Best Tuber Poems
If I were a prisoner on death row
just hours away from execution
I would NOT order a meal of calamari with ratatouille,
filet mignon with truffles and Strawberry Sherbet.
I would reject a plate of Duck Liver Terrine with Confit Quail
garnished by Baby Leeks and Porcini mushrooms.
I would sneer at Saskatoon berries and Niagara peaches
dripping in lavender honey and maple syrup.
Peking duck, Scottish kippers, caviar, abalone
Siberian meat dumplings and escargot
washed down with a fruity chardonnay and a supple merlot
would not be of interest to me.
I’d insist on a baked Russet potato
freshly picked from an Idaho organic farm
topped off with Schuler bar cheese and sour cream
and washed down with Martinelli’s sparkling cider.
In my final moments I’d reflect on how Luther Burbank
began with the seeds of an Early Rose potato plant
and worked for years to breed the awesome tuber
that has come to be called the Idaho Baker.
And I’d feel sad as I meditated on how
the brilliant but impoverished Burbank
had to sell his tater masterpiece to a tycoon
named J H Gregory for $150!
For forty years the world’s potato scientists
(and yes, there are such people)
have worked to improve the Idaho Russet
and have failed to find a serious contender.
When I’m finally executed for my crimes of inanity
and ascend to the ‘Heaven for the Misunderstood’
I’ll dine on the manna from planet Earth,
the humble but delectable Burbank Russet potato.
A drunkard, a thief and a con man,
Who was known by the name Greedy Jack,
Lived a life so vile Satan watched him awhile,
Said, "Of sin in his life there's no lack."
He decided to pay Jack a visit.
Thought with this man he'd have some fun.
Said, "Jack, you're an ass. You ain't got no class.
You're coming with me, Man you're done."
Jack asked him for one final favor.
One last night of drinks on the town.
Satan agreed, Jack really could plead,
And Satan and Jack made the rounds.
When at last the night's drinking was done,
Jack said, "I've no money. You pay.
Turn yourself into coin and the drinks we'll purloin.
We'll slip out the door free and gay.
The devil agreed to the trickery,
And turned into some coin on the sly.
But while he was coin Jack made sure he was joined,
In his pocket with crosses, Belied.
Jack said he would free him if he,
Would grant him ten years to be free.
The devil agreed and he'd have all he'd need,
But in ten years he must pay the fee.
In ten years the devil was back,
And Jack knew he had to think fast.
He asked for an apple for he wanted to sample,
The sweet apple tree they'd just passed.
The devil once more agreed.
He even got him to climb up and pick it.
But while he climbed the tree Jack whipped out three,
Silver crosses to lay there beneath it.
Jack told him that he'd let him down,
But first he must grant one last boon.
He'd not pay for his crimes to the end of all time,
And the devil agreed as he fumed.
Jack thought that he'd won the match,
But time passed and he grew old and sick.
He knew he must die and he let out a cry,
"God forgive me I'm all out of tricks.
But God would not let him in,
And Satan said a deal is a deal.
You must wander the earth, this now is your berth.
You're stuck Man. Now how does it feel.
Satan gave him an ember of coal,
To light his dark path as he left.
He carved out a tuber, he felt in a stupor.
He'd use this for a lantern he guessed.
So he now walks the earth a lost soul.
Not wanted in Heaven or Hell.
With a coal in a pumpkin at least he has somethin',
To light his dark path 'cross the fell.
Earth blanketed
in plush, green, quilted fabric from which
boundless rows of life emerge.
A season of reward, given for seasons of reserve.
Woodlands. Cavernous, leaf-bound sentinels.
Refuge and shelter to every frail, native creature.
The green leaf of summer refreshes and makes opulent
each breath of life taken on earth.
Rain. A cloudburst's baptismal penance.
Restoring the host, as tears grant
absolution to the soul.
Waters feed stream and winding rivulet.
Capillaries in the earth are filled
with this vital plasma of life.
Sky. A clear-blue jewel.
Alight during the day, darkening
and cooling the night.
Two faces, one of aquamarine.
One of tanzanite.
Carrier of warm summer breezes
that lift the wings of high soaring raptors.
Wafting the intoxicating incense
of flower, corn tassel, and new mown hay.
Bounty. The enigma of melding such elements.
Nature's providence, given until the
next new season of bud and leaf.
Every stalk, tuber, pod, ear, or head of grain,
transformed into rich food.
Alloys forged in the cool furnace
of seed, soil, and rain.
Of Summer
7-18-14
Free Verse
How steep is the slope in front of you
that you see it practically impossible to climb?
How wide is this Ocean
which seem insane to cross over?
Brace up, put your mind together
and just imagine the snow falls in June
and Flowers grow black petals.
Imagine Togo experiences Winter
and Red + Yellow gives white.
