dressed with lemon, garlic, olive oil & mustard- a chef's delight
but i like you best bare sliced open under rough snake skin velvet ripe & creamy belly
drizzled with sugar & cold milk, bowled dessert of indolent summer days
plump smooth, slivers of ambrosia your taste is only rivaled by my other childhood memory-
cloistered nuns making candied purple yams stirring over & over flaming giant pan until rough fibers turn sin- fully lush as nectar oil decadent food for gods hand-bottled for sale in market -
pear-shaped your green womb wraps me tight like seed coconut-shaped pining for tropical sun-
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Modern Odes with a taste of Chile (Neruda Style) Taking a break from studying because I miss writing ~ Thanks for the visit ~
Streets awashed with debris, smelled of pissed fear & dead fish with blameless eyes. She walks with her nose covered by towel, damp of tears and meal prayers.
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Your words a flint, hungry for air, reaches for my lips petalled of rain.
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - First 3 lines are about the plight of the people in the Philippines after the storm. My thoughts and prayers are with them.
our toys don't live here in this room labelled Fragile! they are fence sitting, feet dangling perched on an empty can, waiting for a stone's aim
they are crouching behind shrubs & trees & empty boxes rubber band ready, stretched to paper target, faking death on whim
they are hiding under beds, behind cabinets, above the kite tails, ready to seek shrill You are It !
throw dice to lose a point or advance a number on checkered board loosely scattered like marbles colored sun, sunflowers bursting -
toys snake up & down in ladders until everyone gets 100 or heaven is where we all play princess with long blanket hair & soldiers with plastic swords - shake one hand fast: paper, stone or scissor? sometimes they're wood & sky mostly scrabbled dirty of ice cream & biscuits
these toys are not for sale for they're the chicken soup of our childhood days-
a flower is sinless a flower is a blossom that contains brilliant a flower is easy to make into a cartoon
a flower is chosen a flower is given its scent by nature a flower is born
a flower is an evocation to silence through the mask of language a flower is the story of a disturbed little girl who sacrifices everything to preserve the only life she's ever known a flower is a lonesome thing
This morning, time ran out without clothes & shoes No explanations were given in short meeting & email that followed-
I went back to my office cube & checked my watch- It was still stuck to one hour plus+ Like a stubborn dial or broken wheel
My 30 min. lunch break vanished in 1 min. while my 10 min. advisor negotiations ambled slow, stealing half of my day - I fall into this hard-to-break habit:
Time Per Hawking's theory are of two types - real & Imaginary (like a tea time to a child)
Tomorrow is a tyrant if things aren't done today, so I smooth yesterday's files into wrinkle-free pages, as if time neither expanded nor collapsed but held its breath -
I type my decision: No change in the pricing! (Keep the client happy)
Then I think of pushing out to sea in the boat & calling time out - Why did you leave me here? Stuck with box of hanger coats They're a burden to carry -
But I hesitate to scamper after time yelling: Come & Be Happy here !
I'm rooted to this office Where everyone invents & misses numbers- Usual culprit: There wasn't enough time 4:00 pm
I go home & untie time & space as if they're ribbons in my hair- They scamper polka dotted marbles Settling in their picture frames, contented -
But I'm not- My poster reads - Don't Disturb me!
Into a "wormhole" (Hawking's term) I slip slide slow Reading words again again Now here lies a mystery: Even at first glance I know them intimately like a lover's body
Evening pulls palmed milky, combusted of stars I gaze at blue crinkling sky, shimmering, an eternal pond -