Best Artichokes Poems
Her lust for you is fierce.
She spreads it out before you
as if it were a lavish bridegroom’s dinner
of caviar, oysters and shrimp;
spears of warmed asparagus and
artichokes stripped of leaves to dip in luscious butter;
truffles too with fragrant muskiness;
all foods of succulence - inciting appetite.
Her tender lips are moist - champagne to further whet desire.
Entreating you to take your fill, she whispers in your ear,
“Partake of me, my love. Take more and more.”
As you imbibe her and consume her,
your feeding frenzy peaks
when she offers from her fingers- sweetest fruit:
honeyed figs with cream, peaches, plums, and kumquats;
and one red well-ripened berry.
Utterly sated,
drunk from delectation;
motionless, you lie upon your bed.
And when your eyes move rapidly
beneath their heavy lids,
she slides her body carefully off yours,
slips back into her gossamer gown,
hastens on tiptoes to the door; turn the knob;
and without looking back,
steps into the blackness of the night.
You'll waken and want to feast again
but find that she has parted.
(to banquets such as hers,
one rarely is invited more than once).
And so you'll live and love,
knowing that you can never resume -
a coupling so completely gratifying.
Your passion was consumed in
your consuming of this goddess
who takes from men again. . . and again
But the nourishment that she requires
must always be fresh,
and that is what
eternally
sustains her.
A Revised Oldie for the Heart of Seduction Poetry Contest of Justin Bordner
I SHUDDER TO THINK
I shudder to think about the way
Some vegetables are abused every day -
With physical and psychological slights
In gross violation of their vegetable rights.
Handicapped vegetables have no chance to fight back
Like eyeless potatoes - poor blind mites,
And baby carrots , aaw! Or peas-in-a-pod,
Eaten before they’re even born and take a breath.
Imagine those frantic runnerbeans
Desperately trying to escape.
No surprise that peas are strained.
My over-tired mum used to say, “Oh, I’m shredded.”
So I understand how tired shredded-cabbage must feel.
What about the potatoes who diced with death and lost?
Jerusalem Artichokes - “chokes” is horrible!
Why not “Jerusalem Passes Aways” ?
And ”Squash” ! - Please speak more politely:
What a way to go - we should say “Press Lightly”.
No wonder some clean-living veg are angry :
Parsnip - an angry snip from parson or clergy;
Swede resembling a tall blond person, Stockholm based;
With horrid ethnic humour ( bad taste)
Like sauerkraut (also bad taste)
(So-called humour about a surly German).
Look at insults basd on vegetables for a human -
“The IQ of a cabbage.” What ethnicity insults !
I’m sorry for tomatoes - all this veg talk results
In them being called a vegetable dish
It’s like calling Scots people English.
Sheer vegetable racism is the worst. Mixed potato and carrot salad?
Not in apartheid South Africa – their salad had to be pallid.
Oh yes some veg are spoiled like children :
Coddled cauliflower warmed in milk ; then
Brazed egg-plants (please call snobby ones aubergines)
Suntanned slowly at their leisure;
And butter (not margarine) beans cooked with pleasure.
It’s too horrible entirely, the abuse is complete
I’ll stop being vegetarian, and start eating meat.
Grandpa’s a gem in the garden,
tending his sprouts and his peas,
tomatoes and onions and cabbage,
his ‘caulies’ and his broccoli’s.
I have seen plenty of gardens,
chocked full of bountiful greens,
but none the standard of grandpa’s,
with his chili’s ‘n chocko’s 'n beans.
So I believed grandpa was blessed,
with an artistic green thumb,
by his artichokes, pumpkin and corn,
and his wonderful red capsicum.
At first I mentioned to grandpa
“His garden’s as good as can be.”
Then asked him “How does it grow?”
This is how he answered me.
“I ‘foller’ chooks, horses 'n cows,
with a big shovel an’ ‘barra’,
puttin’ load after load of manure,
on silver beet, spinach and ‘marra.”
Manure! I said “Loads of manure,
that really makes plenty of sense,”
then the old ‘biddy’ from next door,
stuck her head over the fence.