Imagine a huge Maize Tree
and a tuber of fresh green Apples.
Imagine Pigs with long wings
and a flock of Goats happily swimming.
Imagine standing under the rain
and not getting wet
Imagine hair grows on the palm
and a Cow walking on its Horn
Imagine February having 31 days
and December, just 28.
Imagine cartoon characters becoming real
and rolling 13 in two 6-sided dice.
Imagine the birth of a fluent German speaking Newborn
to an Arab Mum
after just 10 weeks of gestation.
And a 100km bridge, built with rubber
Imagine an innocent virgin
becoming pregnant with Triplets.
who created the new lives through the internet.
Imagine a Man, getting younger with age
and the cat and mouse peacefully coexisting.
Imagine fire, drying out water when they meet
and pepper becoming sweet while glucose becoming bitter.
Imagine the scent of a perfume smelling from a picture
and a Chest X-ray photo showing the intent of the Heart.
Imagine the best newscaster
as a bad stammerer
and the fastest runner
without Limbs.
Imagine the blind from birth
who's able to differentiate between Colours
and a retrograde existence
where Life starts after Death.
Imagine a Dog as the Master
and man as its pet
or a Camel,
passing through the eye of a needle.
Though impossible,
all can be pictured in the mind
which is the starting point of actualizing all forms of reality.
Since 'never' never exists
and St. Never's day isn't imaginable
your huddle then becomes a mere challenge
and in no time, you'll be at the top of the cliff
as you look down, smile and say
"Difficulty isn't impossibility"
from birth until this moment with your family as supporting team
the journey within your space/ time continuum stream
found trials and tribulations comprising the spool o yar existential ream
some incidents assessed in retrospect might now appear
as particularly significant undertakings – getting you grounded with clear
insight into what future dreams may become manifest with yar dear
beloved husband – I aver to when ye will endure empty nest fair
lee soon, whereby yar life will constitute andy and his anatomical gear
whose cupidity, fidelity, integrity, levity, opportunity, runneth tranquil
tiding up for gatherings or packing with his efficient globe trotting skill
bubbling with energy, harmony, synergy through his confluence he rill
lee doth possess – in my humble opinion, though less to take quill
to paper, him this brother in law applauds how he accepted any bitter pill
i.e. figuratively when the fickle finger of fate seemed to obscenely mill
a tate a contrary outcome than he desire, a fighting esprit de corps did fill
his entire being – putting forces of destruction re: no longer threat of evil
which waywardness with this poetic intent to type a birthday cheer
sans thy lovely sister activated thoughts pertaining to positive people dear
as senescence shuttles thine youngest harris heiress who everywhere
she goes affects a blessedly diplomatic, friendly holistic imprimatur
and thus tis probably apropos to attempt to communicate with mere
crude symbols i.e. the 26 letters of the alphabet to formulate the near
wrist approximating her significance in me xy z lived life a prayer
and many a broken wing, but tis necessary 4 me 2 expunge – though rear
the positive presence (most often invisible) whence shari did tear
out from the birth canal even at that early infantile stage did wear
autonomy to evince can do spirit whereby she irresistibly insinuated an air
that inexplicably captivated family, friends, romans….with no blare
ring burst, but she exhibited a magnetic trait – I now heartily cheer
cuz many stepping stones to mine current ah fair
rooted tuber remembered per the unsolicited advice aye did hear
when oft times shuttered in this man cave, hell lair
re: us lee chuckling at online jokes, which laugh tier
medicine for this bot deed father, a pro motor still sputtering each year.
The Terrible Ghastly Beastliness of
"THE POTATO CADAVER UNDEAD REVIVAL" (sonnet)
The Potato of Terror, April 24th 2002
They dug him up with a great pointed spade,
Awoke him from his rest of ninety years,
And O what a great bellowing he made,
And shook his fists, and twitched his pointed ears!
For there was much skullduggery afoot,
And horrid ghastly beastliness besides,
The Spud Maiden's Swan Song had taken root
Deep in his soul and tuberous insides.
Her tragic voice had roused the pixie throngs
Provoked the wrath of tuber overlords,
And small brown furry things in rubber thongs
Sprang to their feet and brandished tiny swords.
King Edwards, Caras! Hide your youngest sons!
A vast undead potato this way comes!
Like a Tuber mushroom
an Authoritarian State
thrusts myriad mycelium tendrils
in a vain attempt
to control every contingency.
Like a Fragrant fern
a Constitutional Republic
radiates spores far and wide
to invariably find
the wisest way.
Every day just this time
I wait for you with full zeal
From my window to look you,
To watch you.
Because your presence
Helps to make a radical change
Within a few minutes in our
Sultry environment,
The fair beauty.
I became impatient to look you
And you came.
You came like a tuber rose,
Just unfolding her petals.
