I initially wrote this for the ‘The writer’ competition at http://thenakedconvos.com/. I think its time I flushed it out of my ‘drafts’ folder.
I refuse to be held accountable for any perceived silliness. It was written in a dank laundromat at 5 pm on a cold Sunday evening. This may or may not explain what you are about to read (if you have not already read it)
Ode to a silver spoon.
My soul is overwhelmed with a thousand quakes
My heart suffers a dull and constant ache,
As I sit upon this chair – a throne of thorns
Condemned to suffer for this mistake.
T’was not but half an hour ago
That I purchased Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough.
An ice cream balm for spirits descended low
Ah! But fate did deal me a cruel blow!
My spoon, I forgot by the window
My splendid spoon! Of stainless steel and fire born!
Sitting upon your kitchen windowsill throne, all modesty shorn.
The thought of which unto me brings only woe and mourn!
I wish I could reach forth and take you but alas, I am forlorn.
I sit here emotionally torn,
For to my Laziness I am well and truly sworn!
Your glory and majesty lies in the kitchen so far away
Can you not rise and come my way?
Spoon, spoon, spoon! Mine to hold and woo!
My dear sweet spoon, I must have you!
Will you not come to my rescue?
I shall sing your praises, if you but come on cue
I beseech thee, silver Zeus of Olympian cutlery,
Conspire with gravity, take leave and come to me.
Surely, you can achieve this minor glory
The tales of your exploits are the stuff of legend and fine story.
Radiant Aphrodite herself spoke highly of your beauty
Your curvaceous body is the envy of all other cutlery.
Your cheerful shine, I reflect upon as you fit into my mouth perfectly
Whenever I consume ice cream or pudding or soup rapturously.
Your bottommost design is reminiscent of seashells,
Cast upon a sun swept beach by dutiful waves.
Your slender frame remains the envy of the finest supermodels
To possess your features, they would gladly become slaves.
Of your functions, praise singers have made many melodies
They sing of your battles and attendant glories.
Of the time you sent three million grains of rice to digestive death
And caused ten delicious apple strudels to cease breath.
Conqueror of food! Silver prince divine!
Hasten to me that again you may shine!
I cannot rise but surely you can, please! I implore!
I promise I shall wash thee only with the finest detergent d’or!
Lovely spoon, my eyes now see of a true hue
And realize now that even as I yearn for you,
And beseech you with praises old and new
I have yet never heard tell of a spoon that flew.
So I know in my heart that today, you and I will not meet,
My ice cream is already melting around my feet
And laziness will not permit me rise from this seat.
Glorious utensil! Sadly, we must concede defeat.
Pulchritudinous silver spoon, thee I still adore!
This shall not taint your magnificence of yore
And even though you have never failed me before
In this moment of disappointment I truly love you more
Than ever I loved any spoon before.