O sunflower Helianthus thy Name
The internet for Writing, strange game
My love for Helianthus Annuus, came
With Morning Muse. then CONFUSE-ion
Not on the site, lost in cyberspace
Meanwhile new cultivars of sunflower
Are amazingly done in the US
God be praised for flowers, that give and give
Yes, an annual, dies when cold, but reseeds
Itself -- feeds us good seed-- Glory to God
Who made each & every flower, with variety
Only Russia today, seems to hate variation
But we learn from Hitler & Putin, never PUT IN
This universe whatever lies in your heart
Learn from Nature (Jesus, too) the giving ART
They were the leftovers
the refuse at the cannery
the wanton waste of discolored greens;
today's menu _
stringy long tantalizing pods
crispy snappings along the opposing seams
limp wilted cultivars rejected
fallen and discarded to the bins;
at shifts end
hours passed daylight
stretching beyond supper time
my grandmother
entered in the kitchen
and in the pockets of her apron fell
the remnants of vegetable extravaganza
the makings for bean soup.
Wild blueberries taste
beyond the pale
of domestic cultivars,
sweetness cut by granite acidity
underlain by the spice
of marginal existence.
A blueberry’s destiny
is realized through consumption.
I satisfy as many as I can
to deposit their future
a couple portages down
tomorrow.
An older poem recycled as it fit's Roy's contest to a "P"
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