In third grade, “schooling” included special events and occasions.  My favorite was “Pretzel Day,” and my main concern was finding a way to slather enough mustard on the pretzel so the stale dough didn't break my teeth.  I was successful at slathering.  Once, to the chagrin of my teacher, I slathered finger paint all over my desk, forming an abstract worthy a young Jackson Pollack.  Twenty years later I slathered honey over my girlfriend in the same manner.  I like telling those stories.  It reminds me of a sweetness in my life. Sometimes I wonder if “Pretzel Day” was merely a metaphor for my twisted sense of style Alas, I digress, as I often did with my schooling, which explains my writing style, slathered all over the page, like the mustard..

One thought

of twisted tale

left out too long

it will go stale

It’s mass is covered

by salt of the earth

the now burned flesh

so pure at birth

The inner soul

sticky and moist

upon your tongue

this creation I foist

Marketed well

like Ford’s first Edsel

raise a toast

to the world’s best pretzel.

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Author guidance for This exercise

A challenge!

The guidelines for this are very loose, and I propose only two such things. First, each chapter must contain a piece of poetry alongside a piece of prose. These two must be related in some manner, such as a retelling.

Secondly, I haven't marked this as mature, and have no desire to do so. So keep it that way, eh? So for those of you who stick to stories, try your hand at poetry! Vice-versa for those poets who can't write a full sentence without a line break. I jest. Really, I do...

Cheers!
jack.

updated Apr 21 '11 by Jackerbie