Your dazzling white teeth
Helps to make much attractive
Your famous bit of smile.
The vernal breeze often
Try to remove the scurf skilfully
From your prominent bosom
And you often try to fix it.
A premature tinny boy
Trying to attract your attention,
See your reddish eyes, seems
You want to stroke his head-quarters.
Uncle John has a peculiar habit
Embrace an young girl.
Your quick depart proves
He is near-by.
I know not the paint of your face nor the slang of your name
I know not the acoustic of your voice nor the creed before your knees
I know not the double of helixes taut beneath your skin
Nor do I know the furnace that keeps you earthen
But...
I know the hoofs in the sound of your heart
I know the miles in your stride
I know the walk you walk, the step you step.
I know the despairing blue of the waters you sail
The sea is songful and your sails spatter malevolence
Trauma picks her strings in the orchestral chime of your haggard vessel
Your efforts are a ripple that dies before lying head at shore
Canaries, squirrels and all; sip from the succulence of your effort
Your fruit rots, and falls devoid of ripe.
Your will is wilting; your gravity is shredding,
and worms of serene are dragging their bellies out of your field.
Your heart is a soulless harbour of tears; bereft of laughter
Where ships of despair lay anchor upon the lifeless hazel sands
And those of hope toddle away
The trolls living in caves of your cochlea whisper to you
And make believe the world can go on without you
Your heart is a tuber that pockets sugar, blood and vitriol
And fear glooms throughout its girth
Shuttlecocks fly, stars burn, flowers bloom, honeybees dance, birds sing, but humans---smile
Yet your lips are a two ply elastic, numb to stretch, plyed to wretch.
The waters of choice breathe and fins of hopelessness cast shadow upon the mollies of happiness
Choose life, choose happiness, choose to be human---live---smile
Your heart is muscle but a muzzle
Unstoppable, a thousand swords not
Iron your fist; leather your palm and let fingers kiss caress unto the trigger
Load your glock---cock; choose to be human---live
Should the wells of ammunition run barren---RELOAD!
Fit to screen the thumbnail and see the bigger picture
Sieve out the coarse of your options and remain with a universe more
Choose happiness, choose life, choose to be human---smile
Walk away from the frozen harbour of tears---live on
And catch up with the fleet of hope
Flying Potatoes
By The Potato of Terror 28/3/05; revised 1/2/14
Flying potatoes permeate my days,
Float gently through the attic of my brain;
Winging their way through smoochy summer haze
And tapping tarantellas in the rain.
I want to romp where tuber dreams ignite,
Where pomp is caught with naughty circumstance;
I yearn to flit where reverie takes flight
And lunacy leads love a merry dance.
Flying potatoes infiltrate my nights,
Making me dream of all unnatural things;
Like evil gnomes in capes and fishnet tights
And Maris Pipers with great scaly wings.
Flying potatoes tell me "Be afraid!
We are such dreamers as would stuff a maid!" *
(*With apologies to Shakespeare)
From The Lost Book of Tuberlantis
(Translated from the Spudscrit by The Potato of Terror)
Retrieved Passage 1:
Prologue
Many leagues beneath the sea
where the flat-winged sloth skate flies
lie the million fossil eyes
of Tuberlantis: drowned city.
There tuber groovers, bright and bold
who once cross-dressed for star-crossed love
lie prone while freight ships pass above
they sleep in silt, like buried gold.
For all the laughter and the beers,
the long-lost camp, the gaiety
for buried lives of mystery
we weep for them, and droop our ears.
And Oh! The laugh like cackling loons
And Ah! The whip that downward swings
upon the tuber's broken wings
and scattered crumbs of macaroons.
Here lie the pages of a sage
who fought against becoming mad
who wrote the only thoughts he had
through fizzing fits and gnashing rage.
Retrieved Passage 2:
The Book of Days
They said to him it was unwise
it could not be pushed in that way
he nodded back, rolling his eyes
and went and pushed it anyway
The tubers all were sore dismayed
at such repentless recklessness
with such a coarse tool as a spade
by a King Edward in a dress
They hauled him to a prison cell
they made him eat cold plates of tripe
and pick oakum, in that dark hell
where budding criminals turn ripe
and so he wrote a Book of Days
to chronicle his suffering
with stolen ink and icing glaze
amid great huffs and muttering
he wrote it all on bedding sheets
and anything that came to hand
he hid it in his trouser pleats
hoping the world would understand
an erring artist's vanity
and descent into wicked ways
the slow collapse of sanity
that gave birth to The Book of Days.
Retrieved Passage 3:
From The Book of Days, Sonnet 2
For Lo! I must relate this tome to you
who gather here to listen and believe
to tell the story I believe is true
before my sanity (BARK!) takes its leave.
