This currant, while sun-faced
River's, sparkles optimistic
That's calmly hypnotized
Mirrors that flow, as all
The demeanours lit up have been
A mind's, now tranquilized.
kew boathouse melbourne
the green
the gray
the blue
the place to remain
rock over the feet
rock over the wasp sting
smooth ivory
poached in the stream
a swirl of emotions
balancing the commotion
a twinkle in the sun
a wrinkle in the continuum
glistening in the tame light
the eye
the piercing storm
boredom running down the current
sweet blackberry currant
placed in a riverbed
placed in a tear shed
jagged edges
drowning precipice
a stem broken and the petal drifts
the land is flat, and it plays in a sharp
the frown is erased in the heat
the pulse of a heartbeat
washed upon the shores
rust against the painted door
broken chords in the folklore
winter will freeze it over
spring insists for it to show
head hung low
played in a low octave
a black crow beckons wanderlust
floating figure in the riverbed
a shadow in a dent
listen to the sounds
water against water
the rush of martyrdom
the center of the iris
pollen floating in a blue sky
lost in a riverbed
lost in a stony concept
feet against the unsteady steps
the tired soul’s abyss
My granny's kitchen, neat and clean,
the walls were always painted green.
Her cakes and cookies, tarts and pies,
a welcome sight to greedy eyes.
One day I thought I'd cook a treat
and bake her something good to eat.
Alas, I only made a mess:
the table, floor and walls, I guess,
were bathed in eggs and milk and flour.
My currant buns were burnt (an hour
too long on highest heat, it seemed).
She wasn't happy as I'd dreamed
and washed and scrubbed. It took a while
before my gran began to smile...
It takes a while,
time gets trapped behind closed doors,
mice need to be nudged into awareness,
whiskers electrified.
A sleeper adjusts its mouth,
for often lips arrive
behind a scream.
The brain is now ready for its screenshot.
The body stretches to a window,
neuronal mice
pull upon somatic ligaments,
yank upon slabs of connective tissue,
slowly reshaping a new reality.
Unfortunately,
you are not exactly transferable,
you can’t get on the same hamster wheel.
A new you must be rehabilitated,
the world also must be trained
to accommodate this au currant -
this avant garde prototype
of an old guy.
Your call resonates like a lost echo among the shadows of dusk,
Deep within me, like spring water flowing towards distant lands.
My heart, boundless and mysterious, responds silently, naive and gentle,
As the sleepless twilight creeps again through the misted windows.
The lilac and currant bow their heads gracefully in the evening wind,
And my silent homeland whispers the call for me to return home.
Your call, my bittersweet sorrow, resonates in the echo of distance,
And I, wandering among shadows, seek my way on unseen paths.
I know our meeting will be fulfilled under the blue sky of night,
Our prolonged separation will find solace in the light of the hidden moon.
Distant bells remind me of the road I have traveled,
Raising the dust of dreams, searching for you among eternal memories and longings.
Your call at sunset, my melancholy will find its way to you,
And the promise of reunion will be sealed by the quiet of the night that envelops us.
In the flow of time, under the starry sky, I will keep my promise,
For my heart, once called, cannot remain far from you.
Breakfast done, lunch so far away.
It's never too early or late for Elevenses!
Perhaps a seed-cake, sweet fragrant and so very proper.
Or a steaming currant bun, warm, light and spicy.
Oh perhaps the splendor of a freshly baked scone with jam and cream.
Or delicate petite fours scattered with remnants of a dream perchance?
Who stole the plate the strawberry tarts, red, tangy and sweet?
Or the short-bread creams rich in flour and butter, filled with icing?
All swerved with steaming tea, brewed in a pot, warmed in a knitted cosy!
It's ten past ten, how can we wait any longer?
For the clock to strike - Elevenses!
A petition has intiaton.' On border soverigenity.' Midst angst
And supposition ? In one dimention flow of people..Has
Been a staple, before Noah sailed over the silenced; and hidden
Creations.' Yet subject to conditions i e ( travellers funding
Available craft? the (prevailing tides and seasons ) allowing
Integration, of benefit to any nation.' Any artifice; or abberation
Type's Cannot justify, it is my inclination.' Only in the 1700s
Enslaved peoples in ( massed movement ) mirror of the
Current.' And did such not cause misery.? The 1970's
Was a purging, a cathartic stage' of (that un-normal) un-needed instancy.) driven by such materialistic social engineering originally.!
In a certainty of lunacy.' So in Britian late 2024 a petion is
Now set forth.' To seal all borders for a full five years course.' In normal
Times such would be ludicrous.' Yet in consideration of what we see' with
All the currant human misery..' It now appears most judicious and not at all Im-prudent; to use.' as i can see.)
