On The Cutting Board

Said the cutting board to the knife 
When you do your chop chop
All the veggies go drop drop
Cut up to be curried
In no way hurried
Steamed, stir fried
Pickled or dried
All nutrients supplied
On farmers relied
When the sky opened up cried
The soil that crumbled n died
lived and freshened and happily sighed

When the veggies went under the knife
to be skinned and chopped
they became a gourmet delight
making digestion alright.

48 thoughts on “On The Cutting Board

  1. Reblogged this on Kreamy O' Cheddar and commented:
    What a chic poem Yaskhan! Thanks for sharing this. To be true, I was rather tempted to continue. Hope you like the rest of it! Have a beautiful day, Yaskhan and all my dear readers! :))

    Shallots and pak-choy played peekaboo,
    The carrots and zucchini were cooking too
    The veggies came done in lickety-split
    Whiffs of spices, no deficit
    The modest dish, to the guest, was taken
    The cruet with pepper, eagerly shaken
    So nibbled, at first, the bon vivant
    Then bit, then gobbled, at the restaurant
    Cooked so simple from Mama’s book.
    Bland veggies and knives was all it took.
    And the chef, no gourmet, was able to slake
    For she made with love, the little that she could make!

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Very nice! Thank you for your creation. πŸ™‚

    Reading it, I happen to be sitting next to notes from a symposium about Georges Bataille, and this one note says “poetry as sacrifice.” And my own internal response to “On the Cutting Board” is a carousel ride of the sacrifice of the veggies, and the board, and the knife, and the words, and the poet. And ourselves.

    Love it.

    Liked by 1 person

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