Best Hazelnut Poems
Musty antiquity
within.
Spice inside
a cauldron
of ripe reason.
Five months
unshelved
brewing boiling
now the suave coolness,
animals don’t know
how to simmer their lovebroth
like this.
Only the Titan breath, what they desired remained.
The world was dark, centralised
spherical
the centre imposed
upon her perfect
cheekbones
his horned chest
woolen jumper swollen with clues
breasts rising like meringues in a brick oven
on her lips hung her whole life
he extracted from her lips
what he knew she was
dying to give.
Ambience, randomosity, the
haze of a lantern
stage-lit movement in dust
eyes swivelled, bottles made
their pleas to be known
wise ancestral spirits
The gallery browsed.
Time stuck
between the molars.
Abandoned corner;
hazelnut liquer, pomegranate
blood and something else.
They sat on the ground
with this raspberry wine
and sipped each other
profoundly, irrevocably.
She, mineral rich
rivulets of stone-clean water,
soft aquamarine. He, present
like limestone
crumbling to a silent past,
frictitious, only lovers perch
on the cracked mantle
of reality like this,
only they hear the moment's plea
for recognition.
Copyright. 2009.
The morning seemed quiet when I got up from my bed,
The air was still, as I shook the cobwebs from my head.
I walked slowly into the bathroom to wash my face,
Work must be done and I must prepare for my daily race.
Brushing my teeth and running water through my hair,
I know this day might be good and the weather is so fair.
Streams of sunlight peer through open shades,
I walk to the kitchen, barely awake in a daze.
Open the cabinet for the coffee just inside,
I notice it's empty and then I almost cried.
I gather up my clothes, in a such a terrible rush,
The coffee helps me focus, gives my brain a good flush.
I jump out the door with the speed of lightning,
Into my truck, without coffee my day is frightening.
A few brief minutes passes by as I blaze into town,
My trucks roars down the street with my gas pedal down.
I see Starbucks ahead and my mouth is watering,
Can't wait to taste my coffee for this morning.
Roll down my window with such hast to order my prize,
I ask for a large hazelnut coffee with joy in my eyes.
I make it to work a few minutes early today,
Knowing that I made it, but only halfway.
I pricked my finger
on a thorn of Voodoo roses
felt the stab of crimson
and sweet burn of saffron
in a tequila sunrise
I smelled apples but tasted oranges
as a clock chimed with mockingbirds
in the chartreuse trill of Spring
Summer's cerise burn passed
in a steamy haze
with the glistening sting
of hazelnut sand between my toes
and the white capped kisses
of salty teal on my face
before the cresting of absinthe foothills
One chill morning dew appeared
on pointed leaves as wisps of cirrus
sped in a porcelain sky
and salt lay on my cheeks
not of bright Pacific dreams
As I groped for apricot skies
rose petals fell and curled like ashes
acrid as whiskey and bitter as gin
lost in the gust of October's amber swirl
April's scarlet whisper was silent
in Autumn umber
the seasons having passed
in a sapphire moment
with the piercing shimmer
of Voodoo roses in bloom
10th Place
The Poet's Ear Contest
Sponsor: Greg Barden
Written: 7/16/17
-The Windmills of Your Mind-
Rhythmic creaks and gentle squeaks
from the withered old wooden rocking chair
fill the sweltering late summer afternoon air
a peaceful breeze blows across his tepid brow
the old man begins to weep
as he thinks of his wife inside
Drips and drops and a little splash
fall down into the half-full sink
a lemon scent mixed with her lilac essence
warm the cozy spotless kitchen
The old woman plates coffee gateau
smiles and sits next to him
offering a taste of her treat
Rich creamy chocolate and a hint of hazelnut
he savors every bite of her love
He smiles and whispers
how lucky he is to have her
Cashew…..known as Cash or Big Nuts….is the owner of The Nuttery
He is rich, generous and fair
A gym junkie who pumps iron daily
If not at The Nuttery , you will find him there
Walnut… Wally is the Manager at The Nuttery
A scruffy man always in crinkled clothes
Don’t let his appearance deceive you
There are two sides to his personality and about nuts there is nothing he doesn’t know!
