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Posts Tagged ‘scent’

This week’s Poetry Jam prompt has to do with spices and cooking, but it was presented in a broad manner and open to many interpretations; I really liked this flexibility. So far, from the submissions and poems I’ve read in response to the prompt, it seems many of us love writing about exotic spices, cooking, our senses of smell, and the concomitant associations of all of those with sex.

Not sure if this is finished, but I really wanted to link to it before too long. In any case, on with the show.

Apres Le Diner

Fingerbowls of powdered red dust
black sesame seeds

Oil sizzles in a cast iron pan
cardomom pops

I smell like curry,
lime,
and honey,
in the late heat of the day,

I taste sharp garlic and hot ginger
on our mingled fingertips

Your puzzle of spices and fruit pods
makes sense

There is a mushroom
that mimics the smell of decay
to attract flies to spread its spores

Using scent to get what we need

*****************************

This week’s Poetry Jam got me thinking about a few other things, not directly as a response to the prompt, but I’ve decided to include them here as a sort of Part Two of this post. Incomplete, perhaps, like my little poem; read on if you like.

Last year, I visited Salem, Massachusetts for the first time. So many little port towns in New England in the 1600s and beyond were made wealthy by the shipping industry. The Triangle Trade was the trade and transport of rum, sugar cane or molasses, and Africans who had been sold into slavery across the Atlantic Ocean and between the Caribbean, Africa, Europe, and New England. Much wealth also rested on the spice trade. Pepper, cinnamon, chilis, nutmeg, (Connecticut was known as The Nutmeg State), The Spice Islands. It’s a fascinating and complex history which I’ve given short shrift along with ill-supported flicks of information.

It is Black History Month and it behooves us to keep learning more, to dredge up information, to keep asking questions, and to keep seeking the bones that sank to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean in the Middle Passage. At least that’s what I think, but maybe that doesn’t jive with the current [Facebook] trend of trying to focus only on the positive. Hmm. I’m torn between seeking a state of peace and higher consciousness and admitting to the consistent, historical truth of being human in other circumstances; but not really. I know where I fall on the continuum.

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“the spider spins a web each day”: Kate Richardson’s daily artwork–a small drawing or painting (sometimes rubber stamps, too!)–which you can see at eyespider. I have purchased 2 of her pieces (at reasonable prices). The last was the drawing she did on my birthday (this was coincidental, but I love the coincidence). Poke around, click on a picture, be amazed.

My Casabella pink rubber gloves. I don’t have a mirror in my kitchen, so I’m not sure, but when I wear the gloves, I suspect my lips are as pink and youthful as the woman’s on the box. She’s Italian, you know, and her lips match her kitchen gloves, all the while protecting her delicate, yet strong, world-wise hands from dangerous hot water and soap. When the gloves are new, they smell like vanilla, not crappy Yankee Candle fake-o, headache vanilla, but like genuine pink Italian vanilla. Bueno!

time for a dance interlude since we’re all in the kitchen doing dishes

♥♥♥

put your high-heeled sneakers on, don on your favorite pink gingham apron, and turn it up!

The unripe quince I picked from the neighbor’s yard. The shrub seems terribly neglected, but I have noticed it over the years and have seen fruit on it many times. The funny thing about quince is I have no idea how I know it. I remember walking in Ann Arbor, Michigan once and seeing a quince bush (is it a bush? should it be a tree?) and maybe my knowledge stemmed from that one time, before google, before I could have seen a photo on a website. Anyway, the mini-fruit is rotting now, though it was never full-bloomed yellow, only light green, on my credenza (yes, I said credenza!), but it smells heavenly–spicy, bright, and warm. I pick it up and smell it once in a while and will do so until mold forms, then pitch it into the compost bin. Fall is upon us.

sleep, which I’m staying up a bit too late to get enough of…

(okay, I’ll admit, in hushed tones, that maybe the gloves aren’t really Italian, but they are manufactured in the EU–says so on the box–and they are as stylish as all things Italian and don’t worry, I never pay full-price)

oh, if your pee is jewel-pink, don’t freak out! you probably ate roasted fall beets for dinner and simply forgot!

CIAO BELLA!

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