Time Enough To Sog (A Poem)

Time enough to sog;
Toss in bowl
Your golden flake of flesh;
Breathe against china,
Puffing powdery chalk to and fro;
Not drawing in your cellulose kiss.
Your prism’s fine dust
Will find such love against the grain,
And break the tidy spell;
It’s cloudy in the depths
A paper witch upon her sulphured broom
Flies from the cover.
The sticky pyridoxine,
The choking fructose;
The children’s bananas’ turned dark as sin;
Then sink your face,
For you’ve a lie to drink.

- Dylan Thomas

The First Stirring of Love (Part II)

Part I

We went to a popular Chinese buffet, the next night – the girl from Trader Joe’s (her name was Michelle), and myself. A dish and half into the meal, I confided in her:

“I think the food here is kind of dull.” It had been my idea to eat out in first place, but frankly the date wasn’t going well.

“Why don’t we head back to my apartment, and I’ll cook us some real food?”

“That- that sounds great.” She hesitated, as if she didn’t want to say too much, “I love a man who can cook. What were you planning on making?”

“Your choice – I have Cheerios, Cornflakes, Raisin Bran, Basic 4, Honey Bunches of Oats, Lucky Charms, High Fiber Cereal – even some vintage Cocoa Puffs!” If there’s one thing I’m damn proud of, it’s my diverse tastes and cooking ability.

“Sounds good. Let’s jet,” there wasn’t any hesitation – not anymore. Her face was flushed with anticipation.
And that was the start of the real problem. Because, though I enjoyed her company, it all felt too easy. Not that I wanted the ‘thrill of the hunt’ per se – but just that I began to wonder – who else had she eaten breakfast with? The day before, had she eaten eggs benedict with a biker from LA? Or was it Eggo waffles with a lawyer from Boston? Pop Tarts with a British pimp? Who knew? I felt a bit uneasy, but I gamely told her to follow me to my apartment in her own car.

In my apartment, I presented my selection of cereals, and poured us some orange juice. Then we began the mundane pre-game routine. We each went to the bathroom to wash our hands, and while she was washing, I got out the milk, and the bowls, and the spoons – a slightly shameful ritual that’s never discussed.

She came out of the bathroom looking beautiful, and I slid the bowl toward her. And then things fell apart. Casually grabbing the milk carton, she poured milk into the bowl. She was pouring the milk first!! I stood with slack-jawed for a few moments. I didn’t think that anyone could be so barbarous. When I collected my senses, I firmly walked her to the door, ignoring her protests, pushed her out and slammed it in her face. Good riddance!

Nearly breakfast, and the devil

Nearly breakfast, and the devil
Still comes visiting his poor tracts,
If not in person sends his unending evil
By messengers, the flow of letters
Spelling across the box his devil’s facts,
The hours’ cries, full milk-firstily.
He has the whole bowl now, parent’s departed
Who cannot control the order he tips,
The law permits
His wild libels, and his lips
Poised at the hungry ear
To whisper, when he wants, pathetic war
Or lay pathetic rumour.
The welcome devil comes to atone,
Steals what is best – homogeneous mixture -
Rapes, leaves to float (the goon!),
Counts on his spoon
All he has spilled in wonder,

The welcome devil comes invited,
Suspicious, but that soon passes,
They cry to be taken, and Devil separates
All that is found already mixed,
Leaves it among filthy used knives and the glasses.

-Dylan Thomas

Milk cornflake soggy

Milk cornflake soggy
Cereal before milk not
But enough snap crunch

When You Have Ground Such Cornflakes Down to Dust (A Poem)

When you have ground such Cornflakes down to dust
As flies before my breath
And, at the taste, crumbles in lover’s mouth,
Or chomped it to look the closer,
Magnified and made immense
At one side’s loss,
Turn around, and see no milk
Such wisdom is folly, but
Sense can correct with dairy,
Folly purified and made true.
For folly was
When wisdom lay not in the bowl
But in the body of the corn and grain,
Was when milk found its way onto cereal
Growing on corn-hill, or shining under milk.
Come wise in foolishness,
Go silly and be Christ’s good brother,
He whose lovers were both wise and sensible
When milk stirred, cool over foolish heart.

-Dylan Thomas

Tell all the Truth, but tell it slant (A poem)

Tell all the Truth, but tell it slant (First Draft)

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant—
Milk on cereal lies
Too cold for our infirm Delight
A freezing icy surprise
As the fridge turned too low
Explanation for broad mind
The truth must dawn gradually
Or every man be blind—

Tell all the Truth, but tell it slant (Final Draft)

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant—
Milk on cereal lies
Pleasurable, even for infirm Delight
Preferable; no surprise
Milk whets the hunger dawned
On explanation’s dry lips
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind—

-Emily Dickinson

As Leaves Catch Rain, Lucky Charms Draw Milk (A Poem)

As leaves catch rain, Lucky Charms draw milk;
As tumbled over rim of crunchy flake
Milk drips; each thundering quake, each dairy lake’s
Stream flowing finds tongue to fling out broad its ilk;
Each cereal does one thing and the like:
Deals out that zest inside each one dwells;
Milk – goes itself; on myself it speaks and spells;
Crying Pour me first; it’s a pleasure spike.

I say more: the prudent man pours;
Keeps pouring: that all his cereal sinks;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is-
Awesome- for awesome is a bowl of drinks
Lovely in taste, and lovely in garish colour
To the Father, fortified with zinc.

-Gerard Manley Hopkins. Poems.

Friday Cereal History #1

It is rumored that the Ostrogoths, a nomadic tribe which swept across the weakened Roman empire in the fourth century poured their milk first. Many historians now believe that this endemic weakness was the primary reason they were culturally assimilated into even a declining Roman empire within three generations. Little evidence of their own culture remains.

The First Stirring of Love

Shopping at my local Trader Joe’s supermarket, I saw their shelves stocked high with boxes of High Fiber Cereal (yes, that’s the cereal name). It’s a delicious cereal, so I filled my cart with boxes- dozens of them, because Trader Joe’s cycles inventory, and will sometimes replace a product.

I blindly chose the shortest line at the registers, so it was only upon reaching the cashier that I saw how beautiful she was – elegant, but with the approachable, earthy mein of girls who appreciate Trader Joe’s. She started scanning my items: soy milk, yogurt, and then high fiber cereal – 18 boxes of it. A unique purchase: I felt compelled to justify myself.

“I’m blowing out my colon tonight,” I explained, with all the nonchalance I could muster.

Her laughter bubbled like a brook, but all I could feel was the scalding heat of her boiling scorn. How foolish I had been! To assume that she cared about my personal life – though all Trader Joe’s employees are wonderfully intent on hearing about it. What was I thinking?!

Perhaps my pained expression betrayed my dismay. She paused, her lucid green eyes searing mine.

“That’s such a coincidence! I blow out my colon weekly, as well!” Looking into the fiery supernova of her eyes was too intense. “Sometimes High Fiber Cereal is all I eat for weeks on end.”

I turned away, briefly: my heart bursting with love, like Alien from an astronaut’s chest.

Milk and Cereal

Some say the tasty, it’s in grain,
Some say it’s in dairy.
From my taste for sugar cane
I hold with those who favor grain.
But if my food I could vary,
I think I know enough of taste
To know that for relish, a mix
Even in great haste
Would provide more kicks.

-Robert Frost (Harper’s Magazine, December 1920)