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Breakfast (Free verse) by James Rykelangeli

I like my sunshine sunny-side up. The fork pierces to the yolk to spark the fusion reaction that fills my plate with nourishing yellow light. The gestation period for morning exuberance is inversely proportional to how many cups of dark matter are ingested (but directly proportional to the force of gravity later exerted on the eyelids.) Through the kitchen window, I see the cresset of the moon still hanging in the pale morning sky. I see the limpid brook meandering through the champaign. Burnt toast is an extraterrestrial landscape, dead and scarred with craters. I’ll dip it in the yolk, I’ll soak it through and through with sunshine. The unread newspaper waits, silent and heavy, deep and silent, in my office down the hall. The diaphanous moon lingers still in the dawn. The limpid brook feeds the champaign.

zodiac 29-Apr-05/4:07 AM
Are you under the impression that mature people talk like this?

Look, just so you know I'm not some Neanderthal, I got a perfect score on the English section of the SAT and a near-perfect on GRE English, and if I were anywhere near you now I'd beat you up for your lunch money. I responded, um, incendiarily because of your smug response to the commenter above and because you're just a little thesaurophilic for your own good. I have to admit, I thought the brook feeding the champaign was rather clever - but it's clever only; it's not particularly artistic, well-put or, more importantly, evocative. That is, when you read this poem aloud to people, it's not going to give them an image of brooks feeding champaigns or nearly anything else. Don't lose all the clever words, but make this able to impress and evoke in people without them.

And scientific phrasing in poetry is overdone at least since Dovina started doing it.




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