Best Peppercorn Poems
Round and smooth
orange red
playing sunset
in azure pail
holding hands
with moonlight
slices
gifts of pearls
from the earth
dancing peppers
hot and horned
kicking out
garlic smell
sunlit squeezed
lemon lime
sparkles from
sea salt beds
lacey fragrance
green cilantro
apple cider
gold coriander
oil, cumin
peppercorn
avocado
pit and all
rainbow spread
on folded rounds
juicy jewels
on crunchy crown.
First Place Winner: Brian Strand-All Yours-2/25/21
First Place Winner at Kimberton Whole Foods, Kimberton, PA-Poetry Contest
There lived a man by the Peppercorn Tree.
Upon a night he called on me.
So I asked the Abbajah for his help.
This would my first, here, mission be.
This youngest child, just up from knee.
On a starlit night, in Autumn’s height,
I met the Man by the Peppercorn Tree.
“Please, pray for me,” his first words said.
This dream, this form, this man long dead.
So I asked the Abbajah for his help.
This youngest child, just up from knee,
put aside all reverie.
He spoke with the Man by the Peppercorn Tree.
“Is this the reason, why you were calling me?”
It’s so he learned of this story told,
about this life that to death was sold.
So I asked the Abbajah for his help.
I prayed for the Man by the Peppercorn Tree.
This youngest child, just up from knee,
had seen beyond what eyes could see.
On this starlit night, in Autumn’s height.
His name was Links, this poor young man.
He came from some discarded clan.
And in those days, I shared his tears,
he asked that these here words do strive
to tell the story of his life.
That Man I met by the Peppercorn Tree.
This tale the Abbajah shared with me.
Outside the graveyard, all forlorn.
Lay the bones of a young, who ‘fore dawn
had decided to end his own life.
I pray that Jesus Blood does free,
all the souls that in captivity be.
There lived a man by the Peppercorn Tree.
Upon a night he called on me.
just had a sandwich
with sausage and peppercorn
mustard and was reborn
potato salad
german and wrote a ballad
often sang and sang
great wiener schnitzel
ate it up until was full
then did have dessert
pleasant rice pudding
perfect piece of apple pie
loved it my oh my
Up the dark barricaded staircase
with a monitor well focused between their legs
they came to digest an ego
caress ten long fingers aflame at tips
Imbibe bright juice
heal a chequered heart
mount the focused quartz
don weathered leather
as African heroes of the past stare
through windows draped in
white chiffon
They smooth peppercorn hair
in ecstasies of bliss as delicate oil
flare their nostrils, ignite their liver
while township youth play dice upstairs
modelling their future on one man alone
as jazz tunes are whistled from corners
a piano remains covered in velvet
with a blighted knight trying some stunts
and wizard talks tales of Mecca
then prays on centre stage
They twist locks and slit bars
violet Sun stream in
all is touched with gold as he glances
at their toes, skirmishes their
breasts in figures of eight
on a path to the beyond
White Witches in Wind
A gentle wind combs the long tresses
of peppercorn trees and brings
a sense of ease, the soft stroking
of a morning to slowly awaken
drowsy souls from sleep.
I enter the space and take in
the quiet, feel a comfort in being
here, sink into a silky, way off drift
as that which lulled the mind
when, as a child, my grandmother's
fingers massaged my head
and at that moment
there was no other place
I wanted to be.
i ordered at the bar in archbishop's rig
two pork sausages
baked beans
strawberry bear fruit snack
orange juice
meat free burger
r white's raspberry lemonade
bangers and mash
pepsi
corn wheels
hotdog
peppercorn sauce
one wobbly sausage sandwich
on returning to my table
i overheard the barman
'a fool he was, a fool he'll always be'.
Today,
nothing seems out of place.
The river is at ease between
its banks, those four swans
are meant to be there,
suddenly emerging
from the shadows beneath
the bridge and into a bright
arena of sunlight.
And along the path,
an old, bone worn retriever
is taking its honored place
in the morning, waddling
slowly on a slack, patient lead,
unhurried in the hands
of someone who loves her.
Assembled too in their given
places, a row of peppercorn trees,
a children's playground
and the big, rusty barrel
of a naval gun pointing out
over the bay as it has done
for a hundred years
primed with peace,
and my shadow finding
its usual place to rest,
the ground accommodating
that familiar shape as it does
to a friend. There are times
when nothing seems
out of place and it would be
easy to believe.
I don’t know why I like almonds so much
Going nuts
Crunch crunch
I don’t know why the caged bird sings
Or why he can’t just hold it in
Walnut, peach pit, peanut, primal
Peppercorn prairies,
Pine nuts, poppy seeds, almonds galore
Taste them taste them
Crunch some more
I don’t know the thing about almonds so much
Maybe cuz they crunch like
Seashells beneath my feet
Maybe cuz the salt sticks like
Sweat and the ocean
From a day on the beach.
