refreshing cool breeze
juicy gooseberries hanging ~
sour pickles in mind
Your kisses are black blueberries,
Delicious sparkling rounds,
Your kisses are intense strawberries,
Red and sweet, white honey,
Your lips are peaches,
Violets and rare temptations,
Apricots full of distant dreams,
Your kisses are gooseberries
What are the young sacripants
Red and sweet blooms,
Fruits offered and defended,
Fruits that we eat with our eyes,
Blueberries with miraculous juice,
Sparkling grapes, yellow peaches
That only the night can steal,
But my heart know them so much.
Where is the flavour,
That we used to savour,
Many years ago
Ripe, juicy peaches,
Apricots and plums
That made flavourful preserves
They were made by many mums.
Gooseberries and Raspberries,
Black and redcurrants too
Succulent, Apples, Pears and oranges
To name just a few
Make sure you have a handkerchief,
To mop up the dribble from your chin,
Nearly every home grew fruit trees
Not to would be a sin
Home produce is healthy,
Picked from trees and dug from Earth,
The labour was rewarding,
It most certainly was worth
The effort to provide
Nutrition for the family
To keep them healthy,
And survive,
Processed food was minimal,
When I was a little girl,
Too much of it is criminal
It makes my stomach curl,
Packets of seeds and granules
A lousy excuse for food
The advertising is misleading,
It states the contents are good
I try to steer clear of them.
And confident others should.
I miss the aromas that seemed,
To be more pungent in the past,
The flavours in fresh food
And the satisfying tastes that last,
I feel a lot of flavours worldwide have left
Please bring back taste and flavour.
Before, it becomes bereft.
lemons crushed over iced glass
hot march sun, cape gooseberries
drenched umbrellas into the fog of sunrise
rain and march breezes bring in May bloom
Written: March 6, 2022
Form: Lind30, 7-7-7-9
March In Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
HMS.COM
GOOSEBERRIES AND SHARP CREASES
The plumpest, juiciest, hairiest gooseberries
My grandfather grew in a circular bed,
Dead centre of the immaculate lawn.
And blackcurrants under netting,
And a Victoria plum tree in the far corner.
He taught me to hitch up my trousers at the knee
When I sat down, to avoid spoiling the creases.
And to touch the peak of my cap
When I passed a lady in the street.
But he was a sick man;
Tuberculosis and diabetes that would send him
Into long, deep comas.
He would have taught me a whole lot more,
But for that final coma.
1st July 2020
In Loving Memory Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Regina Riddle
Welcome to my garden of love,
Pomegranates hanging from 'bove,
Peaches and apples do surround
Roses and dahlias abound,
Honeysuckle grows on the vine,
With gooseberries and cherries fine,
Lemons sprout and lilies grow tall,
As wisteria lines the wall,
You can sit amid mangoes sweet,
Read a nice book or have a treat,
Under the shade of tall brown trees,
Amidst flowers, where blows the breeze,
Welcome to my garden of love,
Here visits the silver white dove,
You'll enjoy to your heart's content,
And that is my garden's intent.
06.12.2020
Glitzy gypsy magic, gathering gooseberries, giggling giddily,
Gallon buckets gladly gobbling up gooseberries in grandiose style
Gorgeous ghostly golden goblins, giving the greenlight,
For grandmother garden’s grabbing gooseberry gala.
Galloping green grasshoppers generating groans.
As grimy, grubby, grainy, grasshoppers gleefully land on arms.
Goblins grin at grandchildren’s grumpy, griping and grousing.
Which will stop the second they gulp Grandma’s gooseberry cobbler!
There is a gopher hiding in the gooseberry bushes,
Kaie, the town gossip told me.
I looked hard.
Got prickled by the bush’s thorns too.
Got bloody.
Hey! Someone said.
It was a snappily dressed gorilla.
He was wearing a Stetson with a paisley hat band.
He tipped it to me when he saw I was not picking gooseberries.
Howdy, he said.
Hi, I said back. Surprised he spoke cowboy.
Have you seen a gopher? I asked him.
We looked together, but could find no evidence of one.
I reported this back to Kaie, gladly. She is always getting something wrong.
I know it was an animal that started with the letter G, she said.
She began naming animals.
Grouse? Guinea pig? Goat?
My friend the gorilla tipped his hat to me from the window.
I waved back.
Gorilla? I asked her.
Don’t be silly, she said.
Coloured memories
Giggles resonated inside as I opened the end drawer
Of my study table on sudden visit of empty ancestral home
Some dust-laden crayons caught my sight
Only to lead my soul in coloured memory lanes roam
The crayon brown gave stains of puddles on my school uniform
Yellow metamorphosed to fluttering butterflies of cottage garden
Pink prompted the thrill of buying bubble gums and candy floss
Orange reminded of old grandpa's home staying at end of market lane
Red complained you forgot your polka crimson frock
White revived pleasure of canvas shoes brought by Dad from his office tour
And black Mom's lustrous hair that she combed after showers
Green crayon cued taste of gooseberries sour
Blue crayon still imbibed magic of winter noon skies
Indigo of the vase I broke running through corridor
Every crayon has a story wrapped
Pleasant coloured memories wonderful mariner
3/9/2018
As the days shorten and skies darken
Greenwich meantime feels like a lean time.
