I’ve always firmly believed that cereal is more than yum of its parts.

Sure, it’s delicious, but I suspect that many have a lingering fanaticism for it—not that I would know, of course—because of the feelings it connotes, in both the past and present tense.

Carefree whimsy, rose-tinted rosiness, Limited Edition Kemp’s Gingerbread Man Ice Cream Sandwiches: whatever childhood means to you, that’s what cereal stands for.

It just happens to often come in chocolatey marshmallow form, too

So while I’ve spent many a morn’ tasting, reviewing, and inevitably continuing to eat said cereal ’til about lunch, I’ve always wanted to explore these broader reasons for loving cereal “culture,” so to speak. It’s why I feel so strongly about The Empty Bowl‘s commitment to the zen art of cereal eating.

And it’s why I like hearing others’ voice their perspective on cereal—after all, we all likely great up eating different cereals. From accepting podcast listener questions to expanding this site’s guest contributions, a diverse publication is great—and a lot of great cereal fan content has been sent to or shared with me, so I know it exists.

Well, long story short, when Graham G. offered to send me his original cereal poetry, I was inspired to open up the Cereal Soap Box. If you happen to have original thoughts, art, or media you want to share on a breakfast-themed topic, feel free to share here—if there’s enough interest, I’d be happy to compile them for site posts.

So without further ado, I’ll kick the series off with Graham’s verses.

Everyday Pal

Good morning, constant friend, it’s good to see your cheery face again;
I’ll pour you out and in, the tumbling slide—and stop when you say when.
Good evening, if it’s then, and welcome, welcome, glad to have you here,
And thank you for your company as moonlight makes the swirling stars look clear.
You are the safety pin, the point that keeps me bright and bushy-tailed;
You’ve seen my dimmer days, you’ve seen the better ones when I’ve prevailed.
You are the prize inside, surrounded by yourself and all your ilk;
You are the true and tried: the cereal—the bowl—the spoon—the milk.

Soggy

There is a comic strip
where Linus goes to talk to Charlie B.,
and turns his back and leaves the bowl and runs,
and hurries back pell-mell and screeches in-
to his position on the wooden stool,
and sidles to his bowl and reaches out
his spoon, expecting for his efforts to
be met with what his memory expects.
But things just aren’t always what they were
way back when we abandoned them,
and you would be surprised at all the speed
with which the earth assumes to make its way
around the flaming ball of gas we use
to tan our legs and cultivate our wheat.
So distant memories can end up foggy,
and bygone bowls will turn their cargo soggy.

Cereal Sawdust Blues

I don’t know what to do,
I don’t know where to stand.
I’m down and feeling so blue,
I got a bowl full of sand.
And I try,
I cry, Oh, take me out of here,
Cuz there’s nothing I can use,
I say, Oh, take me down to the store,
So I can shake off these sawdust blues.

Well I woke up at noon,
It was a Saturday brunch.
I turned on my cartoon,
And I went looking for some crunch,
But I’m out,
I shout, No, take me out into space,
A rocket with a two-cent fuse,
Maybe the Milky Way can help me shake,
Oh shake off these sawdust blues.

There’s nothing else on Earth I’d ever choose,
Shake off these bottom-of-the-box now, shake off these sawdust blues.

I hope you enjoyed them as much as I did. Apologies for a more abstract post—I promise to bring double the convolutedly referential wordplay next week—but I hope with enough enthusiasm, we can turn Cerealously into a bottomless back-of-the-box of a website