poetry

paper writing haikus

Writing a paper
Means endless snacking all night.
Sticky sweet keyboard.


Instead of writing
I eschew my paper to
Blog humble haikus.


Haikus seem lazy:
Only partial poetry.
But it’s all I’ve got.


Ironic it is,
My paper about poetry
I leave half finished.


I pray for the morn,
That is, after four p.m.
Freedom shall return.


Dear Mom, this I swear:
I’ll pass, notwithstanding my
Procrastination.


Dear brain, love poems please.
Dear posture, you must improve.
Dear screen, why so bright?


Of this I am sure:
I am making poets cry.
I blame Sor Juana.


Oh the apathy.
It’s become antipathy.
I loathe poetry.


an ode to mustard

I’ve always loved mustard. I put it on everything. I think my love for it rivals my adoration of peanut butter. That’s serious.

But lately I’ve appreciated mustard more than ever. I’m doing a Whole30 – perhaps I’ll explain in further detail in another post – and brown mustard has become my go-to flavoring for everything. It makes life bearable – no, wonderful!

And so, I wrote an ode to mustard. It should be sung – not read! – to the tune of “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music. I’ve conveniently included a link to a karaoke version of that song, which will provide accompaniment to your singing. So, there’s no excuse for not belting it out as your eyes skim along the lines.

To mustard!

An Ode to Mustard (to the tune of “My Favorite Things“)

Dijon on omelets
And yellow on burgers
Honey on mushrooms
And spicy in dressing
Mustard, my condiment,
Fills me with joy.
These are the ways
That I mustard enjoy.

Yellow mustard with french fries
Is better than ketchup.
Mayonnaise and hot sauce
Just cannot catch up.
I wish my yard was
Full of mustard weeds
Then I could jump
In piles of mustard leaves.

All salad dressings
Taste bland without mustard.
Marinades for grilled meats
And sauces for fishes
Must include mustard
To taste just right.
Otherwise I might just
Put up a fight.

When the dish is bland,
When the eggs taste eggy,
When I’m feeling sad,
I simply remember
That mustard exists
And then I don’t feel so bad!

Sometimes people try to
Add odd ingredients
To mustard.
Wasabi and horseradish
And dill or some ginger.
These all distract
From mustard’s perfection.
I don’t know why people
Try such concoctions.

In the fridge door
We have our collection
Of mustards.
A row of happy
Yellows; my heart beats gladly.
A different flavor
For each different mood.
What joy it brings me
To see my mustard brood.

For breakfast I flavor
My fried eggs with mustard.
Spicy brown is
The perfect accompaniment.
At lunch I eat sandwiches
Slathered with yellow.
And Dijon goes well with
My black bean salad so mellow.

When the dish is bland,
When the eggs taste eggy,
When I’m feeling sad,
I simply remember
That mustard exists
And then I don’t feel so bad!