“I have been listening you know,
your language belongs in the sewer,
the word that you should be using,
is fertilizer, and not manure!”
I put me hands over me ears,
expecting grandpa to ‘explete’,
with a barrage of verbal manure,
on zucchini’s and over red beet.
But before grandpa could answer,
grandma called out with a plea.
“What in the world are you saying?
Madge you just listen to me.”
“I have cajoled and pleaded and prayed.
I’m telling you there’s nothing truer,
its taken me ‘round forty years,
just to get him to call it manure.”
My name is Aphrodite and
my offering to man
is fierce love.
I spread it out before you
like a lavish bridegroom’s dinner
with foods named aphrodisiacs rightly after me!
Caviar, oysters and shrimp;
spears of warmed asparagus and
artichokes stripped of leaves to dip in luscious butter;
truffles too with fragrant muskiness;
all foods of succulence - to stimulate your appetite.
My tender lips are moist - champagne to further whet desire.
You drink me in. . .
Entreating you to take your fill, I whisper in your ear,
“Partake of me, my love. Take more and more.”
When your feeding frenzy
is at its peak -
that’s when I offer you - dripping from my fingers - sweetest fruit:
honeyed figs with cream, peaches, plums, and kumquats;
and last: one red well-ripened berry.
Utterly sated,
drunk from delectation;
motionless, you lie there on your bed.
And when your eyes move rapidly
beneath their heavy lids,
I slide my body carefully off yours,
slip back into my gossamer-thread gown,
then tiptoe to the door; turn the knob;
and without looking back,
step into night.
You waken and want to feast again
but find that I have parted.
(to banquets such as mine, one rarely
is invited more than once).
And so you live and love,
knowing that you can’t resume -
ever in your life again -
a coupling so completely gratifying.
Your passion was consumed in
your consuming of this goddess!
I take from men again . . .again. . .
and then again.
But the nourishment that I require
always must be fresh,
and that is what
eternally
sustains me.
For Deb's Contest: category Unreal
PoetrySoup …
I Was Heartily Welcomed… As I Sat At Your Table
By: Carol, Sara, Carolyn, Dane Anne, Moses, and Abel
Tim, Leon, John, Michael, Jim and Yoni
Deborah, Krista, Adeleke and Charlie
… James, The (Two) Ruben(s) and (The Quik-Composer) Raul
… and Many, Many More, I Love to Hear At Dinner-Call !
The PoetrySoup …
… It Has Member – Mushrooms
Chew and Chat Lunchrooms
Delectable Hors d'oeuvre
Every Ear-Full… Heard
Every Mouthful… Taste
Spoonful of Gourmet Grace
Voila’ Words, Don’t Waste
Simmer-Slow and Baste’
In Dug-up, Sweet Potatoes
Ripe Food for Thought Tomatoes
And Onions, That Will Make You Cry
Artichokes and Lemons that Squeeze – ‘til You Die
Garlic and Oregano Are Just Some Suggestions
And Here’s Some Mint… for Your Digestion
Parsley to Parley and Jive-Chives, Just Keep Stirring
But There’s No Clam Chowder, Shrimp, or Herring
A Dash of This… A Dash of That Seasoning
A Pinch of That and Sprinkle This Reasoning…
On The Side with the Mustard and Relish, so Fresh
Are the Cucumber-Contest and Radish Requests
And I Can’t Forgo the Tongue-in-Cheek Puns…
Your Laughter is Passed Around, like Hot-Buttered Buns !
… Poets … Are Proverbial Peas In The Pod
The Harvesters of Herbs-Heard, in The Garden of God
so... Salt and Pepper to Your Superb Style
Did You Say Cheese, Please ?... ( Full Mouth Smile !)
There’s Hot Chicken Broth, When You Are Cold
Everybody Knows… Its Good For The Soul
And All That’s On The Human Menu… It’s In There !
… Even A Mother’s … Tenderized Care
Like Campbell’s Brand… Its Umm… Umm… Good !
