A general following
of Canada's Food Guide
and the pleasure of caloric treats
with some balance, some chaos,
used to provide my sustenance.

Now to my doctor's and family's chagrin,
and I don't know if there's a name for this—
I prefer to build my diet
from the staples
of word, story, lyric and
language, both creating
my own smorgasbord
and sampling the eclectic buffet
of others who've more famously graced
the world's appetite
with the treasures
from their concoctions.

I may not gain
much bulk this way,
although truly I'm often a glutton
and am sure I must wear
excessive ripples
and fabulous flab
from the richness
of the texts, the intricate weaves
of sentences, the experiments with form,
that make me so indulgent
as to sacrifice sleep
for the latest intake.

A fresh haiku
makes a delicate
finger sandwich for tea time,
even better when accented by
a tasty tanka sprinkled in between.
Nothing I've ever found
on any menu can compare.

A boisterous ballade, or a tempting triolet
served up warm on my trivet
on the dining room table,
or the delicacy of
a brand new coffee table book
say, on Italy, layered with
scrumptious coloured photographs
grants me a fill
of fine cuisine
unlike any other from the pantry
or the fridge.

Speaking of the refrigerator,
I store words on mine's door, via
magnetic haiku tiles
I manipulate into poems
so the offering of literature
even frequents there, on the
more traditional trail
to nutrition.

When I need more variety,
to cover all the healthiest requirements,
I dip into seconds, thirds and fourths
of language - French, Spanish, Italian
a melange that soothes
all the hunger gaps.

Add to this array
music, especially live
by local artist friends,
or Bocelli, Il Divo,
Blue Rodeo, country folk and the classics
and I have all the gravy
and dressing required for
a true feast.
One never guilty of providing
empty calories or leaving my stomach
in an orchestra of growls.









Draft Dec. 29 05

12/29/2005