Semolina Pudding
When all is said
some word remains,
hanging smartly, hanging loose.
When all is done,
some deed compels
to scratch afresh, to find new root.
They’ve mocked enough the pale surmise,
they’ve overcooked that sweet surprise.
They’ve rattled, counted beans of their trade.
They’ve filed all corners and watered down juice.
It’s all here.
Queen Blandness.
To fill with your meaning,
Take on your colours,
Succumb to your fears.
Semolina pudding is my ‘food hell’ and that photo makes me feel quite nauseous!. What inspired you to use it in a poem? Very clever
Well, it’s the definition of blandness, isn’t it? I too used to hate it as a child and could never understand why my mother would sometimes make it instead of rice pudding (which I loved). But the weird thing is that I now find it quite comforting and don’t mind having it occasionally (with lots of vanilla flavour or honey). What does that say about my state of mind? Not sure…
Marina Sofia – This is such a wonderful description of the lack of spark or zest. It can be comforting, but also make one restless…
Vanilla flavour and honey = necessary ingredients in all aspects of life and especially semolina pudding!
Love that – sounds almost like one of those Oriental pearls of wisdom!
It’s a bit like marmite: love it or hate it
I don’t think I could ever grow into liking marmite… Or even not minding it. But it’s not really about the semolina, is it?
Ugh. That foul texture! Good poem though Marina.
I didn’t realise poor old semolina could evoke such negative memories! Sorry!