Notes That Started The Morning Fire.

08 Feb

I burnt my breakfast with brown butter and garlic.

It rose above the perfumed oiled scent of progress;

—creeping through the cracks of my window sills

wafting  silently,  carrying the day’s

chain-linked smog…breaking in with

—my paycheck’s upcoming arena.

Oops, I meant, aroma.

For a moment I choose to linger

asking for only a cherry tree.


I welcome the reservation that you

have set aside for me.

No need to build me a fence—

I am locked inside.


Do I talk to myself? Me and him?

Of course! Who else would listen?

How would I know when to stoke the wood stove

and make coffee, home fries, and scramble eggs?

I always tell myself what to do.

I am vetted by my soul,


The web, trickling inadvertently behind me, as I walk through space

Connects me to another square that I had left!

Never touching the ground, I wait with patience

in silk expectation —for a life, now to be defined.


The thread of your existence is never behind!

Nor could it manufacture a web to connect

to illusive time!

Shake off that wiggle… trickling inadvertently behind!



Hey! Anyone up for coffee, home fries, and scramble eggs?


Posted by on February 8, 2018 in Experimental, Life, Outlaw, Poetry, thoughts, Zen


Tags: , , ,

8 responses to “Notes That Started The Morning Fire.

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  2. rothpoetry

    February 9, 2018 at 6:39 pm

    I love it! Aging at its best!! Glad to see you still have your imaginary friend!! LOL

    Liked by 1 person

  3. wildchild47

    February 9, 2018 at 5:37 pm

    Me myself and I

    questioned rhyme without reason and seasonings – asking for salt and pepper – but I was sorely afraid for the upbraiding I would receive 😉

    some of the best conversations happen with self – but a hearty full breakfast – hey, where’s the bacon??? – is sometimes the best and most satisfying answer ….


    Liked by 1 person

  4. Frank Hubeny

    February 9, 2018 at 3:20 pm

    I talk to myself for the same reason.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. annell4

    February 9, 2018 at 3:07 pm

    My fav! Poem and breakfast.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. kim881

    February 9, 2018 at 7:31 am

    I love the description of the smell of burnt breakfast:
    ‘It rose above the perfumed oiled scent of progress;
    —creeping through the cracks of my window sills’.
    I appreciate the conversation with yourself – I do it all the time – and the aside, ‘Of course! Who else would listen?’ I think we are all vetted by our souls, but most people don’t realise.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Brendan

    February 9, 2018 at 5:37 am

    I usually try to blame him for the waft of my inadvertent behind. He blames me for idiot rhyme.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Björn Rudberg (brudberg)

    February 9, 2018 at 12:41 am

    This is a dialogue with self you can only have over a long perfect breakfast

    Liked by 1 person


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