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the oven is hot yet there is no bun in it there is a large sweet potato instead I am that "instead" person the aside and after-thought or someone you can't quite place but tugs at your memory sweet potatoes are like that (like me) relegated to the dinner table only at holidays yet they are what their first name says sweet and require nothing else but themselves to be delicious yet still they are singular each time I eat one I marvel at the singularity of each one's taste and the deep orange color the hue which the sun tries so hard to copy when it sets and goes to sleep on the other side of the world I am bright colors and singular sweet potatoes and I will be even if I go unnoticed because I matter to me I'm also my shadows and evasiveness and will run away from tight definitions even gardens can thrive and grasp and grow in the dark I'd like to be a sweet potato growing in Alaska in the Midnight sun where there are more hours of light than darkness there the vegetables and fruits grow like trees and boulders pumpkins balloon up to 500 pounds and are watered with milk and not water so they reach proportions that stretch beyond the mental grasp of someone's ordinary imagination every year in Palmer AK there is a county fair where you can view these giants and marvel and pose in front of them would it be the same for people if they were tended with such care and adoring attention would they flourish and become automatic prize winners or would they instead appreciate their own value and prize themselves? this may be a free verse poem filled with seemingly disparate interconnected bits and entanglements of thought but it is my poem in which to be free in I create its landscape I paint the vistas and the skies and I feel its emotions and fuel its observations and splash them all over this page like confetti constellations a poem primed from the imagination of a human being who really is just another kind of animal is a bit of torn tissue living taken from that human being dare to be your own words dare to be your own sweet potato basking in the Midnight sun of Palmer Alaska poetry does not belong to the highbrows nor to the kings and queens in the pantheons of literature it is the song of the soul of every being take you pen now and see what you will write. LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM, PENNED DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE ON 1/18/2022 3:00pm PACIFIC STANDARD TIME////TIME AND DATE STAMPED TO ENSURE ITS ESSENCE AND AUTHORSHIP AND ALSO FOR THIS WRITER/POET/TROUBLE-MUCK-MAKER MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED...AND REGISTERED...YES REGISTERED...SO ITS PROTECTED FROM THEFT OR PLAGIARISM...SITE TITLE: MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD I BELIEVE, NOT THINK, THERE IS A WRITER WAITING TO REVEAL HERSELF/HIMSELF/THEIR SELF IN EVERY SINGLE HUMAN BEING...SOON I WILL BE ENJOYING THE COMPANY OF A WELL ROASTED AND VERY SWEET DEEP FLESHY ORANGE SWEET POTATO...LUCKY ME!!!! Vote for this poem |
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