Best Basil Poems
The woman married at a young age
to the eldest son of a farmer-
my maternal uncle and neighbor.
Usually, she woke up early at the crow's caw
and swept the dirt floor of the house with a broom
often wiping it with water and a nura ( wet cloth )
After that she took a bath, changed her clothes
and wiped with water the surface before the holy Basil(Tulsi)
in the middle of the courtyard
as well as the surfaces at the portico and inside the house
where the family Deities traditionally reside.
After these tasks, she prayed the Deities and holy Basil
while burning mekruk(,an incense).
The prayer was once again repeated at dusk
lighting a lantern or candle.
As a routine she grinding,hand-pounding
and flapping paddy,(sometimes cutting firewood)
alone or with a sister- in -law,
cooking food( burning firewood) and serving the family members,
cleaning the kitchen and utensils after the food served.
After these she washed clothes for the family members.
And in the afternoon she wove clothes
at the fly scuttle loom in the outhouse.
Besides, she helped the neighbours in times of need.
She treated her father-in-law and mother-in-law with devotion,
regarded her husband's younger siblings
as if they were her own children.
Many children were born to her
but, she died prematurely at the age of seventy.
After her death I sometimes remember her
as one of the symbols of traditional housewives
of the old past .
.
Oh awesome, sweet garden, how happy you make me,
When I have breakfast on our patio and absorb you with glee,
Mid-morning comes in a flash with a fleeting cup of coffee,
Then lunch, have a quick sandwich amidst the glory,
And aroma of jasmine and basil and lavender galore,
Roses of any and every color you could imagine and more,
Sunflowers, Geckos and pretty butterflies beckon me,
To tea for two and two for tea, my mothers favorite song,
Sung by Doris Day, a century ago,
But still have a few phone calls to make, the day has been long.
Finally, dinner under a full moon, the rosemary smells
Divine, our own mint in a jug of water, with lemon
Kindly supplied, need they know, by two trees in our estate
followed by hubby pouring the wine,
As we chill out and dine,
On a delicious kleftiko meal.
Replete, say goodnight to my garden, small and romantic
And so delightfully aromatic,
What a breathtaking tranquil sight, our place, our space.
#OH MY GAWDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!
"I'VE BEEN WILD CAUGHT!"
Who would have thought???
Something soooooooooooooo savory, utterly most delicious and immensely tasty could be sooooooooooo
A M A Z I N G :-). Enough to transcribe and describe this INCREDIBLE, SUBJECTIVE "ELECTIVE" {SMILE} brought to you by
-TASTE BUDS FROM THIS POETESS!
Allow me to address...
If today were my last day on earth and I was absolutely certain {intuitively} it were...
I would request for Breakfast, can you please heat me up some pizza from the day before, it has PINEAPPLE, FRESH BASIL AND SHRIMP ON IT!...OH YES! AND...
THANK YOU, MUCH OBLIGE :-)
Lunch: SAME, THANK YOU, MUCH OBLIGE :-)
DINNER: SAME, THANK YOU, MUCH OBLIGE :-)
AFTERLIFE: FIRST DAY...
SAME, THANK YOU DEAR CREATOR, AND
*ALWAYS*...MUCH OBLIGE :-)
NEXT DAY: BREAKFAST...HEAVEN MADE WAFFLE AND OUT OF THIS WORLD MAPLE SYRUP..."PLEASE! KINDLY!" :-)
AFTER THAT, ANY GIVEN TIME...
HINT*....IT'S ON "RE-SET***" {S M I L E}
©Renee D. Gross {GHPPR} March 2023#
Standing still in soothing steeping sunlight
She, my basil beauty in the limelight
Queen of shrubs, she truly deserves the name
Straight as a lilly, heading high her fame.
Tiny flowers, but leaves spreading fragrance
Slender body, trumpeting radiance
Holy, Lemon, African, Thai or Sweet
What wide varieties for us to meet.
Tender childish greenish leaves her stems hold
Dried and crushed spreaded over pizza folds
With honey she opens wind pipes at ease
And open gates of heaven for the Greece*.
