Should Milk Shine (A Poem)

Should milk shine, the holy glint,
Caught in a circle of unaccustomed light,
Would dehydrate, and any boy of cereal
Look twice before he fell from grace.
The features in their private dark
Are formed of sand, but let the false day come
And from her lips, half-crushed grapenuts fall,
The mummy napkins expose a faded chin.

I have been told to reason by the box,
But box, like brain, leads helplessly;
I have been told to reason by the pulse,
And, when it quickens, alter the pouring pace
Till cereal and milk lie level and the same
So fast I move defying time, the quiet gentleman
Whose beard fills with Wisconsin milk.

I have heard many years of crunching,
And many years should see no change.

The bowl I filled while playing in the park
Has not yet turned soggy.

-Dylan Thomas

The Taste of Milk After Cereal (A Search Engine Term Poem)

Your touch graces the air
Leaves it cool, gentle, sweet;
The taste of milk after cereal
Bleached bones beside warm flesh:
But fact.

Weekend Cereal History #4

No one knows whether the great French Enlightenment thinker Voltaire poured his cereal first or his milk first. Even historians specializing in Voltaire are unsure. He authored 300 volumes, after all, none of which clearly state which he preferred. It isn’t that the historians are incompetent, but that Voltaire wrote ascerbic, sarcastic works, and it’s difficult to intuit when he’s serious and when he’s being ironic. It now seems likely that we’ll never know the truth (but the smart money is on his pouring the cereal first).

Weekend Cereal History #3

The Roman army was renowned for three things:
1. Discipline.
2. Engineering abilities
3. Pouring their milk after their cereal.
In the ancient Mediterranean, most civilization was naturally inclined to pour their milk first. In fact, the only cultures that consistently poured milk after cereal in that time and region were the Macedonians - and about half the Greek city-states (Athens,Thebes,Corinth). Yes, anthropologists recognize signs of milk-after-cereal in Spain. Some sites have even been uncovered in Northern Africa near Carthage. But recent discoveries indicate that only about 1/4 of the population engaged in such practices. Rome - led by its armies - was different.

Cornflake Fitness (Search Engine Term Haiku)

Cornflake fitness high
Cocoa Crispies less wholesome
Bran: a health engine

Sonnet #18: Shall I compare thee to a honeybunch of oats?

Shall I compare thee to a Honeybunch of Oats?
Thou art more lovely and more zesty:
Rough spoons do rumble the taste buds of tongue,
And oat’s solid lease hath all too brief time:
Sometime too cold the milky pool glistens,
And oft’ is his fair complexion dimm’d;
And every clarity from limpid to saccharine decline,
By chance or nature’s changing course sully’d:
But thy eternal crunch shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that crispness thou ownst;
Nor shall Soggy brag thou wanderest in his moisture,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as milk can flow, or cereal tumble,
So long as this, this gives life to thee.

-Shakespeare

The Milk You Pour (A Poem)

The milk you pour encroaches
The bowl is mine I know the slant
Soggy is my enemy your spoon shant stir
Under his strong impulsive spin
The rainbow’s foot is not more apt
To have the centaur lover
So steal bran not O rabbity wind
But leave but still savor
For if the gods would love
Theyd see with eyes like mine
But should not taste like I
Your sweet inducive bran
And raven raisins.

- Dylan Thomas

Weekend Cereal History #2

Both Catherine and Peter the Great of Russia earned their honorifics because they were able to consume Grapenuts without milk; indeed, Peter spent several years condemned to a circus sideshow when he was just a boy, astonishing onlookers with his “iron will.” According to primary sources, they were originally known as “Catherine the Grape” and “Peter the Grapenut,” respectively. Linguists believe that this interpretation of their nicknames was corrupted in a nineteenth-century translation, and the less meaningful name stuck.

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!