A stack of fresh Canadian pancakes, a jar of their best
Maple syrup, a fresh coffe, one suger and good cream
But it must include...One trudeau; to go.' In that case i'll
I'll Spend some real time in this place, praying about
The currant dis-order scene?
Emerging from the deep dark tunnel
arriving into the light of London’s St Pancras
on a wet wintery evening
I saw your text message.
How brilliantly clever of you
not your ordinary SMS
but glowing handwriting
in gigantic bright pink LED letters
lighting up the cold dark night
like a huge hug.
Such a warm greeting
as welcoming as a
tray of hot currant buns
straight from the oven
warming you up
on a cold winter day.
For so long the world at war
and since then
sometimes warm relations
sometimes indifference
sometimes cold war.
How wise you are
to welcome me so warmly
especially at a time like this.
Just as much as
you want your time with me
I want my time with you.
Let’s banish the cold
and share our warmth forever.
I'd always wondered, dreamed really,
How it all could feel
The world awash in currant marble
Glistening from my skill
I only plan perfectionism;
A mind as sharp as ice
To put my practice to the test
I find my first device
Never had I known before
A feeling such as this
For when I felt his last breath draw
My veins went warm
Like piss
Now I'm on a number that,
Is really, beyond 'fine'
But worry not, it won't be you.
You kindly finished my rhyme
AUTHERS NOTE: This is NOT biopic!
Apple many varieties sweet and sour
Banana soft fruit many uses
Cherry's are sweet watch out for its stone
Damson like a juicy plum
Elderberry fragrant good in wine
Fig many seeded fruit
Grapefruit similar to oranges but tarter
Honeydew melon lovely juicy type of gourd
Indian gooseberry good in pies
Jostaberry a cross between gooseberry, black gooseberry and black currant
Kiwi a tasty green fruit
Lemon can be very tart
Mango juicy fruit with delicate flavour
Nectarine similar to a peach
Orange sweet and juicy usually full of pips
Papaya also known as pawpaw
Quince very sharp like a lime
Raspberry most useful at banquets
Strawberry and ice-cream a summer delight
Tomato both used as a fruit and vegetable
Ugli fruit a gourd like fruit thats tasty
Valancia orange small sweet fruit that packs a punch
Water melon another gourd like fruit
Ximenia Caffra is like a very sour plum
Yellow passion fruit is similar to passion fruit normally cooked as a curd
Zucchini flowers often cooked in batter
Scrummy cakes
All different shapes
Which one shall I choose
A chocolate éclair
A currant bun
To see these delights is truly fun
I taste them ~ I smell them
I cannot ignore them
So please Mum
buy me one...
Get into the conversation' Contest Info
Sponsor Eve Roper
Curled up on the floor. In the middle of the day. I dream.
Images of hats and pills come out of nowhere.
“I visit my garden each morning
searching the ground to see
if the unused pills I found
in my mother’s pill boxes,
and planted, had produced
a rose or purple Phlox.
I buried her tablet boxes,
buried them, like tiny coffins.
I lined the miniature graves
with crushed blue velvet,
(like the cases that stored
her elegant forks used only
on special occasions,
at four o’clock tea-time,
the cake served primly
on gold-rimmed plates).
Treading through the wet grass,
rootling through the fertile soil,
I saw, without surprise,
blue hats growing wild,
velvet and tulle,
pills and sequins
scattered and whimsical,
my mother decorating
their botanical brims
with silver cake forks
tied with ribbons”.
I wake up,
eyes blurred,
I can barely see.
I make a cup of tea,
cut a slice of currant cake,
and eat it with a small,
antique English fork.
Those apples you call cheeks are as fresh as a currant, grapefruit!
Wanna eat them my luv! For they're chubby and sweet!
The crease on your neck is a line on blue-sky.
It squints for a smooch which my lips can't deny.
I was haulin' a heavy load
Up the frog an' toad,
When down poured the pleasure an' pain
To my dismay.
Once home I received an' invitation
To a good ol' gay an' hearty!
I was promised plenty o' laughs,
Box o' toys an' lots of give an' take.
An' this was to last
Til day's a dawning!
What will I take?
Can't go empty handed!
I Know,
I'll take pimple an' blotch.
Yeah!
But my friend told me this,
"Take this lump of ice...
If a bottle an' stopper should pass you by,
Tilt your head an' pretend to cry.
Tell him, "It's appalling to poor army an' navy
All over your borrow an' beg!"
It's a penny come quick!
He'll think your crazy!
He'll roll his eyes an' send you on your way.
What d'ya think?
Are you yet to be?"
"Absolutely!" I replied
Laughing imagining such fun.
This certainly cheered me up no end.
Then, out came the ol' currant bun!
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