Wonder how to stop praises of your grace
Let me have some divine leaves for my vase.
*The ancient Egyptians and ancient Greeks believed it would open the gates of heaven for a person passing on.
Third Place in STRAND PICK 4,any theme,any form Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
I was influenced by Basil Fawlty
that sarcastic humour really caught me
inappropriate rude crude and naughty
humour against stress which haunts me
I'm the sort some assume a dim bulb
even the spoons make a sharper knife
impulsive projections cause eyes to roll
a daily custom always part of my life
and yet people fail to see the sea
over there between the land and the sky
for the Wildebeest sweeping majestically
as though impulse is a thoughts finish line
I know nothing about the horse
a witnit flying pig in the water tank
thoughts follow impulse of course
my brain is working you Fawlty blank
That wasn't the fire alarm
yet it causes you to get gobby
you're Major with a firearm
shooting starlings in the lobby
So who wins these bloody mind games anyway
wound up telling me stop talking about the war
which they started when Poland saw an invade
"is this a piece of your brain?" as i pick dust up off the floor
A false sense which makes them hopeful
becomes a trip to see India at the Oval
they don't see the rat in me called Basil
biscuits cheese and a Lord Mulberry puzzle
I'm a good lad
a Waldorf Salad
the chef's gone home
rooms without baggage
if you can't hear me turn it on
blind with glasses on your head
you put my door in a load baring wall
"Hello Major" the Moose once said
i sit there for years doing nothing
when i actually need it for flames you place
and i have to use my brain and think
the bloody think will explode in your face
I know how to address stupid
even if i often appear confused
my small back road is your M1
and with quick wit I've won.
Basil Huckleberry was an unassuming boy.
We called him boy even though he was in his fifties.
He rode a bicycle around offering rides to everybody
Touched is what grandma called him
He had a low mental IQ I was told
This was before anyone knew about an Emotional IQ
His was off the charts – he loved everyone he met
And he met everyone
Basil spent all day riding that bike around Chariton, Iowa.
When he saw you he would click the bell six or eight times
Unless there was a baby on the block then he would just yell
We all knew his voice; some ran from it. Others stayed to visit.
Basil was pure in one thing – he wanted people to like him.
He wanted everyone to be happy. He lived on pop bottle money.
He could get paid two cents a bottle. Many people saved them for him.
My own mother used to call him over when she had a twelve pack.
He would be beyond grateful for this huge twenty-four cent gift
I remember thinking it was silly how excited this made him.
He never said a bad thing about another person.
Asked if we had prayed for them. Emotional IQ at genius level.
Rondeau of the basil
Here is for the basil,
A romantic Rondeau,
Go down into the garden,
Look for the aromatic strand,
Here is for the basil.
Have the right idea,
Accompany the raw vegetables,
Cook the pistou soup,
Do you want to purify the air?
Or perfume your duck?
Only cook with art,
Here is the basil for you,
In a romantic rondeau !
Rondeau du basilic
Voici pour le basilic,
Un rondeau romantique,
Descendez dans le jardin,
Cherchez le brin aromatique,
Voici pour le basilic.
Ayez la bonne idée,
Accompagnez les crudités,
Cuisinez la soupe au pistou,
Voulez vous purifier l’air ?
Ou parfumer votre canard ?
Ne cuisinez qu’avec art,
Voici pour vous le basilic,
En rondeau romantique ?
Basil Fawlty was such a buffoon,
his poor suffering wife thought he was a loon,
Manuel, his waiter was from Barcelona,
and confusion, his main persona.
My husband laughed
When we bought you,
Little basil.
The year was new—
"Let's help Jack, too.
Cook some sweet stew."
My husband smiled.
Still green, surprise,
A brown thumb fluke.
Through furnace skies,
Broken clouds' cries,
Expanding size.
We chase your pests,
Taste our small crop—
Piquant petals
On countertop
Yielding non-stop.
Seasoned leaves plop.