Rhubarb, Apple, Humble

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/30/prompt-humble-pie/

 

Not my favourite type of pie. I much prefer rhubarb

With a touch of ginger. Tart but warming.

Or apple, sprinkled with cinnamon. Sweet but spicy.

 

Humble pie is bitter, sour tasting.

No matter what flavour it is topped with.

 

I swallow it with dread. And it goes over in lumps,

Choking on the way down.

But, once consumed,

It tastes sweeter, more full of flavour

Than any other.

For it means I had to say,

‘I’m sorry. I was wrong.’

As tough as that is to do, as hard as the crust may be-

It cuts at the throat –

To move on, it is necessary.

 

No matter what pie you love,

Swallowing pride,

Revealing inside,

Alters taste

And relationships.

This Or That, Says Fate

Fate rapped upon my door last night

And offered me a deal,

Choose this or that, it’s up to you.

One will hurt but you will feel.

 

The other, you will get to live

Humming a sweet tune,

But ecstasy and agony

Will bay unto the moon.’

 

He did not say which this or that

Would reveal each gift I crave.

He looked at me, I pondered,

Then answer this, I gave.

 

‘To choose to feel would be the deal

I would most desire,

To know agony and ecstasy

In a burning love of fire,

 

But serenity, all lost to me

I could not so endure.

To choose this or that for certain,

I really am not sure.’

 

I made to close the open door

When chanced my eye upon his face,

His the look of tormenting tempter

To lure me from all grace.

 

I pushed,

To slam the door to end

All conversation

With dubious friend

 

But halted as he spoke,

 

‘Your subtle meanings here and there,

Your secret, hidden glances,

Reveal to me in image clear

You would love to take such chances’.

 

I began to say he had me wrong,

When sweet agony pierced the balmy air,

A nightingale commenced his song,

Passed through my heart then rested there.

 

He knew my weakness, knew it well,

That future days would look and laugh

At all the things I never did

And wish I’d done by half.

 

I wedged my toe between wall and door

To leave it quite ajar,

Fate took one look, smiled wryly, said,

‘You’ll never go too far.

 

Too sensible for major risk,

Responsible as well’.

Smug he looked, I slammed the door,

Told him to go to hell.

 

So what if this or that appears,

Tempts and haunts in coming years?

For Fate forgot I have a voice

And this, in life, gives me some choice.

 

This or that may come my way

And offer black or white,

But life has shown that few things here

Are simply wrong or right.

 

This or that exist upon

Extending visual spectrum

Where many shades fall in between,

Consider well then choose some

 

Variety in spice of life,

Not this or that be bound by,

Muted some, while others flare,

Colours all surround me.

 

If Fate should choose to call again

Come tapping at my door,

I’ll use the peep-hole just to check

Then him, I will ignore.

 

I’ll take my chances with my life,

I’ll make choices and embrace all

With wider field of vision now,

Than before he came to call.