Hazelnut… Hazel is the Assistant Manager
A lovely little lady who lives in the neighbouring town called Nutella
Popular with all the staff
She is always The Nutterys top nut seller
Almond… known as Big Al is a staff member
A big ,tall, humorous bloke
Always making both staff and customers laugh
With his continual ‘nutty nut cracking jokes’
Pecan… known to all as Sweetpea , is a beautiful girl
With a sweet heart and equally sweet tooth
She loves to bake and eat sweet pies
Nuts and baking are her true joy and truth
Brazil ….whose name is Miguel
Is a very likeable smooth, exotic ladies man
He refers to himself as the “Number one ladies nut”
Swooning ladies every opportunity he can
Peanuts….called Barry is a funny playful lad
Who always makes everyone laugh
Calls himself a real ‘true nutter’
A fun member of the The Nuttery staff
So , if you like good nuts and good banter
Get down to The Nuttery
Enjoy the ambience and fun vibe
Relax, enjoy, eat nuts and just be!
Hazelnut coffee,
Barefoot on the patio,
Classic rock playing.
My life is nearly perfect
But I still haven't found you.
You've come wanting a potion
you've come wanting a spell
you're looking for some magic
an enchantment, I can tell
I think I've got the thing for you
step back and let me see
a few ingredients in my pot
to avoid catastrophe
A little bit of hazelnut
a sprig of basil leaf
an ounce of buttered ogre toes
a dash of "oh good grief!"
A teensy part of a unicorn's horn
bacon from a flying pig
a tablespoon of fairy spit
some dirt from a graveyard dig
Let's not forget some daydream broth
a cup of "if you dare"
a portion of a werewolve's howl
a fair amount of nightmare
We couldn't leave out a magic bean
half of a warlock's curse
a triple dose of pixie dust
and three coins from a dead man's purse
Finally I'll add a sprinkling
of teardrops just for her
that's everything I do believe
I'll just give it a stir
Well now my potion is complete
I'll go grab a cup
this will grant you what you want
so come on now, drink up!
The stalwart soldier in my kitchen forever stands.
Faithful, diligent and ready, at my commands.
He wears a maroon uniform and keeps me comfortable.
Be it sunshine or in raging storms writing verse at my table.
His ammunition..forever stocked.
For come what may, he is totally loaded and locked!
No, silly~it's not a gun!
Stop thinking that, it is just not any fun!
He keeps a light on at all times.
That I might find him, he demands no rhyme.
Who is he? Haven't you figured it out!
He's my Keurig Coffee Maker, who makes good drinks,
and alas, no stout!
Coffee of any flavor, French, Hazelnut to name a few.
Teas of exotic natures, mon Dieu!
No hot boiling pots of hot water to carry around.
Those tiny K-Cups, make my life, deliciously sound!
April 20, 2020
7pm PST
Today is Wednesday,
and the sun rises with the certainty
of a life half-lived,
a life daring to dance on the edge
without plummeting into the abyss.
I sip my hazelnut coffee,
nutty as my long-gone mother,
pondering the balance between zeal and prudence,
the knife’s edge where dreams and sanity coexist.
In the stillness of dawn,
I hear the grass groan,
pressured by the audacity of dandelions,
their yellow faces turned toward the sky,
defiant, like a heart unafraid to love.
Finite possibilities etched in my brow,
a map of roads taken,
and those feared.
I trace them in the mirror,
wondering if today I’ll find a new path,
or merely circle the familiar.
The radio sings of a world
that sometimes feels distant,
words of number one hits
lost in translation.
Do they know this dance of ours,
the tightrope walk of living fully
without the fall?
My daily poem complete,
ink still drying,
I ask the morning, what mischief shall I seek?
Perhaps I'll flirt with serendipity,
or brush against adventure's hem.
To live to the brink,
is to court the thrill
of the unknown,
to feel the pulse of life in every vein
without succumbing to the siren song
of excess.
Today, I'll waltz with wisdom,
twirl with daring,
find the sweet spot where dreams and reason
meld into a symphony
that is my life,
played out on the strings of possibility.
What mischief shall I seek?
The kind that leaves me breathless,
yet whole,
that whispers of a life lived fully,
a life danced on the brink,
with grace,
with wild, unyielding grace.
jagged heart hidden
behind hazelnut stone
wicked riddles rolling
inside angelic lips,
petite powerful tongue
connect our souls
my milian, mermaid
princesses don’t belong
under water forever;
even angels rebel
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The cracked acorn gleams in Simon’s paws~
not prophecy, just refraction
through last week’s stolen garden ornament.
