A beautifully plated meal.
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: plate.
A beautifully plated meal.
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: plate.
I was searching for my friend Maline’s recipe for ribs that involves coconut milk. I couldn’t find it. So I made a version up. Mmmmmmm it was delicious.
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: gusto.
“Mom, the chicken tastes funny, but good.”
“Shuddup and eat.”
“Mom, the salty stuff on the chicken is the BEST!”
“Move over, I’m eating yours if you don’t want it!”
“Mom!”
“That kind of chicken is called a potato, dears.”
“Yum, mom, more.”
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: obfuscate.
My mother gave my sister and I small notebooks decorated with our names when I was starting high school. She said that we were each going to cook once a week. We were to tell her what we wanted to make. She would give us the recipe and we would put it in our notebook. She would buy the ingredients and we would each cook.
It ended up being every other week so that we alternated, but I still have the notebook. My mother died in 2000 of ovarian cancer. I miss her. The first recipe I chose was corned beef and cabbage.
I am drying apples. I may make a pie. I may try making applesauce or apply jelly, haven’t tried either before!
I am mostly staying inside, darn it, because the air quality still sucks. Mask outside, even in the car, sigh. Bleagh. No beach walk today.
From the beach yesterday morning. I say still life, but there could be mites in the feather and the plants are still alive and no doubt there are lots of microscopic plants and animals in this picture. I am wondering how it is really possible to be vegan with bacteria around. Do they not count?
Do corals have venation? The feather does.
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: venation.
Warning: this post contains some time out words.
How do I process the game you played?
I am the subject of the game.
Or the victim.
Or no, I refuse. It is your game. I was not playing. I am the honey badger, metabolism so fast that I have to run from one meal to the next or else I will starve. I eat whatever I can find: cobras, bees, anything. I eat or I die.
You have tethered a honey badger to oxygen by playing a game.
I am the football and you have been kicking me, throwing me, catching me, slamming me to the ground as hard as you can in the end zone.
And now that I am worn and damaged and torn, you’ll toss me away, not even notice me, and find a new ball.
You will need a new football. To play with.
I don’t envy that person.
The truth is, it will be one of you. The group will rest on their laurels, oh, we nearly killed her, wasn’t it great? We showed her. She is so stupid, took her what, 21 years to fucking figure it out? And she thinks she’s so smart.
I was looking for food because I am always hungry. The food insecurity goes back to infancy. Maybe to the womb: my mother says she was not to gain weight and spent the entire pregnancy longing for a gigantic ice cream Sunday. Think of being in a womb, attacked by antibodies to tuberculosis, and starving all the time. Might be a little bit worried when birth happens. Fuck, I am going through a tunnel, what horrors await me here? But maybe there will be more food.
Maybe someone will love me. Maybe there will be someone for me to love. And feed. We can give each other food.
My advice to you is don’t be the ball. I was the ball for 21 years. I was so hungry the whole time, for food and for love, that I kind of noticed but dismissed it as unimportant. Food and love were more important. Work and my patients were more important. You don’t matter and your games are trivial.
It will be the weakest one who will be the ball. You worry that you are the one. You should worry. You had better look strong right away. Post some horror. Write something really tough. Don’t show anyone any niggling doubts. Um, the ball is wearing oxygen. I am feeling a little bad about this. Are you feeling bad about this? The ball isn’t just crazy, it’s hurt. Actually crazy is an illness too: I know that you discriminate and think that cancer is a legitimate illness and that mania isn’t, but you are assholes. No, you’re too small and pathetic to be an asshole. You are a one celled animal that is clinging to a hair on an asshole and you get shat on daily. And you know, deep deep in your tiny shrunken heart, that you deserve it.
I am so glad I am not you.
I am tethered to oxygen. But I am healing. I don’t think you can. You are locked in your small sick pathetic triangulation competition and pretending that it’s a game that it’s ok that you are just playing.
Ick.
Meanwhile, the oxygen is portable.
I have food and I have love and I have work to do that lifts me on wings. I will go too near the sun and light on fire and fall burning, but that’s ok. I’ve done it before. The ocean heals me, always. It is so much fun to fly!
This is in memory of my mother, my father and my sister. I miss all three and I love them and they love me. Today is the day my mother died. The longer we live, the more days are days when someone that we love died. But they are still here. They are in the rocks and the sky and the trees and the coffee cup. They are not in sugary donuts or foods that cause heart attacks. But they are all around us, cradle us, still love us. Joy to you and the memories of your loved ones who have gone on. Blessings.
For Wordless Wednesday.
For Wordless Wednesday.
The color prompt makes me think of the Farmer’s Market. Our Saturday market opens April 7. Hooray, spring is around the corner!
To market, to market
to buy a fat pig
Home again, home again
jiggety jig
Books by author Diana Coombes
NEW FLOWERY JOURNEYS
life, faith, adultimatums.
The flight of tomorrow
Raku pottery, vases, and gifts
Rural doctor, mom, writes poems, dance, sing.
𝖠𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖯𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌.𝖼𝗈𝗆 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝖾.
Taking the camera for a walk!!!
A blog designed to remember the past and celebrate the present.
From the Existential to the Mundane - From Poetry to Prose
1 Man and His Bloody Dog
Homepage Engaging the World, Hearing the World and speaking for the World.
Anne M Bray's art blog, and then some.
The Home for All My Coding Projects
My Personal Rants, Ravings, & Ruminations
...out of a digital shoebox
Writer
Poetry/Poems, Photography, Travels, Musings, Quotes, Challenges, Awards, Reblogs, Uncategorized
Vietnamese art and literature, beyond borders
Author • Editor • Writing Instructor
Discover and re-discover Mexico’s cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Word painter and story slave
Reflections on Life through poetry, essays and photos
To participate in the Ragtag Daily Prompt, create a Pingback to your post, or copy and paste the link to your post into the comments. And while you’re there, why not check out some of the other posts too!
Beauty is everywhere waiting to be captured
Authentic Nautical Accessories, and Custom Furnishings
food for the body; food for the soul
Aspergers syndrom, bipolaritet, fotografi, konst, poesi.
I'm Victoria Stuart, a poet committed to love's transmission.
You must be logged in to post a comment.