I like my fungi
sauteed in butter
in a pan with a chopped clove
of garlic, parsley and plenty
of salt and pepper.
Or sliced and simmered
in chicken stock
with arborio rice
and topped with parmesan
cheese in a creamy
mushroom risotto.
I like the musty,
earthy smell
that some fungi have,
the exquisite delicacy
of the gills,
the soft, spongy feel,
the variety of shapes
and colours that range
across a pallet
of grays, yellows,
pinks and purples
through to a bleed
of vibrant reds.
Fungi feed
the senses.
But most spectacular
of all is the fungi
that hides beneath my feet
in a buried network
of fibres thinner
than a human hair,
connecting a forest
in one enormous web
carrying nutrients
to hungry roots
and the secret language
of trees. Poetry
is like fungi.
No Flag on the Hill
He woke to the hiss of burning plastic
a child's shoe, half-melted in the road.
Something like singing came from the mosque,
but it was only wind
through broken glass.
The birds left weeks ago.
Even the dogs are quiet now.
A rusted swing creaks in a schoolyard
where no one plays anymore.
A mother once painted the front gate blue.
Now it’s ash and wire.
Someone drew a border
right through our kitchen tiles.
They boil rice with rainwater and clove,
eat in silence.
Outside, a drone's red eye
blinks, blinks, blinks
and does not blink away.
Knots-besotted
(too canny for a granny)
as sailors go (and they will)
of which I am (still) one
(when day is done)
I can bend a bowline
(from stern to stem)
with the best of them
(just so's you knows...
the rabbit out of the hole comes
'round the tree runs then back down goes)
and tie (not hit) a reef (or square) so fine
or (none too sheepishly)
yank a sheepshank
in a (fairly hefty) hank of line
also (if it's not too late)
do a (non-binding) figure eight
(with half a minding) to stop the rope
from sliding (I hope)
(and/or) fraying
to (defray the cost)
for new cordage paying
(in time a stitch)
yet there's one more which
(so all's not lost)
(clever clogs) calls a clove hitch
The radiator whispered like breath
beneath the old window
(half opened for mercy)
where cold fingers of air
braided themselves with steam
and the snow stayed only for seconds
dancing above the sill
in the breeze.
The sofa, burgundy and bruised,
sagged like an old confession.
I curled into its velvet hush
and watched the cupola burn gold
(above the parking lot at dusk)
through the veil of falling snow.
This was my aerie,
thin-walled and tranquil,
where I painted, and read,
and wrote my way
into becoming.
Below, the café breathed
lentils and clove,
hippies hunched
at secondhand tables,
hands wrapped around chipped mugs
(arguing softly about Hesse)
as incense tangled with the steam.
I read Siddhartha in the original,
while Han Fook waited in the margins,
quiet as smoke,
his silence teaching me
to listen without answers.
It's a soup that's made to order never from a store
A little bouillon treat that's filled with herbs galore
Not the kind you get from packets, no not that kind !
with itty bitty chicken bits it has onions you can find.
I start with chicken base then add a clove of garlic,
turmeric and salt with a dash of home made magic.
I simmer for an hour while the veggies steam & swim,
singing in a playful voice, "a little blessed hymn".
I start with a clean counter then tuck my hair right in
wearing pinafore of white, with little ducks that swim
I stew it then I stir it, with a large wooden spoon
telling funny stories to a soup that cooks til' noon
Made with love and kindness, it really hits the spot,
I cook it just like mama did, when I was just a tot.
It's a soup that's made to order, never from a store,
this little bouillon treat is filled with herbs galore.
Enjoy !
Though beyond today, I don’t know,
I'll still hope in this harmonious flow,
A place of pride you have in me,
I desire to go with you across the sea.
Celebrating our love gives me pleasure,
Many gone days I still treasure,
You bring me light,
This tunnels through my night.
Your smile goes with me when we’re apart,
Even until Twilight pulls its cart,
Cloak me with the fragrance of your love,
Distil my day with the sweetness of its clove.
My abode has been in the shadow,
And my path through shrivelled meadow,
You’re my miracle queen,
My land is becoming green.
March 8, 2024.
this mugs a foam treasure trove
see it caffineates my stove
adding sweet and moo
brought on sticky goo
sorry didnt add more clove.
Our home was lit with autumn's spicy scent.
Now spent are the forms that had something to hold:
votive molds, photo frames, vases.... forsaken.