With a heavier coat I go out scarfed,
my hat pulled down, to find those last leaves
compact in corners and crevices.
With whitening fingers gloved I crouch
and pluck them for leaf mould; while wood lice
watched by a robin, head cocked, alert,
are plucked as he darts for a morsel,
as blackbirds too pluck the last berries.
As a north-easterly blast attacks,
it is time to retreat from the chill
wind into a defensive shelter,
to sharpen secateurs for pruning
apples, blackcurrants and gooseberries.
Winter battles as the rain rattles
on the windows, probing and testing.
I bring in some logs and lay the fire –
match to kindling it begins to roar.
Now dusk it's time the curtains to draw.
Hot drink clasped, I behold a new moon
crescent up into a clearing sky.
There beneath the starlit canopy
snowdrops begin to poke through the grass
as if to reflect the countless stars.
In the morn I rake moss from the lawn
to keep warm – it pays to keep moving –
with aconites as if acolytes
soon to join a vernal procession
into the promise of renewed life.
Horse hill, ham road or sheep street. All is the same for a lorry down a lane. Huge efforts are made by beaming booming trucks. And blocks are not soft cubes. They are brightly lit canopies and a seance of senses. It is often wise to form a queue when threatening a field. Wise is the fauna. Alive is the weaponry skills of a thistle. And catering clap of dandelion. A tree can hold the ground intact but a well whips the soil. Water wasting wheeling wounding. And a myth rising. To rue is to be rubbished and rubbish is the rubble of the tyrannical toil of toxic traps. Merely an iron then. Radioactive decay of an ancient glow can cause a king of old to come. Oh good. Gooseberries clapping and cheering in coats hugging the blossoming blackberries with ecstatic joy. Much knowledge in a shrew ball. Delve diving digastric divas. No ha ha as all is saved by a curtain in a landing hedge. And a mountain of millipedes and a ten foot moth in a coat. Questionable. *** monetary *** gained Gaia gifts gratifications xxxx
Kenetic examples of wildlife are enjoyed after sipping green teas. But antelope sway at dusk. So be wary of teapots in tree houses. Gooseberries are often found loitering in desert yachts whilst porcupines are oblivious to sugar beet. Many an octopus are said to be humbled by the wandering lettuce but hieroglyphs are but a portal to mushy peas. A halibut always talks very very very slowly. The clock yawns. The bell grins. Please be aware that very playful ants in hats coats and shirts can cause great havoc in a bistro. Wreaking a great godly view to an unjustified pillar. A suit of armour would be rather ashamed at such antics. So one must gather molluscs for a stew in the lands of the giant amphibians. Dandelions on a bed of corn flour often tell stories of ancient snow clouds while orangutans can bury many coffee beans. Unforgotten is the tirade of the slouching shrimp in a teapot of sponge. And a galvanised pediatrician is not allowed to ponder on a two hundred foot pedestal. Ok. And a misjudged mishap mayhem moving movements monstrously. Hahahaha now eat a donut hahahaha and a toast of course. Xxxx havens heaping have xxxx miscalculation z.
what on earth do you do
with leftover gooseberry stew
do you bake it in a pie
with meringue sky high
or make a tart not so sweet
yet tasty enough to eat
how about that sweet jelly
got that recipe from aunt nelly
make a cobbler is planned
or don't forget gooseberry jam
if you ever get them ripe
those are my favorite type
you can eat them just as they are
fresh gooseberries are the star
but since most are picked green
without sugar they are sourly obscene
stew them good with cinnamon
add sugar and dig in
now for those boysenberries
how about a glass of wine or sherry
Hearing the maids cry: "Come walk through our orchard Come buy,come buy:
Apples and berries, Lemons and Raspberries, Melons and Raspberries,
Plump picked cherries, Smooth checked peaches, Pine-apple, Blackberries,
Apricots, Strawberries,There all ripe together In Summer weather,
Morning passes by, Fair eves that fly; Come buy, come buy; Grapes fresh from the vine, Pomegranates full and fresh, Dates sharp as an eastern delight, Pears juicy with one bite, Taste them and try; Currants and gooseberries, Bright as the Loganberries,
Figs fill your mouth, Citrons from the South, Taste sweet to the tongue,
With sound to the eye: Come buy,come buy."
Everything which
separates as useless
idealism,
everything, but
sleep of leaning
gooseberries
evaporates and
floats. The skies
collected all the
warmth and
sweetness.
And I am nothing
just a mere winged
ant,
which chose to drop
its wings and settle
on a fiber
of fluffy
nothingness. I'll
pass
through sun,
ignoring droughts of
ground,
while living on the
cloud is coldest.
The skies have
gathered all the
noise:
atop of gentle
blades of grass
it blows and drizzle
in small beads
of folly
bringing solutions
to the leaves.
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