[for Tony and Trish]
Every year
For friendship sake
And in remembrance of those ancient days
When the feast could not begin
Your basket stands on the wooden floor
Near our resting chairs
Dark wicker
That bursts with wholesome fare.
As the ancient frankincense and myrrh
You load our Christmas world
With precious gifts:
Dark hued olives like the rarest caviar
Verjuice that captures the precious grape:
Chocolates and pendulous raisins
Oils infused with lemon myrtle
All pleasing alms that bless and nurture.
As the days turn inward
From our sunny yuletide skies
Your gifts are tasted daily
Touched, smelt, combined and consumed.
They capture the ancient cycle
That many hands do tend and harvest
Whereby seasons light and store the purest smells
As memory laden foods.
Outside this sheltered world
Beyond these maturing gifts
The good earth is swiftly traded
Staked with cascading apartments:
Energy rich, nutrient poor
They block the marriage spell
That once united soil and sun
In patent bardic union.
Ever the yin and yang
Ever the fulsome fulcrum
Wedged upon the ease of mass consumption
And its plain attendant waste.
What price this rich alluvial land
From whence your gifts are born?
What price the precious water
The eye and hand of artisan care?
In disconnect and disarray
The concrete feet and playing fields
Dim the eye on the Cumberland plains
Where many gleaming kitchens
Remain uneasily tidy
Temples of indolence and the microwave
As the rogue of disaffection
Roisters simpler ways.
Precious be your gifts
Taken in delight
Each night
Beyond the working day:
Born of ritual sustenance
Your produce renews the sweet decay
That cooking consumes in deft set ways
Like a crafty répétiteur.
In households across the land
The kitchen lights beam
And halo old ways.
These days of making food
Guard our earth and store our wealth:
In sweet remembrance and renewal
In harmony and human gain
The fruits of life may yet be saved.
Gar Jones: July 2011/November 2016
Every year
For friendship sake
And in remembrance of those ancient days
When the feast could not begin
Your basket stands on the wooden floor
Near our resting chairs
Dark wicker
That bursts with wholesome fare.
As the ancient frankincense and myrrh
You load our Christmas world
With precious gifts:
Dark hued olives like the rarest caviar
Verjuice that captures the precious grape:
Chocolates and pendulous raisins
Oils infused with lemon myrtle
All pleasing alms that bless and nurture.
As the days turn inward
From our sunny yuletide skies
Your gifts are tasted daily
Touched, smelt, combined and consumed.
They capture the ancient cycle
That many hands do tend and harvest
Whereby seasons light and store the purest smells
As memory laden foods.
Outside this sheltered world
Beyond these maturing gifts
The good earth is swiftly traded
Staked with cascading apartments:
Energy rich, nutrient poor
They block the marriage spell
That once united soil and sun
In patent bardic union.
Ever the yin and yang
Ever the fulsome fulcrum
Wedged upon the ease of mass consumption
And its plain attendant waste.
What price this rich alluvial land
From whence your gifts are born?
What price the precious water
The eye and hand of artisan care?
In disconnect and disarray
The concrete feet and playing fields
Dim the eye on the Cumberland plains
Where many gleaming kitchens
Remain uneasily tidy
Temples of indolence and the microwave
As the rogue of disaffection
Roisters simpler ways.
Precious be your gifts
Taken in delight
Each night
Beyond the working day:
Born of ritual sustenance
Your produce renews the sweet decay
That cooking consumes in deft set ways
Like a crafty répétiteur.
In households across the land
The kitchen lights beam
And halo old ways.
These days of making food
Guard our earth and store our wealth:
In sweet remembrance and renewal
In harmony and human gain
The fruits of life may yet be saved.
Gar Jones: July 2011/November 2016