The form within my breast, too, is forsaken,
no longer pressed against your Old Spice scent.
Once, we had each other to hold....
Now memories are the substance we hold.
Your sloughed skin dust is not yet forsaken;
a whiff remains of seasonal clove scent....
Forsaken spiderwebs hold your signature scent.
10-20-23
Written By: D. Collins
When your head is banging like a deep, bass drum.
Mince a garlic clove and butter on a hot dog bun.
Any strain that wants to call itself athlete foot.
Will bow down to the power found in Clorox bleach.
Two aspirin before sleeping after a night on the town.
Guarantees we are peaking when it's time to get down.
That's just the NOLA kind of way of doing things.
Put your talent on display for all the world to see.
I'm not a baseball fan, but I seen what I saw.
Which was the closest thing I've seen to ILL-Na-Na.
Is it possible for the Phillies to lose a game?
And, with NOLA pitching, to that, I will refrain.
Dragon tea with just the right amount of spice
sipped slowly by the sifting of the hourglass
each flavor is a burst on my tongue, how nice
to be able to enjoy this brew of muted brass
With a glass mug the color of emerald gleam
I can easily sit and day dream all day
giving my frazzled nerves a break I redeem
myself, as I drink leisurely at bay
Its Chai with a tidy bite of cinnamon and clove
as I sample at turtle pace I enjoy every bit
of this awesome refreshment, love, love, love
it, its my time out from the world as I know it
no greater pleasure than an afternoon of poetry
and a great cup of tea that you just can't hurry.
Exhausted little bluebird
Let me hold you up
Let me feed and nourish you
Let me fill your cup
I'll make sure to comfort you
While you take care of things
We'll take each moment as it comes
Along with what it brings
I'll ease your body and your mind
Massage your cares away
Encourage and extol you
At the end of every day
I'll send you off to dreamland
With soft words and a kiss
And be right there when you wake up
I wouldn't be remiss
I'd make sure that the coffee's fresh
The kettle's on the stove
And just in case you wanted one
I'd always have a clove
Staying above the Line
Means finding a management team that
looks out for your interest.
all that's here.
great performers are gifted by God!
We guide our performers to trophies and
Championships
the Garnet of the structure
the Core of Opportunities!
ten cards from the deck
one king
one queen
one joker
red 10
black ten
feed the horse
or dig the tresure
first draw
starts the senerio
king-high card
queen secondary
spade higher
then the clove
winner best two out
of three!
I'd marry you tomorrow
If I could, my dear
The only reason not today is 'cause
Today's already here
Twenty four short hours
Is more than time enough
To put it all together
The small details and such
I'd buy two airline tickets
To somewhere far away
Care not for the timeline
Just plan a lengthy stay
We'll lodge romantic style
In quaint, idyllic suites
At placid, tranquil places
Where music fills the streets
First night we'll hear Tchaikovsky
The Nutcracker's in town
Let's share a clove before we go
And let the world go 'round
As long as you're my sweetheart
You're all my heart's eyes view
So go ahead now, you lay back
I know just what to do
Beautiful you are an angel
Momentarily tracked in this world
With a broken heart
Trap in the dark
Clove in a obstacle here in denial
Radiant circumstance
Cautious in your happenstance
Delusional caught up and your personal reverence
Trap in the dark
Beauty is the light
Whatever so shines on you
You are to brilliants to shine
You are the influence that's flowing through my heart
You are the darken darkness
That holds life in light
Holy deep covers the deep
Beautiful is the embrace dark colors the dark
Love Grows flourishes the pen light Sparks
Passions Radiant blossoming
Kaleidoscope scripted flowers
Love shines blossoms
Trap in the dark
There's nothing but holy righteous communion
Eclectic Collective hearts in love
Holy and beautifully, trapped in the dark
5/11/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr
Have a clove
Trace a tattoo
Some of the things
I hope that you'll do
With me and to me
Baring my arm
Feeling your touch
Loving your charm
Butterflies flitting
From my point of view
Inside my stomach
I'm tingling too
Your fingers caressing
My nerves set ablaze
Alive in my senses
Locked in your gaze
Reign in the horses
Keep them in school
Easy there cowboy
Just play it cool
Q: You sure like her, don't you?
A: She makes my blood flow
Q: She's beautiful isn't she?
A: Oh boy, is she so!
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