Lips mops caress waterfalls crash metallic nerve laughing gas confession
watermelon sugar sister scissors
clocks tick loud like shaved ambergris
Laminated kerosene lamps illuminate
Evanescence oblivious presence
Skull bird knives spike of peachy creamery
Pentagram ouija board machinery’
Throats chokes, nose pinched in bleached milkshakes. tiny ears buried speechless
Mousetrapped.
I gave it all
chlorophyll greenery, Spring’s
creamery daffodils chock-full of light.
bees alight; honey wings.
violette clematis rife —
the ribbon wraps ‘round my neighbor’s mailbox.
her preserve rocks wildlife.
the southern cottonwood tree
sheds seeds of tumbleweed-like fluff, blowing
in warm wind; swing drifts free.
sights and sounds all around us.
He darkens our world, likewise lights it up
God fills our cups no muss.
the music of the starshine,
the invitation of the moon halo —
romance slow; paintbrush pines.
5/24/2020
the englyn byr cwca is a Welsh form that uses both end and internal rhymes
poem comprised of tercets (from one tercet to infinity) or 3-line stanzas
first line has 7 syllables, second has 10, and third has 6
lines 1 and 3 end rhyme with each other
line 2 rhymes with a syllable somewhere in the middle of the 3
at dawn i hug an armful of words - open dictionary.
i toss them in the air like confetti confectionary.
like sherbert they’re my own flavor’d dialect creamery.
i t a l i c s and bold, often deliciously contrary.
a twirling baton, orchestrated seriously — ‘musingly.
sadly twilight, strong and full of bright, smashingly
whispers “goodnight” and tucks away my darling poetry.
yawn...morning stars dreamily arrive on time, quickly.
new dawn, perchance happens upon an open dictionary.
2/23/2020
When I stood my face, to steal a glance
You stood your face, to steal a glance
When I caught the thief, catching a thief
You arrested me, I chained you
The sun had just dropped, I had not eaten
My mother's full pot, but yawns and yawning
Turning myself eye popped, my skin bed cold
Through the black dark, cockroaches looked afraid
As the sun showered her face, I washed mine
I went into the Kraal, took my Masai and Simba
No time to eat gruel, to the gold field to mine
Again I saw you, how to let you mine
As you climbed to fetch, I said ouch!
As acacia thorns bit your knee, I said ouch!
Ooh, my African Rose, you kill minus swords
The gap in your mouth grains, way for laughter
The river in your creamery coopers, full of mills
The hill that follows you, whenever you move
The fibers above your height, not human fossils
Churning Milk1949
Every Monday after school
churning had to be done.
Milk that went sour on Sunday
was turned into butter on Monday,
as the creamery was closed
on the seventh day of the week.
Sometimes we kept it fresh
by putting the can into the pool,
where we buried it half way up,
almost to the handles.
The can was heavy, even when empty.
When milk went sour we churned
with a heavy wooden handle,
the end shaped like a cross and
inserted into the can of milk.
We sealed it with a wooden
lid fitted over the churn,
moving it up and down
splashing the milk into a thick
butter that floated to the top.
Afterwards we drank mugfuls
of buttermilk to quench our thirst.
Some people churn out
haiku poems like a Land
O'Lakes creamery!
Fresh baby berries blue, spread out in afternoon
On a fluffy smooth bed of cheesecake creamery
A surface filled with new red cherries mix
Clean peach slices cold and quite delicious
Fill in foundations on the side of delicate delights
A thin line of chocolate swirls above pure love
Deserts heaven is at the core of tasty pleasure
Too bad savages can't employ a fork
That would be too easy, normal and what for
Barbarians destroy the mood
Never learned to use a spoon
Filthy hands grab at the cake
Savages fill their faces full
Stuff it in with wild abandonment
Laughter remains with dirty plates
Manners and crumbs lay on the floor
*(This is an Epulaeryu poem with a twist)
Talkative
Lady romantic came shaking bag green
Her habit is different mixing without aim
Not care of colleagues what they are talking
Starts to leave gossip as if bullet train
Red lipstick in purple lip is her favorite color
Green short and white pant with shoe tiptop
Curly hear brownish half sleeve in it
Black belt in waist simple looks her talkative
Friends and circles stop dialogue upon her arrival
Poor guys all know they should hear a lot from her
Creamery skin of her body dazzles as white as
Talkative title is famous for her she loves even to hear for
Odd habit she has got in mid of her talks
Loves to attract friends' attention must be paid towards
Touches every one and rolls eyes who are curious
Her guess stands accurate as if fashion of modern
Spending hours crashing grass she pass time always
Flee friends before hand as they notice her from far
Lady romantic is hip hop in the area by name miss brown
In absence of her people glee talkative so far.
5/1/2016
Deepak Chalise
It all began with grass seeds
growing in the country field
where cattle would eat it well
so to supply it's daily yield
The cattle would then produce
milk so plenty and so white
this the farmer sells for profit
knowing his work has proved right
Some of this milk goes to creamery
where it makes many a cream
cheese margarine and quality butter
all of which tastes a dream
So butter is the final piece
in this jigsaw began in seed
it's amazing what nature does
to bring about our daily feed
Remember next time you eat butter
how it happened! maybe sooth your stutter!
Sugary white snow
Dips smothered in sweet sauces;
how it cools my steamy palate.
A cocoa flood in a butterscotch,
strawberry ocean,
is a playground for peppy,
non-perils and nuts;
my banana-boat oasis,
topped with life’s spices.
Cinnamon-ginger bursts
spark vivid daydreams
of childhood summers;
a tasty refuge for the palate.
The creamery of life, bestows great joy;
to savor all of its toppings is…miraculous!
Spread it on toast,
slather it on an English muffin.
Use it in your milkshake,
to make a smoothie,
top off a sundae or
crown a banana split.
Drop a dollop on a cracker
and plop it in your mouth.
Put it on a plate,
mixed with tiny chunks
of real creamery butter,
then spoon onto a
piping hot biscuit.
Rich, dark, tantalizing . . .
one of life's sweet joys,
Huckleberry Jam.
In The Kitchen:
Hang a pound of hickory smoked thick sliced bacon
Cover the bacon with white paper towel to prevent splatters
Pre-heat oven to 350 degree
Cover baking sheet with silver aluminum foil
Place whole-wheat yeast rolls on the baking sheet
Dot each roll with luscious creamery fresh butter
Place rolls into the pre-heated oven
Place thick bacon into microwave oven to cook for ten minutes
Beat-up four eggs incorporating air add two tablespoons milk beat some more
Take out that aggression on those eggs
Cook omelet in preheated oil covered pan
Top that omelet with some shredded cheese just a little
Call everyone to come:
Breakfast awaits
ALL THESE AND I TODAY ARE ONE
All these and I today are one
Two blocks
The neighborhood
Supermarket flower shop bakery music school
Drug stores creamery burger stand Baptist church
Restaurants stationery shop Emerson School dime store
Filling station alley-garage theater apartment houses
Downing Street 16th Colfax many trees and many houses
Is to value childhood pleasure happiness naïve,
This child in later years,
From habitual convenience bound?
The solemn English horn of memory
Reviews it all in minor key
I urge you see
A child’s dissolved personality,
See him surely slowly integrated,
Become a part of street and trees,
Mingling with the axle grease,
As well the milk and cheese
While dying of mere summer games,
Played out through years of yearning for lost times,
A crowd of ghostly voices call
By unexpected means
Through the veins AND
Surely do they course my veins
As blood congested
Races in reverse
Old neighborhood’s almost too much a part of me –
Walking running skating SHOUTING!
The infinite as boundary
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