Jailed for the will to be jailed
Kids shouldn’t play with fire
But they do, and of course they fail
In full conscious of mad desire
What now, will you write a sequel
To Servantes’s Don Quixote
Lots of tyres around every mill
A borsch with pampushka you’ve got
There’ll be Ursula of Brussels
The lady you wish to know better
There’ll be most malign old fossils
You must kill them, then go to get her
Or maybe you’ll call it a day
And give it all up, my brave kid
You’ve said what you needed to say
No one wanted, but you did
Like a moth to the flame you flew
To explain the obvious – why?
Suicidal truth suits a rare few
For the rest the price is too high.
Categories:
borsch, feelings,
Form: Rhyme
Rules are made and set to function
as their roleplay trumps yours,
lest the game be of election,
A-Plus, winner of wars.
Won by words avoids dysfunction,
body ails naught mind ills,
democracy changed our nation,
daughters, sons--still kills.
Tyranny wins o'er weaker minds
let the bonnet be free ...,
stung 'said, creator of mankind's,
--they left ... slides down that tree.
Evil knows evil, knows their own,
that tree's a free-for-all.
Evil don't overcome good ... sewn
Good overcome evil.
Once 'ere the Eagle flew its course,
turned bee caught and stung 'um,
bitter herbs--better duck or borsch,
--keep loved ones safe at home.
Categories:
borsch, america, bible, children, conflict,
Form: Rhyme
The art of cooking never changes,
it's lure to us debates
taste vs. smell,
then it all rises up in memory like a colorful dream,
one of art that has been raided by veterans of the old country.....
My grandmothers never ceased to feed us,
"eat!" they would scream,
and their work worn hands would bring forth Polish and Ukrainian feasts of
pierogi, borsch, babka, and love,
blended into a holiday festivity that never disappointed, fresh from a sea of hand picked ingredients.
New York City was our place of initiation to that congregation of food and loud, loud people who thrived on second helpings.
I reincarnated this time just to be one of them.
Categories:
borsch, culture, love,
Form: Free verse
EDIBLE MUSIC
The garlics are on grand piano in the corner,
Playing alone because of their halitosis.
After making each other’s mouth water,
Clever lemons blowing their trumpets by osmosis.
Onions on sad violins making each other cry.
Mushrooms working in the dark but giving it a try.
Near the open window, beans - small but cute :
Those classic wind instruments , the musical fruit.
Latin rumba from Caracas with coconut maracas.
French grapes can-can in chorus;
Smiling bananas can’t-can’t, but just enjoy the scene.
Tangos with an Argentine tangerine.
Mangos mounting melodies on drums in Afrikaans
Peas piping on piccolos for an Italian folk dance
Rushing polka dots in a Russian borsch whirl.
Oyster shell castanets for a Spanish flamenco girl.
Asparagus dessed in ballet shoes always on tips,
And of course as always, Rose shaking her hips.
All rhythmic foot-tapping fruit
Forever looking for a new recruit.
Categories:
borsch, music
Form: Couplet
SMOKING ON NEVSKY PROSPEKT
Late summer - too tired to try
To keep up with world going by
Anonymous face a foreign voice
Girl with dark eye-shade of choice
Man unsmiling in leather jacket
Passing me and my cigarette packet
The noise of buses on the breeze
The canal-boat tours under the trees
Smells of borsch and kasha please
Ice cream women in their cool oases
Petersburg sun fading fast
This cigarette will be my last
Categories:
borsch,
Form: Couplet