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.

9 thoughts on “Semolina Pudding”

  1. 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…

  2. Marina Sofia – This is such a wonderful description of the lack of spark or zest. It can be comforting, but also make one restless…

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