An unused idea is like a fridge
Full of food ingredients, meat and stuff
“Where is the chef, where is the chef”
Fermented with mould even in chill, like cheese
A cupboard full of spices, spices cabinet
“Have you seen the chef”
That lives to see their expiry date
Still sat in avenues occupying space
With novelty value, like white elephants
On a grand stand to be polished
“In corridors of Buckingham with banquet”
While logs sit on forest floors
Which gives failure a better stand
In the stakes of greatness podium
For failure was a step closer
“I just burnt the steak, where is the chef”
And where breath is still with life
It serves as an opportunity
To forge ahead with lessons learnt
“Was it rare, medium rare or well done”
An unused idea, might as well
Lie in coffins to be buried or cremated
Like a dead brain and it's host
“Come now, last orders out” NB: Read the two poems separately after to get the idea
Cool poem....and I did go back and read them separately. This is a very clever piece of writing!
ReplyDeleteOnce again, you have amazed me with one of your poems. I love the way you write.
ReplyDeleteI love the way you write, it's always so interesting and fresh!
ReplyDeleteThis one's delightful, I'm chuckling as I type!
(the corridors of Buckinham with banquet)
What a hoot!
Great poem!
Just semantics - the last stanza, something with the 'idea' and 'coffins'?
What a hoot!
ReplyDeleteThis was great to read, I'm chuckling as I write!
(in corridors of buckingham with banquet) - ha, glorious!
Just semantics - something in with 'idea' and 'coffins'?
I enjoy your extended metaphor here! Well done, yes, I said "well-done," not rare!! ;)
ReplyDelete