I dive headfirst into Masonite’s wood fibers
compressed baked & primed
blending boundaries of life,
lightning and death’s
cycle of pain in paint
as a path to tranquility treading
through inner turmoil of vibrancy
A hummingbird in her shell breaks away
the triaged torment
for a moment, quietus cabaret on
cacti untamed canvas
conveys an observer in one’s
own collard greens
Tehuana traditional gown
from the Isthmus of Tehuantepec
ripe reds & burnt orange
Oiled in, the gods Xolotl,
guard dog portrayed
Aztec god & fertility goddess
Motherly milky way
flanking figures,
a fiery orb of the sun
& the cool, silvery moon
dualities of balance
Fresco muralist Diego Rivera
cuddled infantile by Kahlo,
adorns a frontal lobe’s
opened third eye
& wears Buddha’s mouth
apprises of oriental wisdom
both his & hers
naïve folk art
enveloped in a cosmic
love embrace of the universe
newly deceased ghost lit his own caustic farts
wearing aluminum kitty cat ears with red jeweled hearts
our resident wild man Count Dracula laughed
as wisconsin cheese's weird math wizard graphed
gram’s annual preteen sunday school halloween party
was sailing with forthright butt-clenching gasses so farty
too many lima beans hidden under collard greens
fed to disguised beauty queens
embarrassed guests stood with their backs to the wall
scurrying titmouse squeaked displeasure to all
too much cutting of the cheese
a close by witch yelled out “jeez!”
Who made these canapes?
Yelled three disgruntled apes
bathroom was occupied all night
and the living room never smelled right
next year we will serve deer
and a whole lot less beer
beat cop heard what was said
he came around, Captain Fred
he arrested two who were dragg’n
passed out as he pushed them into paddy wagon
was one of those moments of gas
that we all wished would soon pass.
Family Holiday Dinner
A time to submit,
A time to commit,
And pray for Jesus’ forgiveness.
A time to witness.
A time to express
And ask God, our family please bless.
A time to say grace
And thank the Lord
For the food we are about to ingest:
Yams and ham, turkey and cornbread dressing,
Mashed potatoes and gravy, and hot-buttered biscuits.
Green beans, collard greens, and corn niblets;
Sweet potato pie and a three-tiered cake;
Ice-cold water, soda, and milk,
Coffee or tea, and wine to drink. Amen.
-----------------Outdoor Shower
Under ancient oaks
golden bamboo reaches up
full moon sweet jasmine
GINSU-KNIFE EASTPORT , MAINE
There is a beautiful Old Town in North Florida with 4 seasons.
I havent seen snow there yet , but have heard stories.
Way down upon a big old river, made famous in song.
A Gulf breeze stirs up salty dreams. Shrimps , oysters.
Swamp cabbage and fried mullet are on the table. Grits,
collard greens and Mamas Cat Head biscuits. Cane syrup too.
Sweet tea in our glasses.
Rocking chairs await.
I love hanging around family and friends
on Thanksgiving Day.
And the Macy's Thanksgiving day parade on
the tv.
The amazing aromas of the food just fill the
air.
The table is sat, The golden Turkey, stuffing, gravy, Ham, Mac and Cheese, Collard Greens, Dinner rolls, Cranberry sauce, Cakes, Sweet
Potato Pies and assorted drinks.
Then we say grace, and go around the table
and say what we are thankful for.
But due to the pandemic of COVID-19 Thanksgiving isn’t going to be the same this
year.
It's almost like the special day is canceled.
The government officials are suggesting that if
isn't necessary, don't travel on an airplane.
There has been a surge in new Covid 19
cases.
Families all over the world are missing their families, and tremendously.
This year has been filled with a lot of heartache and pain.
We must celebrate Thanksgiving differently this year.
Some are having zoom potlucks, creating new
ways to celebrate.
Although this year has been very bleak, there is still much to be thankful for.
Happy Thanksgiving from me to you.
Alexis Y.
11/25/2020
A garden
~
Ms Ruthie's Garden my neighbour ;
she had such pretty pearl white peonies;
red, yellow, oranges roses and begonias;
~
had a pure immaculate lawn;
on purpose separately grown dandelions;
pick, cut the leaves washed boil them in a pot;
Ms Ruthie dandelions from her garden,
~
...tasted as good or better than collard greens
6/10/20 ©2020
Garden Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
3rd placePlacement in the contest
Although she was my grandmama,
We all called her Miss Ida.
Children and grandchildren alike did succumb
To this quaint, obscure, southern custom.
In the days of gold and lavender,
Mother was "Miss," and father was "Mister."
When buttercups danced in the sun,
When skies were vaguely cinnamon.
She gave to me a lilac, gingham dress;
It was cherished for its prettiness!
Among my oldest memories
Are those of being at Miss Ida's knees.
She had a certain wood stove,
Warm like those sunsets of mauve.
And used to cook wild collard greens,
In days when I wore little blue jeans.
When bluebirds flew around the bend,
And crows from the sunny South End,
When cherries drooped upon the trees,
I began life at Miss Ida's knees.