I don’t know why I like almonds so much
Crunch crunch
Enough is enough
Of this purple daydream
Pecans of thunder
Send me to sleep
Crunch much?
oh wondrous pepper!
born in Kerala, South India &
said to be “the king of spices”---
that which goes with practically any food,
that which does all that it can to bring excitement to the tongue---
spawned from the piper nigrum whose
berries once picked, then dried,
become implements of savory goodness,
brought on by the explosive oils inside whose
wild nature bears for us
everything from
anti-oxidants to
antiseptics &
what a debt we owe to you,
for you have made many otherwise horrible tasting foods
tolerable,
you have been that last ingredient to change up things &
add a dash of interest into
an otherwise routine
cuisine---
we sit at your feet,
great peppercorn, ground to perfection &
ready to
eat.
Salt cascaded across sharp jagged edges of obsidian glass, forgotten but never in the past. Prominent and worn ,used and torn
Once to plague your sin-laden body. twice more as an act of revenge. Now to late to mourn.
Old salt now replaced by gleaming pearls now specked against the solemn pink flesh, overlaying as if to blend in the darkened mess.
A soothing, elegant swan white now splattered with crushed peppercorn emanating from deep within the night.
Drawing eyes to marvel at such a sight,
So full of loving hatred, blistering the heavens with each passing shooting star, each representing a dream lost to the obsessive dark.
For every good thing has a bitter aftertaste; for every dream fulfilled, five more are wrenched from your grasp, as uncontrollable as gasping for air in a room filled with noxious gas.
They pave a trail, burning furiously to your deprived heart, corrupting what’s left of your lifeless form no longer a prized piece of art.
A broken mirror's frame, the only witness to such loud, silent pain,
descending crimson droplets staining pale flesh, leaving a mark that won’t be Undone, for what’s done is done.
Shadows taunt you from your walls, singing in unison with the wailing voices Pulsating deep within your skull.
As the sun breaks and moonlight fades, tales of regret dig an even deeper grave.
Hate flows freely through the cracks of dawn,
Eyes are cased down but still drawn.
I am now a tattered art form, useless and worn
one sneeze too many
seasoned grilled bacon slices
a flowering vine
Piper nigrum (Piper nigrum) is a flowering vine in the family Piperaceae, cultivated for its fruit, which is usually dried and used as a spice and seasoning, known as a peppercorn.
Peppercorns and the ground pepper derived from them may be described simply as pepper, or more precisely as black pepper (cooked and dried unripe fruit), green pepper (dried unripe fruit), and white pepper (ripe fruit seeds).
Hearsay and Heresy shared Chocolate Kisses
Succulent sweetness for raising desire
Some say the fillings are hotter than fire
The wrappings of tinselly colors do tell
There’s nuts and there’s raisins and maybe some mints
And a few full of peppercorn poppers as well
Dreaming and Scheming were watching in wait
Hoping to share in the promising tasting
But Envy and Greed were playing with Fate
And Heresy 's chocolate fingers
Or so it’s been rumored and said
maybe i need a sweet change
driving down an avenue
looking at all new things
digging cherry flavored scenes
chicken kabob feeling
taco salad nature
wish for peppercorn ranch waterfall
i will even take a drizzle
maybe i need a sweet change
driving on an island
looking at candy houses
wanting their twin sisters
clam chowder serenity
grilled scallops soothing my mind
wish for sweet buttered cornbread
how i long the sound of a simple sizzle
sitting in front of my record player
i am glad that i fixed it and that i found some 45s and some 78s
my excitement builds as i sift through all of the new discoveries
i am in my element
all i need is a cream soda and some peppercorn ranch sun chips
time is nonexistent
people are intentionally omitted
stress is not even a word
life is a free feeling with an open door policy for the mind
i am glad that i booked this trip
i am glad that i booked a two bedroom cottage this time
i am glad that i chose somewhere other than the beach this time
i am glad to have a friend who told me about myself a bit and recommended this place
i turn off my cell phone
i turn off my tablet
i turn off my laptop
i leave the kids with their grandparents
i bring my Sweets for, EHEM!, Personal Inspiration
she is asleep on the sofa as i write this poem
this leads me to this song called Something So Strong
as i listen, a thought suddenly comes to me
A House May Be Crowded, But True Love Balances Everything Out
that is how i feel when i am unconditionally loved by my Sweets
nothing else can make me feel differently
nobody from the outside can change the world of my thoughts
then suddenly, that song from thunderclap newman pops into my head
however love is in the air of my mind, not an impending revolution
i laugh at the thought and love my Sweets even That Much More.....
If each peppercorn was a life,
each is saddled in surrender
of shunless damnation.
They dwell in anguish--
death row prisoners.
They huddle together
awaiting torsion
as the grinder rends
the season from their body.
All that remains is dust
milled over an entrée.