At the Food Gallery

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

I was helping a friend do some shopping at the market in Amman, Jordan. As I was waiting for him, it suddenly dawned on me what a marvelous place I was in.

At the Food Gallery

(for visuals – have a few vegetables that you pick up as you read)


I strolled through the food gallery showcase

Commonly known as the food market place

Beheld a cave of edible art treasure

Its sculptured works -- living creations

Characters of varied occupations

A resilient persistent midget pleads

With an angry man who is on his knees.

The words are hot they say

Then angrily they walk away.

But this a side show to the real drama

The stars of this noisy food-o-rama

Are the fruit vegi cornucopia

Vivid violets

Vibrant yellows

Peppery greens

Beety rich reds

Oniony browns

Carroty oranges

Eggplanty purples

Dazzling, enticing,

symmetrical, rhythmical

Stacked to perfection

In piles, in files,

In stacks, on racks 

Colors teeter

On the edge of the feeder’s spectrum

For those who can not find a forest near

Walk here!

Come, buy and eat!

Receive a rush of colors that soothe your troubled spirit

Visual balm

Come see it!

Come feel it!

The sound of the hawker and the muezzin blend.

Come in prayer!

Come here!

Come! For 1 dinar – a kilo can be yours!

Come and worship as you pick your vegetables

Pick from our young ones, our ripe ones, our succulent ones Spectacular! Spectacular!

We pick

Ignoring the misshapen.


The firm, the proud, the robust, are taken

Those without worm, the unmarred, are taken

True, sometimes we pick a few for good humor

Eccentric veggies are always a good laugh.

We hold up a cucumber and admire its shape.

The hawker interrupts

Our solemn selection process.

Take them home!

Make them your own

Eat what we have sown

Their colors will shape you!

Let the memory of their taste tempt you!

The Master Painter has dipped His brush in his palette

and has not been found wanting.

Luscious treasures for diners

coaxed from the earth’s bosom by patient miners

Sweating in midday sun

Their babies nurtured till done

only to be sold to you

the chosen few

But do not fear,

there will be more next year

Come again, then.

Come tomorrow – A new shipment will be in.

Beautiful carrots will come!

But now, take some

These tomatoes want a home

Try them!

Buy them!

Rinse them!

Mince them!

Dice them!

Slice them!

Try them!

Buy them!

He beckons the buyer to see if he lies.

A tree of plastic bags remains still on a string.

Remnants of a past string of believing buyers

They have tasted and seen that the Lord is good!

We buy so much from him we cannot carry it.

So we hire someone to do it for us. 

We have made friends.

Verily, verily we will be fed.

We shall not go hungry to our soft bed.



cor·nu·co·pi·a kôr'ny¶ k³´p± ¹,n.

1Gr. Myth. a horn of the goat that suckled Zeus: it becomes full of whatever its owner wants

2a representation in painting, sculpture, etc. of a horn overflowing with fruits, flowers, and grain; horn of plenty

3an overflowing fullness; abundance

4any cone-shaped container



[L cornu copiae, horn of plenty: see horn & copious]


Submitted: April 28, 2016

© Copyright 2020 curtis peter van gorder. All rights reserved.

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