The Aspire – Asparagus, I Took… I Understood
So, PoetrySoup’s Cupboard is Never Bare
And There Ain’t No Bones, No Medium, Just Rare
And On The Star-Burner… Is The Savory Meat
So… Grab A Heartbeat-Bowl… and Bona Petit’…
Yes, Thank You, PoetrySoup
(You’re Up There with MoonBee’s FruitLoops !)
It Has Been A Pleasure Getting To Know You All
Thru Your Beautiful Expressions, Coming Straight
From Your Warm and Welcoming Hearts
God Bless You......
MoonBee
I parked along the side of the road
where the shoulder turned to gravel.
I left my cardoor open, thinking I’d only be a moment.
Into the golden weeds I trudged
to find my favorite flower.
Bull thistle bloomed
violet,
jewels aloft on green scepters,
as rich as Sappho’s hair,
as rare as royal Phoenecian robes dyed with conch,
long stems twinkling with acid, as green as the intellect.
I will have a garden of thistles,
a court of purple pixies, prickly sprites that know all the names of the wind.
They will surround artichokes that bloom,
great aubergine tassels
that hold back the great curtain of soil.
I continued through the grass,
burs clinging to my pants like dreams,
the musical warning of the open door
fading in the distance.
March 20, 2020
Wild Country Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward
Hearty har har - helplessly howling happy hysterics
awareness, after all, always amazes artichokes!
Everyday evil eggs are eaten eagerly
yesterday you yacked yucky yellow yolks
singing silly sickening sapsucker swill songs!
Dangerous dopey dogs deny dumping dung
but bark big brash bumpkiss bile!
Flighty flatulent fireflies (flitting furiously!)
swirling sloppy sides soaked in salsa
tirelessly tipping tutus twisting tantalizing twitters
wearily weaving wacky worlds wastefully.
Go grab the great gain green giggling goo goo ghost
mIsmanaged, maybe my magic medicines magically made mud!
Watch which one will wash wondrously white, wait.
Hearty har har - happy hysterics howl helplessly
after all artichokes always avoid awareness anyway!
Inspired by Kristin Reynolds March Maddness - Abstract Poetry contest
Peter the Pumpkin went walking one night
When Samantha the Squash strolled past
Peter was smitten, it was love at first sight
"Will you marry me now?" He asked
They ran to Patch Hall like frolicking pups
Judge Winnie the Witch performed rites
"Any veggie who objects, speak now or shut-up!
I pronounce you pumpkin and wife"
Gossip spread in the patch as events unfolded
Artichokes choked and sweet onions cried
Cucumbers clambered and scallions scolded
"Outrageous! They both should be fried!"
Sam's momma fainted, Pete's papa condemned
His shell was quivering with rage
"An inter-gourd marriage? Over my dead stem!
I'll beet your rind-end, you're underage!"
So they fled to Farmer Joe's fruit tree estate
(They're a bit more liberal, you see)
"Hey, what's the big deal? We cross-pollinate!
Sit down, have some compost, feel free!"
"Joe will hoe you a quaint little fertilized bed
There's plenty of space here to grow"
So they put down their roots and quickly cross-bred
Two dozen young Squashkins in a row
Stan was one of those insensitive blokes,
who gorged on Jerusalem artichokes,
when gas formed in his gut,
he thanked God for a butt...
now the entire USA gags and chokes.
Asparagus and artichokes
May be good for us it’s true
But I won’t eat a vegetable
Our disposal can’t even chew
Just about to launch a new career
Or maybe I should call it a hobby
Dani Spies has certainly caught my attention
With her mouth watering recipes
And easy step-by-step videos to help us along
I'm drooling all over the keyboard as I type
I'm always game to try something new
And of course the payoff at the end is the ultimate reward
Now I hear some of you saying...
"Are you nutso!!! Aren't you kinda old
To be firing off in a new direction?"
My answer to that is this, "I ain't dead am I?
I'm always ready for a new challenge!"
And man, what a rewarding hobby... yum, yum!!!
I'll keep you posted as to how much weight I gain
(ie. one of the annoying side effects!)
Wish me luck all you nice people!
