a humble chicory
growing right by the roadside
all covered in dust...
its color still reminds me
of my father’s lovely eyes
When I kissed your lips this morning,
It tasted bitter and sour like a chicory,
How did sweetness flee its borders
Or has bitter seed been sown into its belly?
When I whispered love into your ear,
I found it deaf for God knows how long,
Its music no longer sways a single leg,
And its spark on your face brought no fire.
When I cuddled you close to my heart,
Your heartbeats were regularly irregular,
The coldness of your warmth froze like rime,
And the blood it pumps is laced with bile.
So love can flow like a river tumbling downhill,
That has a forward but no backward flow?
So love can be whispered with a muffled echo
That's spoken into the air and filled with silence?
The resonance of the old vampire’s voice
holds the soul of the French Quarter;
Thick as a rich pot of red beans and rice
just waiting to be devoured;
You can hear the succulent sound of jazz
in each syllable he utters;
A shadowed grin tasting of chicory,
his true nature remains hidden;
Vibrating at a different frequency
every sound is a spectacle;
As you move about town all you see is him,
pressing into your subconscious;
‘Laissez les bon temps rouler..’ drips,
all you can manage is ‘Oui, cher.’
Nola in the sky;
The air tastes like chicory,
a small sip of soul.
Glossy, heart-shaped leaves of galax
ringed ‘round the lingering lilacs
that played across the garden gate,
bent now – bowed from foliage’ weight.
Wild roses replace Venus et fleur
having a sweet natural alure.
Chicory and Madonna lily
grow here and there, and willy-nilly.
Bachelor buttons and blue bonnets
clothe the field with unsung sonnets.
Coreopsis and black-eyed Susans
frolic with their rambunctious cousins.
Of all the flowers God has wrought
I love the ones that were last thought.
Haphazard flair of wild flowers
bestow joy with dewy showers.
"hellstrip"
it's not like
crossing
the river
Styx
it's just
between
the side
walk and
the
curb
not needing
a penny on
your eyes
to pay
to walk
out on the
other side
to meet
your what
you
make
or
might make
your maker
give or
take your
governing
municipality
rules but
then that's
more
than
a mouthful
so i curb
my Larry
David and my
enthusiasm
not questioning
the suggestions
from what
i feel is
police
brutality
please
allow me
yarrow with
out sorrow
and chipper
chicory
instead
of pain
in the
just
ass
grass
Out in the field is a bed of chicory,
down along the ditch, wild hydrangeas grow.
Dandelions in the yard are quite tasty,
so is the duckweed by the side of the road.
Wild lettuce, lamb’s quarter, and some wild onions,
there’s watercress, fennel, grape leaves, and cherries.
We also have mallow, milkweeds, oxtails, chives,
Chanterelle mushrooms, morels, and blackberries.
Along with sassafras, raspberries, and more,
you’ll have a lunch that will make your stomach sing.
God bless all of nature’s wonderful bounty,
providing an Ozark meal fit for a king.
Oh, for the taste of a sweet, juicy berry,
some sweet rose petals would make me happy;
I'm so tired of woody browse and acorns,
my throat gets dry and my teeth are worn.
For an aging buck needs good sustenance;
I hate the browse cracking, such dissonance!
I long for tree buds, tender grass and shoots;
I'd kiss a squirrel for some acorns or fruits.
I love buckeye, chestnuts, pecans and raspberry;
some strawberries, blueberries and blackberries.
To run through the fields seeking a spouse
and revel in the colors of those lovely grouse.
An apple or two, perhaps some paw-paws,
fresh almonds are tasty to chomp in my jaws.
Sweet herbs like lemon grass, sage and chicory,
dandelions, alfalfa, plantain and hickory.
I yearn for those tasty pleasures of Spring,
my mate and I will enjoy everything!
2-14-2023
Winter is not Forever Poetry Contest
BJ Legros Kelley
Inhaling his masculine scent I taste the aroma of our first chicory spot
he has been with me for forty four years and he is still so very hot
Dotted with gray on his temples, still as handsome as the day we met
he was at my sweet sixteen birthday party, now how can I ever forget
The man who put a ring on my finger and gave me two beautiful children
we lived and breathed solo flying like two turtle doves in a jaded glen,
Today we sit in the yard and reminisce about our first kiss, our first time
his eyes are still shining and I'm glad that after all the years he is still mine
Truth be told I would not trade a moment of the days we spent together
nothing can split us apart except God's will, until then we will tether ,
Fastened to each others hearts, we will always be forever true as one
for he is my stars and moon, my lovely husband, and my golden sun.
Happy Anniversary Lovie,
Your Wife, Vie aka Mystic Rose
Chicory chew chew, tobakky chaw
I love my pappy. I love my ma.
Spit in a tin can, straight from my jaw
Chicory chew chew, tobakky chaw.
A unique bar with chicory coffee
side by side our famous praline whiskey;
The ‘Black Heart Masquerade’ reinvention
we have completed all the construction;
Fangs out to raise the vibe we are after
with each step your heart skips a bit faster;
The feeling in the lounge achingly hot
comparable to a dopamine shot;
Opening ten minutes after sunset
a man walked in that I won’t soon forget;
He stood behind the bouncer at the door
and headed toward me on the dance floor;
“Did you just step out of one of my dreams? “
I replied, “You can call me Inalem.”
open for the sun
periwinkle parasols ~
the chicory blink
08/23/2020
time travel’n peace —
ought we find rather death,
war — tread on me.
funny the face, the companionship
of outer space, the innocence
of the sun and sky.
she still provides
the radiance of warmth;
him the blue or gray stormy eyes.
down ‘low discovery of weeds,
white and yellow petals, bitter tea.
commoners in chicory-chattering.
synchronous chattels, green and tarnished.
wile away withering hours, wemberlies
wheedle into every corner.
down to brass tacks, blowup buses
when school’s back in session
bananas in lunch pail...we’re all going
4/2/2020
wemberlies - worried
brass tacks - essentials
It is not a conversation you overhear,
Like the questions rolling underfoot,
"Who goes there?".
You can see the grass has told
How tall to grow
To the chicory, dandelions and clover.
At the edge of the pitch
Where competition is stiff,
They grow bigger, taller and bolder;
Yet in each new match, every plant,
Agrees to a height and no taller.
Till in the next field over, where it's wild and fallowed,
It's to the death, all bets are off, and no foul.
2,21,2020
Efflorescence in a period of time
As Chicory plant spreads
While arboretum is filled with newly watered seeds
The wild-flower in all its glory blooms
The gentility of the open space soiled
Polluted by the lack of responsibilities
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