully grazing, a happy herbivore

Dutifully digesting multiple times

(written 22 april 2018)

mundane musing the twenty-eighth


blue-black baubles, the fools gold of the summer forest

are now as dear to me as precious pearls

i let them roll around, some clinging to each other in their

semi-frozen state; soon they will deflate

their juice will stain my tongue and fingertips

with indigo ink


the warmth of july is so far away

yet i cannot hoard these

i have no will to ration delight

until it is time to raid the woodlands

i will savor each audacious burst

against my tongue


many weeks ago

peeking through the coat of winter

were miniature green stems

so i brought some to my kitchen

and observed their false flourishing

in the greenhouse of my windowsill


leaves appeared, then pale green

flowers turned to white

i almost believed they would bear fruit

and so i will carefully tend to the forest

each time i walk there

searching for treasure

(written 10 april 2018)

mundane musing the nineteenth


i have a craving

one leek, long and supple

it is high time to liberate it

from the confines of my

refrigerator’s vegetable crisper

a half-head of garlic anticipates

peeling, smashing,

the limpid caress of olive oil

and a slow roast

potatoes shed their peels

with the help of a paring knife

they willingly join the others

the acrid smell of the onion

as i chop it

i do not cry, rather i salivate

the oven develops flavors

colors in a dark room

under soft red light

the aromas almost too heady

almost tender, a little charred,

the vegetables meet their final destination

a pot, melting butter bubbling

a bath of vegetable broth


only when i cannot

stand it any longer do i lift the lid

and meld their pulpy mixture

with a blender

a little milk, or cream if i’m feeling


a bowl and crusty bread awaits.

(written 23 february 2018)