Best Scallions Poems

You can see him now, dirty as a horse
that slipped in the mud, planting petunias
with that infamous shamrock thumb

(Irish from his Pop      Appendage from his Mum)

stopping every now - and again -
to breathe deep that fragrance
rich with pheromone nostalgia
just like...

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Dumplings 

As I walk into the kitchen, for a snack, 
my mother, her apron, night black hair, and jade bracelet, 
 makes me dumplings.
She combines the mixture of monotonous ingredients
into something extraordinary. 

The water, like a youthful spring, rejuvenated the frozen, faltering fruits of nature,...

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The strong, potent garlic, 
browning in olive oil, fragrance 
throughout the house. Pasta 
soon would follow. As we entered 
the dining room we could smell 
the sweet fragrance of fresh basil, 
an added invitation to sheer 
delight. 
Freshly chopped tomato and 
scallions fried, gave color...

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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...

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We polished life's little treasures 
underneath the cranky red dragon
Fried noodles crispy and curled like our tongues
when the world was a mix tape of our perfect songs
We sat on green vinyl for hours
with clear soup and it's scallions grown cold
While mulling our thoughts and perfecting...

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The Carcass

The best part of the meal, 
the bones, the things others throw away. 
The wingtips, the neck, the gizzard, the lizard...
a fowl needs to be cooked and stewed. 

A bit of broth, a giant onion, scallions if you have them. 
Carrots because they are...

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meat market
and i'm standing like a
flank steak
everyone has preference to their
cuts
i'm tough 
until thoroughly marinated
with
gaelic garlic
scandanavian scallions
nice broth
and throw
some potatoes at my head
until i speak as
a human 
stewing on a fire
and never limping
through the life process
of food for thought
or horse steaks bought
for too many dollars
the...

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There’s a forest bizarre neither nearby nor far,
full of sights somewhat scary to spook a soul wary.
The deep, darkened jungle, I think you’ll agree 
is never a safe place for you or for me...

The vicious antihistamines attack unwary gabardines,
while hungry, snarling mezzanines will slither on...

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Spring rises and is reborn
   with a warm, glowing morning sun.
May apples, marsh daisies, wild purple, yellow and white violets
   peek from the earth with round glossy greens and flowers.
Wild scallions, stretch tall and gangly, feathering the air
   as...

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Another night I sit at the computer instead
of dancing a fancy jig with a japanese fan
or putting on the perfect shade of red lipstick
and eating pastry encrusted crab cakes
with buerre blanc and scallions
blowing off the advances of an old flame
while calling a cab and lighting
my...

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Perfection

Is it hard to believe, that when I see you, I see perfection?

A perfect sight would be to see #17 finally hoist up that Lombardi trophy,
The sight of you is more perfect than that.
The perfect scent is to smell ginger, garlic, and scallions sautéing over...

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Window at the Abbey


Through the window I see
the sun fire up
for the last time today.
There are jays

in the trees near the meadow,
crows in the grass
I cut with a scythe
early this morning.

Still on my platter
corn from the fields,
scallions, tomatoes,
bell pepper and cheese.

I'll remain at my table
with...

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Autumn at the Abbey


Through the window I see
the sun fire up
for the last time today.
There are jays

in the trees near the meadow,
crows in the grass
I cut with a scythe
early this morning.

Still on my platter
corn from the fields,
scallions, tomatoes,
bell pepper and cheese.

I'll remain at my table
with...

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no din less more pronounced upon your ear
scallions separated blend to meet the stew
when hearty hearts drink out the broth of fear
and bury those with heavy hearts they knew

long mornings sun bestowed upon
when laddies grew beneath
and lads to lasses onward come
to part the laurel wreath

Tis...

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With flaming pen 
The beast inside me scratches to remove,
Fingers pulsing with my heartbeat growing
What will prove
To quit and quiet or sparkle softly, 
In the distant night.
What would it prove to cater to 
Such shallowness as one’s delight.
When beasts burst forth exploring every pore.
Scattered scallions...

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