The Smart Chef
by
Richard Reed Jr
copyright 05-21-2007
Age Rating: 10 to 127
Picture Credits:
Scribes write of war and death
Endlessly
Of those who fought to save us
Destroying us instead
Dried up beds of once fertile land
Holding the stench of decayed flesh
Sallow faces, shrunken bodies
Grubs and worms dining there
Medics dispensing drugs
Postponing death prolonging misery
A slight head-wound brought me here now I have pneumonia
No wonder skulls look at us with grinning rows of teeth
Let the artists paint, write and sing of death
Using their brightest colors, their most dream-making words
Their most melodious notes
As the smart chef highly seasons the rotten fish
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It's an interesting piece. i enjoyed the read and the imagery the words created is well done. You always seem to have a brilliant use of different words that keep you reading (or well me atleast). everything just seems to fit perfectly...what else can i say?¿ keep up the good work and never give up...emy
Well Where to begin? First off very good imagery in this piece. And second I try to forget the fact that the sick get sicker and that there is usually somebody on the other end keeping them sick... so many times before I've heard of people wanting to die because of their sickness but this is a scenario where the sick are trying to live and forget their pain and get better but the choice is not in their hands! This is a very great write and I don't know what else to say about it!
Your Friend Tammy F. ****
I have read this several times, but a comment will not form. Bits and pieces; abstract thoughts. Almost grasping words to describe the flood of feelings and images racing through my mind, but never bringing fruition to a sane point.
I see my mother-in-law as she lies in her bed an invalid month after month, now year after year. Thinking each day when the phone rings her suffering is over. They have found several drugs to prolong her life as she was first diagnosed as Parkinson's, then Alzheimer's, now Lewy bodies. How they even know that much I'll never know. It is only detectable after death by autopsy... and yet she lives.
She must be turned in her bed; even her head raised as it slides down her pillow. She can not even take a bite of food nor swallow a pill with water... and yet she lives. The drugs made her immobile long before necessary, but are forced down her feeding tube still... so she can live longer? The only movement she makes is the slightest turn of her head..and the tear rolling down her cheek as her most basic needs are tended to.
Her twisted arms and rigid fingers used to lift to the sky as she praised God; an utterance of spirit in unknown tongues. I once touched her hand as she prayed and felt electricity in her trembling fingers. Now she is silent, but you can still tell she prays! The spirit is strong with her. I have to believe there is a lesson, a reason, a plan, God's plan, in this suffering. How tragic if not.
Yes, Richard Reed. You have captured the images in my mind in every line written here. The doctors concoctions; the remedy worse than the ailment.
I just can't put my finger on it....
My mind races back and forth from my mother-in-law and to you, hoping these things are not familiar to you. My heart is heavy with the thought!
You have done your job here as artist. I am sure each one will have an image equally horrific when the somber message is read. A private memory suited to the graphics your story represents.
Or if by grace no gruesome image comes to mind, perhaps that one can find humor in the lines above.
Being the consummate fatalist myself the concept of flavoring the rottedfsih to make it palatable is a great metaphor. The poem was short, not sweet(though sweetly ascerbic), and best of all powerful. Enjoyed immensely!
And every now and then a writer comes along who has the courage to break away from the more loved themes of love and life and happiness to present a truly grim picture of the other side of life that we all live in, but few will admit to. And that, of course, is the ironical tragedy of dying and never by pleasant means. Perhaps worse, the extent to which it offends our very intelligence, if not sublime purpose for existence.
On the technical--we must always mention that, I could find no errors. Grammatical, punctuation, spelling, and so on--nothing for the "salty pen" to find fault with and bring to notice.
Equally, the brevity of your piece made your subject matter that much more intense and with the imagery and metaphors you brought into view, the entire write is completely coherent from beginning to end. At least I found it to be so presented.
I'd like to take credit for "first hit, first comment dance" but, somehow, the horror of your writing prevents a carefree approach or
attitude.
This piece brought back a flood of memories that prevented commenting earlier, but your write wasn't ignored. Now that I've put "everything" back into it's proper place, I think I can be reasonably objective with my comments on this write.
It serves very well as an example, and an excellent one at that, of how much emotion and feeling and how many senses can be rubbed raw by using the right words in the right way and in a very short space.
For the uninitiated, I will only offer that the smell of "rotted fish" is one which they should never forget. Hopefully, the correlation of this metaphor will never become a reality for any of our readers.
Did I mention, yet, in this rambling, that this a most excellent, if grisly, write? It is, and more....
Welcome !