He squints at blurry futures:
pecan groves drowned in floods,
three-legged dogs chasing slower squirrels,
a blizzard hidding every buried nut.
Disaster! Simon panics, scrambles up bark,
forgets the vision, spots a hazelnut.
Destiny tastes better salted.
There you sit, my Love,
holding nectar from above,
strong and rich and hot.
More awaits me in the pot!
Your serum lures me;
from my ennui, it cures me.
I clutch you and sup
from your bounty, coffee cup.
Dear, I hold you tight,
be it afternoon or night.
Solo, with a meal—
you possess immense appeal.
Folger’s, Maxwell House,
two great brands that I espouse,
Hazelnut or French
vanilla creamer and a pinch
of sugar creates
the magic mix that abates
my need for a sweet,
steaming, caffeine-laden treat!
November 29, 2016, entered in the Kim Rodrigues Wake Up with Coffee or Tea Contest
September 30, 2020
entered in the Completely Your Choice (19) Poetry Contest Placed 1st
Sponsor: Brian Strand
the air is scented
with swiss hazelnut coffee
a rich aroma
stimulating my senses
to drink it ... or just to breathe
Wander in my poem,
As if on the beaches of Copacabana.
Lay down on every one of its words,
as if on the warm, hazelnut sand.
Let the sun color your skin
and rest upon your back.
Forget who you are,
as I have been trying to do for so long.
For I have smelled you in my Santos coffee
And heard you laugh in the MPB accordions;
And my sight has never seen a shade of green and yellow
without your ambling silhouette.
Eu te vejo na cada esquina da rua.
What is to be done
when one is so happily wretched?
I write for there is more solace in writing
than in my unsettling contemplation;
For you dwell even in my logic,
Disturbing my every sense,
Disquieting my every silence,
leaving there no logic whatsoever;
My mind like São Paulo in rush hour;
My body in a state that no simile
can ever contain.
As you approach, like Sunday morning tropical rain,
No umbrella to hide under today,
no worthless poetry to write, no imploring words to say;
For my Arab tongue stutters
with Portuguese dismay,
as if censored in another
Freudian dream theory;
For after all,
no one dares to speak of arbitrary passion.
Wander in my poem,
as if on the beaches of Copacabana.
Let my verses melt in desire like moss on a stone.
Let me laugh at myself as I read through them
until this desire ceases to be my own.
Through tinted glass, I see cars have lined up outside, like a java-thirsty snake who waits to strike at the employee working the drive-through window.
I take a last dreg of coffee, then vacate the table for another caffeine addict to indulge in some dark-roast creation, while reaching into my purse for keys. Someone touches my shoulder and I turn.
Out of aromatic filled haze, her soft voice speaks into my ear, using my maiden name, which seems foreign to my own ears. It comes as a riddle, with question mark at the end, as if it were floating inside a bubble.
dust motes mingle with
the steam of French roast coffee....
someone drops a spoon
She slips into the empty place across from me, and I see familiar, but strikingly older, hazelnut eyes. They hold something unsettling, sad and seem peppered with weight. But she shows me a wan smile buried in a sea of nerves. She was an old friend, a good chum. How long has it been?
Just as I am about suggest a plan, a date to meet for lunch, she's running late, and must hurry, and has started closing the gate again.
espresso ripples
with element of surprise ....
an old acquaintance
We walk out together, ... I open the door for her, while she carries two capped coffees, and starts to head across the lot. We say a quick goodbye, I take care not to spill her load, as I gently hug her goodbye. She walks away in a rush, climbing into faded red truck. An unsmiling tight-lipped man , reaches over to the inside latch to open the door, that seems to be missing a handle on the outside. I hear a harsh, husky voice ask "What took so long?",.. loud enough that a few people glance their way. She smiles weakly, and doesn't look back to say goodbye.
under old tires
leaves are crushed into small bits...
a whirlwind of dust
my cell phone vibrates
someone misses me from home ....
sun breaks through the clouds
_________________
11/2/15 For Contest: Creative Haibuns
Sponsor Charlotte Jade Puddifoot