Arlene Corwin Poetry

In one of my nutty but deeply reflective moods:
Hours In the Kitchen
(from a dyed-in-the-wool cook & jazz devotee)
Hours in the kitchen
Are as rich in
creativity
As playing jazz,
Which in
Phases of the day’s activity
Call for phrasing, bits of glazing,
Playing lazily
As ideas come to me.
Hours in the kitchen,
Composition, intuition
Putting foods, spice, salt and pepper
Deeply felt, (or smelt) together.
Just as you can’t beat a sweet dessert,
You cannot beat the beat of drum, bass, keyboard,
Swinging singer, a great tune:
“How High the Moon”, for instance.
Every cadence as a chance to dance.
So it is when one is ‘hot’,
Every substance in the pot
Exactly like the marrying of note
When note floats out without a shout,
Without a sting inside the throat,
But satisfies the whole of one;
Wholly freed from doubt when done.
Ah, those hours in the kitchen;
Very Ella great Fitzgerald fun.
Hours In the Kitchen 7.30.2021Vaguely About Music II; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Arlene Nover Corwin