Boiled potatoes



A poem's meant to sprout out from the soul
But your flame makes me a meager mash
Boiled potatoes sprout no more than lumps of coal

It's cold, I dare not from this chamber stroll
You kindled all my love and all my cash
Now thawing seeds try to sprout from out my soul

Joy's sprouts eaten by neglect or by the moles
For I'm just a scarecrow to your meadow lashed
And my potatoes fail to grow in any hole

Hungry for your heart I hang to this pole
But your heat scalds me, so my teeth I gnash
Will these stewed up spuds sprout from out my soul?

My skin is singed but inside I'm still cold
From artificial heat I have a rash
Peeled potatoes sprout no more than bready mold

The ache of hunger makes my thinking dull
While my heart digs for tubers in the trash
Heartfelt lines should sprout from out my soul
I'm planting boiled potatoes on this grassy knoll

About this poem

The narrator, a lonely farmer from the old days, recollects a love lost, comparing it to hunger and the vain pursuits of hunger's stupor. It is inspired by the Villanelle form.

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Written on February 26, 2022

Submitted by sanderweeks on March 19, 2022

Modified on March 05, 2023

53 sec read
49

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABA ABA XXA ABA CBC XBAA
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 855
Words 173
Stanzas 6
Stanza Lengths 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4

Sander Weeks

Sander Weeks is a 29 year old poet working in the tamed wilderness of Central Illinois. Growing up bilingual with German and English and spending parts of his childhood in the mountains of Austria has imbued him with a love of fairy-tales, myths and the wild outdoors. more…

All Sander Weeks poems | Sander Weeks Books

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    "Boiled potatoes" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 23 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/124069/boiled-potatoes>.

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