Down I go once more
into the soul kitchen
where winter soup
slowly cooks.
All the heartache
and worn out beliefs
of the living and long gone
simmer over a low flame
in the iron cauldron,
releasing the inedible
up the spirit flume,
melding the useful
by ancient recipe
to what will feed
through solstice dark.
photograph by Louis MacKenzie
Reading of “Soul Kitchen” with music by Huun-Huur-Tu.
Rumi worthy. Thanks, Don
…save me a cup of that stuff please …
OH ! this is perfect..concise… perfect
Very much looking at this stew in a new light….
I agree.
And iron john worthy too.
The ancient recipe is for kindness, examination, compassion………..it is written in the stars and not in stone. It delivers nutrition in the dark moments. I love the analogy, Don!
It use to be called stone soup! Now just porridge as it all comes together in here and out there❤️
so very subtle, beautiful and true.,Very glad you came to Oregon I remember that first time sitting outside somewhere. We both have come a very long way. Our jib is still open with plenty to do.
Love this poem, Don, and the accompanying music. Both feel ancient, yet NOW. Thank you.
BOOM! Now that’s how you do an extended metaphor!
This one absorbs deeply. Thank you.
You hit the nail on the head! Yes!!
What a great birthday gift for this man. LU Snowy
there is a memory surfacing .The blueprint weaves as cool streams enter the heart