Do you see the way she looks at me
As she asks what I'd like to eat
I'm not sure of what to say to her
But was that just a wink?
I'm not the only one standing here
That m'lady wines and dines
Yet another school year
In the Cafeteria line
You know she had me with the hair net
Matching the color of her eyes
The sexy way she slops spaghetti
On the plate next to my fries
There's really not a lot
A young school boy can do
As I dream about her from breakfast to lunch
In one continuous drool
She's the Cafeteria lady
Not to keen on her collard greens
But she does serve up a mess of mean
Nachos and young school boy dreams
Childhood Christmas Memories
A sleep at night
All tucked in
It feels so right
And in my dreams
I am counting all my presents
That I know I'd receive
I awaken to the scents
of evergreens, the pine tree aroma
From the real seven foot Christmas tree
This meant the world to me
My memory of childhood
Childhood Christmas memories
All my family here
There's plenty of love and cheer
Yes, I remember it well
Sometime Grandma Rudell
Would take me afterwards to the sisters at her church homes
Boxes and bags under the tree
Is all of this stuff here for me
Sometimes I got twice and more than enough
Because my birthday followed in the next month
And in the kitchen there's those SMELLS (yum)
Air filled with turkey, homemade breads and pies
Cooked hams and collard greens, cornbread and sweet potato pies
This aroma caught my nose and my eyes
All my family here
There's plenty of love and cheer
This meant the world to me
My memory of childhood .......
Childhood Christmas memories
11/22/17
FOR CONTEST: Childhood Christmas Memories
Sponsored by: Bic Gi-Sa
There's something odd down in Rowde
I'm not sure what it is
It can't be seen when I take a look
But my salad ... it got took
I grow a lot of lettuce
Raddichio as well
However now there is no quibble
My lunch has had a nibble
We had some dandelions
although some call them weeds
while we like their rather tasty leaf
they're gone as well - that's my beef
So then I watched intently
To see what I could see
What could eat my collard greens and kale
Must surely be a blue whale
And at last I espied it
I saw it clear as day
Not a whale, nor a brontosaurus
My neighbour's long lost tortoise!
Day before Thanksgiving I come home from high school
my mom in the kitchen roasting ,baking, cooking
Busier than a cranberry merchant
throw away tin foil pans aligned with gourmet delights
Collard greens, string beans, roasted ham, stuffed turkey, candied yams lay on the kitchen table
and on the counter top sweet potato pie, apple pie, chocolate cake
all made from scratch
In a bowl rest her famous potato salad
ready to be refrigerated overnight
I know better
and stayed out of her way
I am dying to satisfy my hunger but I know better
because she is cooking tomorrow’s dinner
Anyway I asked what’s for dinner
She asked, “how was your day at school”
I lied and said everything is ok
and in the process I steal a few cheese cubes
which are for her baked Macaroni and Cheese
She makes me a small plate of food
And I go up stairs to my room
The aromas coming from my mom’s kitchen
on the day before Thanksgiving holds special memories and comfort in my heart
eat food that's boil
stay ways if to much oil
fish is the dish
bean collard greens
all good its understood
your boby will tell
if you
EAT WELL
It's hard to find good collard greens
Where I live in New York.
You'll rarely find them hanging
Off a New York restaurant fork.
But I'm in Carolina now
So everywhere you look,
Some barbecue is being prepped
To very slowly cook.
Tonight I got to sample some
And you know what that means -
Along with my pulled pork there was
A heap of collard greens.
I savored every bite because
Tomorrow I'll be home.
The only collards there will be
Those mentioned in my poem.
Probably Are Panting Panthers
When needle points to South on compass
You will find the perfect place to rumpus
And while you will again begin to romp
Can do with no circumstance and pomp.
On collard greens have began to chomp
People start dancing Dixie Carolina stomp
And continually do it night and every day
Until dark, dance floor finally will give way.
Carolina never could ever appear to be cruel
Or be like some who had had a loose tool
Not an orange colored think called agent
When suntan is what they really have meant.
According to much established word of mouth
Even mosquitoes might be moving down south.
Along with all their desires and each yearning
When South is where they want to be returning.
Now, this is when we all would start to realize
We currently were under Carolina blue skies
And then we say something wearing a disguise
Probably panting panther we should surmise.
Someone should send this poem to the local
Charlotte newspaper who never had a hush,
hush in their newspaper before.
James Thesarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
River Sea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
Pry me essence
Of honey dew melon
Fat back gimme
Mo collard greens
Gimme essence from
Flavas undone
Marmalade too
Of long ivory tusks
That elephants do
From the flight
Of the whip poor will
Till
The next rains flood
Those plains
Talking bout old essence
Encountered
From far and near
Yet never here
To the dried up bones
That bake in the in the Sahara sun
As the mighty Mississippi
Giving life to everyone
Visions from the native
Child tears from fear
And unrest
While there forefathers
Laugh and cry then
Turn over in their graves
As the millions
man woman child
Hordes
March on on and on
Undaunted and forever ..
Wounded
All rights reserved
A.camacho jr.
1996-2015
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.