Bruise like raisins, cut like marzipan, yield like cake

Waking up to a wilderness of thought/ where golden raisins painted the years fleeting memories/ the soft citrine of sunlight that fades at wintry noon/ while feeling the garnet of buried hurts and regrets/ like cranberries seeking to be lost in the depths of sweet confections/ but it was the obsidian of a dark year that was counted in currants/ and the days numbered for words spoken, unspoken, friendships made, unmade// Egg whites were beaten and frothed as the wintry chill of life/ fine sugar sufficed for the cloying Spring of ephemeral intentions/ butter, heavy, greasy with misplaced expectations, curdled now/ imagining a different summer in a warm baked transcendence//

365 days worth of candied ginger and orange peel glittering on granite /waiting to be embedded in the soul of the season/ to be resigned to the slash of a knife in future sacrifice/ and in such a cut to reveal at core, precious many, those amber raisins, earthy walnuts/ like the Pleiades that escaped Poseidon/ where they, held in crumb, weep for time lost in the fold of a year// Medusa turned Algol, blinking in gorgon apricot, threatening to turn the confection tart/ for her righteous rage embeds now in molten batter/ and here, even Perseus cannot hurt her //

It is the spice of life, when cloves and cinnamon embalm you into sweet transformations/ to fold into the alchemy of flour/ to another year, to another time, to another place/ filled with friendships, intricate as a Gordian knot, not a tug of war seeking simple resolution/ breathing in a love that asks for the yielding of cake, not the armour of battle/secure in the sweetness of coalesced assemblage baked to perfection, not the self centred phalanx of soldiering ingredients//

Am I and are you, ready to submit to a new year, to cut like marzipan/ for the merging of our egos, like when brandy gets personal with cake/ for fresh outpourings of love and bartering of affections/ that aren’t silent but rooted in flavour, in sharing, in soul// Are we ready to reach out in thought or deed/ Or are we still looking for the world to hand us loose change in coin as lifeless as that silver platter //







I baked a fresh batch of Christmas cake, having shared the previous ones I made. The baking process provided some insight into formulating my resolution for the new year: “to be yielding like cake.”

I believe life is not a battle to be won, in armour, but something to be yielded to, in gratitude while fluidly seeking, reaching, merging, creating, giving, coalescing into a collective flood. I know it is difficult, easier said than done and cake has a way of showing you the path ☺️

Real friendships I believe are personal and allow a space for vulnerability. To write poetry is an act of vulnerability too. To live life is an act of vulnerability unless one wants to hide under a rock in silence or battle life as a wilderness of thorny experiences in isolation. This year has become one of opportunity to embrace vulnerability.

I am amazed by the number of people in the poetic community who give voice to spirit and passion, whether for the singular or for the collective. This never ceases to inspire me.

Sending everyone the best of wishes for the new year and a lot of strength for sticking with your resolutions and your intentions.

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