The Spuds in Exile traversed the terrain
wearing long dresses of the fine-spun silk
all travelling by sedan car and train
with their bright ears fresh-bathed in llama milk
and (UUUURRRGGHHH!!) such necklaces as seldom seen
made of gold-plated prunes and aubergines
graced the neck-less heads of brown and green
of these arcane potato libertines.
And (WOOF!) soon you must go and leave me here
for my time of insanity is near.
Retrieved Passage 4:
A Running Transformathon
Mutation comes: hair after little spiny hair
appears on palms and small akimbo knees
and he is wont to don dark leather underwear
and mumble backwards in dour blasphemies
The beer flows, the cape swirls, the spud appears
grinning like a satyr in the dark
with twin horns standing up like stabbing tuber spears
he's poised to lope and gibber in the park
Mutation comes: the cycle goes and comes again
when the moon's bright halo lights the sky
the spud goes skinny-dancing at your window pane
and howls along with every mad dog's cry.
Retrieved Passage 5:
Revenge of The Jelly Men
I dreamed a dream,
screamed a scream,
a vocal vent of pain:
the Jelly Men are coming
to find me here again!
They are coming slow and stealthy,
they are coming with blancmange,
they are coming back to pelt me
with a stale Victoria sponge.
I see the day
fade away
to all-consuming black;
the Jelly Men are coming
in dark, deadly attack!
with their moaning and their howling
and their teeth fiercely displayed,
and their custard dogs slow-prowling
in the sleepless, shifting shade.
A sound of drums,
the tyrant comes,
on legs covered in hair!
The Jelly Men are coming
with their dark, demented stare!
I will lash them with strong cable,
I will fight them fearlessly,
I am here under the table
merely out of strategy.
Pale flower, tuber of the mother,
Unfathered but by stony hard ungiving,
Every petal leaf down droops with rain,
Not quite living.
Frail power, yet each of three
By two is bound,
Unable to forgive the others' pain
Unable to be forgiven.
We are all home, the whole family,
How lovely, peaceful and fun again,
talking and laughing so very happily,
like rainbow, sunshine amidst rain!
Children are happy to be with dad,
The schools are shut for some days,
Mum leaning on dad looks so glad,
This is so special in charming ways!
Shopping is just for essential things,
Like milk, bread, snacks and fruits,
We play in the garden throwing rings,
cook home veggies and tuber roots,
shopping malls and gyms are shut,
So are the hotels, pubs and stores,
We do not know for how long but,
We are all happy, like never before!
We lost the plot to tv and phone,
Staring ever at their idiot screen,
Although in a family, were all alone,
each in his corner mostly unseen!
No force could have, made a change,
To the mundane routine of every day,
Thanks to this deadly viral exchange,
An invisible wisdom has come to stay!
Corona Virus -Covid 19
Sponsor Poetry soup team
Written 18/03/2020
There I was just chillen with all my homeies in the big zip block bag. We were all talking about the latest ozome spray, and we were wondering if it would work on us, since our scents were pretty potent. We all just were hanging out when suddenly we felt the dresser draw open. Sock after sock were moved until the tuber ware container we lived in was found. The sound of the struggle they made to open the tuber ware scared us, but then we heard the popping sound and knew it was open. “Who would it be?” we all thought impatiently. There was just so many varieties of us to choose from, it was crazy. Afghan, Afghani, Alaskan Thunder**** ,Black Widow ,Blue Dream, Blueberry , Buddha, Cali Dream, Cali Gold, Caribbean Dream, or me Hash. We all were anxious to see who it would be today. We never knew, the big hand would come in and just choose so many of us at different times that we never knew what to expect. He went to the left, than he went to the right, and then he went to the center; and looked dead in at me. Everyone turned around and stared at me. I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t know what to say. Dead silent, it was pure dead silence when I looked to my left, to make a run for it, whoosh their I go! Up in the air, taken by the big hand! Never to see friends or loved ones again, never being able to tell them what happens up here with the big hand out from the dresser. The big hand was holding me, than there was some weird exchange with another hand and something green looking, than I was gone from that room forever. The next day, I was taken out by this new big hand. He put me in some big contraption, it said it was made of steel. He tossed me in there and, Ow! Oh the pain I cannot describe! Ow! Ow! Ow! Oh so miserable. I am in pieces, literally. I am in pieces, and some dark chamber I have never seen before. All a sudden, it opens. I am banged thumb, thumb, thumb, out onto the table. I am placed in some cylinder looking object, and thrown back together with all my pieces. While sitting there, thinking and wondering about what is going to happen to me, it suddenly gets hot. So sudden, in fact, that you ought to think somebody lit a match or something… and then… Ow! Ow! Oooh! Fire! It burns! My life! It has gone up in flames and smoke, and now I am gone! Oh how do I miss the dra-… Death, something undeniable to every human, animal, and mind.