A Love Letter to Bread

Dear bread,

As far as love letters go, I've already fallen behind on these bad boys. I refuse to give up now.

So, dear bread, for you I shall write Shakespearean sonnets. Multiple sonnets written with the same theme, by the way, are totally called a crown of sonnets. How rad is that? I love that. It's like a George RR Martin novel. Speaking of which, if I ever have a son and give him two alliterated middle names beginning with R, will he automatically become a best-selling fantasy novelist? Let's hope. 

My sad attempts at poetry did not go over well in the past, but fuck all. I think it's fun. More fun poetry is what I say. No joke, I walk round shouting it.

Shit. UPDATE:

So the past two months have yielded ZERO worthy sonnets, so I think I'm just going to post some screw ups and notes that I just...it is not fucking easy to write about bread, you guys. 


Ode to Bread #1: The Sourdough

This taste and smell is the hearth of hearts (gag yourself)
Warmed and golden brown, with crunch
Snuggled crumb sponges and flirts
With the cushioned strength to pad a punch  (< punching bread should be a thing. make it a thing.)

If breads and scientific theories shared beers,
Sourdough and cosmic expansion would bond
They'd bro around and feed for years
- stories about heritage (because of starters) and stuff. Rhymes with bond?

That slight sour snap is electric, literally
(something about protons, taste cells and triggers)
- With a...goddammit, SHUT  UP.
A thick, snacky respite from life's...rigors? ??? eh?  Visit rhymezone.

(This line is about how bread is delicious)
(This line is about loaves and fishes)


"There is evidence that the protons that are abundant in sour substances can directly enter the sour taste cells. This transfer of positive charge into the cell can itself trigger an electrical response." - kinda neat. mention that.



Ode to Bread #2: Fraternity

You're there when I knead you (ads;lfkjasd;flkjsdfl;kdsf I am hilarious)

Sourdough
omg zucchini bread is soooooo goooood
Breaking bread is universal
share your bread
IT IS A SYMBOL OF FRIENDSHIP

gggaaahahahahaha

punching bread (because frat brothers punch each other? f;aldksjfa;sdlk full circ)
bakin bread (bacon bread?)
makin bread
makin money
gettin paid
workin WHAT
gettin laid

Writing about bread is HARD. Like crust. what.


Ode to Bread #3: Shall I Compare Thee

Thou musn't. Shit. Thou mustn't shy from olde Englishe ck olde-type spelling.
If thou shalt hap to fail to rise,
For want of leaven, there's naught so sad
Thine self is leveled! O damn mine eyes!
Condemned me to darkness, my flour comrade


Ending lines, no matter what:

I sorrow for celiacs but fad-jumpers suck
Gluten-free is not a real thing, you fuck. 


Ode to Bread #4: Haiku, Bitches

Bread tastes so damn good
I could eat like a fuckton
just trust me, okay?

...

See, I told you this was hard.

Love,
Rassles

...

So I guess I have a Love Letters series now.  I mean, I do. Click here for the list so far.

Things That Are Sad Are Less Depressing When Confronted With Subpar Poetry (Slam!)

The first time I did this it went over well.  To me, at least.  I guess.  I really know nothing about poetry, but rules are bullshit and sometimes I feel like rhyming.  Yes, I know poetry doesn't have to rhyme, silly billy, but everyone should write more rhymes.  I suggest going to the Wikipedia poetry page for more information, because that's what I did. But this time, I have titles. 

I. So Hot Out Thurr
in the tenor of summertime smells and degrees
creeping up like a burglar, the colors are wrong
this just feels erroneous without grass and the leaves

birds openly smirk in the sweet-scented breeze
bars and cafes set up seats for a throng
in the tenor of summertime smells and degrees

branches are jigsawing out of the trees
naked and rough, too gray to belong
this just feels erroneous without grass and the leaves

bodies wear green but their clothes are a tease
I know that this weather can't last for too long
in the tenor of summertime smells and degrees

bitches be tryin' to get up on deez
but I'm all, "fuck off" cuz my snow is all gone
this just feels erroneous without grass and the leaves

No one saw this coming except for the bees
winter got robbed of its trembling swan song
in the tenor of summertime smells and degrees
this just feels erroneous without grass and the leaves


II. Dactylic Hexameter Is Really Hard
The other day my sister dropped the terms
dactylic and hexameter, as if
those words were bland cliches to toss and riff.
But in reality, it just confirms:
that casual asides give me the squirms.

It's a sadistic dare to test my skill.
Think I can't write it? CUZ I GODDAMN WILL.
And then I tried, I seriously did.
It's fucking impossible, god forbid
I do something fancy. Get off my grill.


III. Feelings
I wish I could stop listening to this damn song but
its gleeful depression just fondles my soul
the juxtaposition of bullets and lilting
makes the whole story seem out of control

After intense googling, I quickly discovered
that this song was covered by the Grateful Dead.
I wish I could say this fact doesn't surprise me
but my interest in Jerry holds on by a thread.

So this quaint little diddy popped up on Pandora
and the saccharine darkness just jolted my heart.
I played it on repeat and obsessed over lyrics
and cried, nearly silent, though I tried not to start.




...

Things I Fear Are Less Scary When Confronted With Subpar Poetry (Slam!)

I.
In some malls there rests a store
with front adorned by smiling bears.
Do not be fooled! For at its core
amidst tufts of fluffy, cuddly gore
Build-A-Bear spawns plush nightmares.

Armies of limb and eye and knee
the heads of cubs impaled on sticks
shout, "Choose me! Hear me! Stuff me! Fluff me!
Take this shit and shove it up me."
What sadistic fuck approved of this?

Were you to ask, and ask you should
What paves the road to hell -
I'd say demonic whispers, intentions good,
fires that burn unfueled by wood,
and bits of bears that couldn't sell.


II.
The idea of dark?
just nothingness? life devoid?
Is the fucking worst.


III.
You might be familiar with my irrational fear
of Indiana, its people and places.
Well, most of you don't live so near
to see the state's hidden faces.

In regards to legitimate reason, there's none
excepting eyes of ice and faux humility,
those voices chill and monotone,
long roads that stretch into sterility.

It depresses, you know, it just fucking does,
it's all barren, industrial horseshit, or both.
You wish it better than it last was
But keep driving through there, swearing oath:

Just passing through, not stopping by
you motherfuckers won't take me alive.


IV.
Sometimes when people speak Spanish
the spaces between their words vanish
rapid verbal succession
when foreign's a weapon
and I nervously shirk and feel mawkish.


V.
People get eye surgery
because they are crazy
and they think it'll help them see better.
But they seem to forget
(this is the part I don't get)
the evilness of this procedure:
I'm talking death rays and plasma rifles and electro-artillery
used by villains in movies like Moonraker,
because you think you're correcting
while consciously neglecting
the fact that YOUR EYES ARE BEING SLICED WITH A LASER.

...