Next thing you know, I'll have my own show on PBS
Entitled "Old Chefs Never Die
They Just Choke On Their Artichokes"
© Jack Ellison 2014
It's midnight again.
Thoughts of you follow me like the moon,
Light at my core,
A dream to undress by.
Clothes fall to the floor
like discarded leaves of artichokes.
My heart awake in beloved darkness, trembles.
Alison Alligator eating artichokes on a ant hill,
watching
Beverly Bear floating on a cloud over there,
which developed a leak,
drenching
Charlotte the twin headed elephant
up to their knees,
floating
Danny the dingo swimming past.
While watching,
Eli the iguana,
slithering over a leaf
sharing a log,
with Francis the frog looking over,
as Gwenda the goose flew overhead
into the gum tree,
where,
Helen the hermit had laid down her head,
on
Ivy the twinning snake,
who was always late,
slithered up the tree,
to give
Jay the monkey,
who was feeling funky,
a fright.
she dropped a nut on,
Karen the kite,
who was in flight one starry night.
As Lil the parrot continued to trill,
while
Marsha the mammoth grew quite still,
to much noise was making her ill,
gave her the shakes
and
Nosey Nancy the ant came up out of her mound
to see what was shaking the ground all around.
Olive the ostrich bent all her knees,
standing straight was making her sneeze!
Then
Penelope the porcupine trotted on by
to keep an appointment with
Quirky the quill,
she was the queen of everything,
she was quite mean.
pushing
Ruth the rambling rabbit into,
Silly sue who was a sea lion and lived in Sillyville,
and lived there still.
Alongside
Terrible Tonya the Tonga tiger,
who danced with,
Uncelet Uris who came from the north,
because of to many Tonga dancers rolling tires back abd forth.
Violet the vampire bat flew down to show
Wilson Lucille the very large whale,
how to stay out of jail.
she had a tendency you see,
to hang out with
Xantus, the hummingbird,
who lived on a yacht with a
Yak Zack ,
and stole yogurt by the lot.
Finally to tired to tired to chat anymore,
Alison, Beverly, Charlotte, Danny, Eli, Francis, Gwenda, Helen, Ivy, Jay,
Karen, Lil, Marsha, Nancy, Olive, Penelope, Quirky, Ruth, Sue, Tonya, Uris, Violet, Wilson Lucille, Xantus, and Yak Zak
fell asleep on the floor.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
“This bitter, green fruit soaked in brine
is palatable, but I wish
to make the flavor more divine
by stuffing in some oily fish.”
“That thistle up there on the hill,
though spiny-sharp and armor-tough,
might prove to be delectable,
if it were just boiled enough.”
Who first made such discoveries?
Were they intended to be jokes –
the olives stuffed with anchovies
and boiled hearts of artichokes?
Though I think they are delicious,
their origins seem pernicious.
Do not be afraid, Dear Girl, my room’s right down the hall
At the back of the house where it’s quiet; a very pleasant room overall
You may if you prefer freshen up after our prolonged amble
And I want to examine the paw you twisted falling into that thorny bramble
I’m so sorry you hurt yourself as we made our way through the forest
You’re light as a feather to carry, there’s no reason to fuss or protest.
Here we are! All is ready, even a small repast if you wish
Wine-caressed baby artichokes, tender filet, and foie gras upon your dish
A rich espresso, a Portuguese ruby port or French champagne that is bliss
After we’ve dined we can play: I’m overcome you’re here I’m happy to say
Waiting for you to mature to be my accomplished and eager peer
Left I with no impatience or regrets let me make that clear
Playing with other ladies (often absolutely boring drills)
Helped perfect my performance; I do so want to dazzle you with my skill
Let me set you into a position where I can see and hear you the most
I’ve arranged the room perfectly to suit us I’m not embarrassed to boast
I’ll start slow, the prelude is gentle and brief; I’ll be keyed up waiting for you!
Place your lips upon your flute, my violin under my chin as we usually do
The music stands are a comfortable height; the sheet music will be easy to view
As we play together the exotic Raccatta Sonata I wrote especially for two
We will make music as no other have me and you!