"Eat your veggies," as a nipper I was told
but I'd hide 'em on me lap so Mum wouldn't scold
then all the quicker feed 'em to the dish-licker
before they were even cold
now I'm older not sadder but wiser
and do enjoy a tasty appetiser
they may appear to look like a pear
here's a myth I wish to quash
tho' they're fruit chayotes taste like
zucchini cucumber or squash
against the fence homegrown I grow me own
and me garden's full of chokos
"Choko-bloc," one might even say
I'll do a prickly pear or two
but still don't eat veggies to this day
Nothing good ever came out of hell
we all can see the enemy works on people's fear
The fruits of disaster has been sewn into those consenting
freedom has the choice to move without restraints attached
removal of these rights has turned the system of law upside down
passing laws that amount to curfew status in a time of war
dictators that close down all opposition and homegrown truths
The twisted tongues of oppression manipulate words forked
a new breed of public figures emerge justifying murder
control the masses and you have an army defending the deceiver
No channel skipping ..no flannel...it was so gripping…hearts melt…Pant's ripping svelte pelt and belt..stripping and whipping..the fab never drab Rishab lab..was it real..felt like I was tripping… no pipping..surreal cartwheel flipping..
Some verse about the Panto Pant curse…does traverse…like a hearse….won’t reimburse..adverse bowlers terse..things getting worse…reputations nurse…Rishab flash panache smash and grab..rehearse that ramp reverse..in his own homegrown perverse.. with only himself will converse..no fretting..go getting…record setting universe..
Now has outshone and outdone..shoves show pony Dhoni.. as the Indian man alright talisman with the gloves everybody loves with the most tons..holy moly..more three figures scores on England tours than the folklore of before..Sunny and Kohli..
Records splattered shattered..gallivanting Pant parade..cascade and cavalcade …flattered .. Rishab paddled..bowlers addled and raddled..skedaddled
Ignore any naysayer…prime sublime Pantomimes…haymaker…cocktail shaker…p**s taker…tik tok peacocker..run for fun maker…cool cat with the bat..almost indecent crimes..the Indian’s best test player and slayer of recent times..
evil lies torch and burn
free inquiry… dust and ash
… homegrown Hitler youth
June
Spring is starting to fade
Summer is ready to get started
Berries are ripening
Flowers are blooming
Homegrown vegetables are right around the corner
I dreamed about this time of year
As snow and temps were falling
Though I enjoyed the hibernation
I look forward to sun kissed skin
Hello June, I missed you
There’s a wizard who sticks to his own
Affirming truth* in his comfort zone
Welcoming change as right
When not left to bring blight
Cleaving to good news that are homegrown.
*John 14:6 Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.
November 24, 2024
3rd place, "Wizard Of Oz Limerick" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina; judged on 12/13/2024
Twas exhausted night before Thanksgiving,
after few eggnog Whiskeys, relieving.
Awful chilling and spooky,
Boo-hoo, the turkey soupy,
Homegrown, fear fill eyes were unforgiving.
Huge pie in the sky,
visiting her grandparents.
A lofty and crusty bake
from ages ago.
The chill cellar held jars.
Fruits were homegrown,
handpicked, canned.
Humongous, it was not
an average-sized pie.
The gigantic pie, at least
to a child that remembers,
was gorged on satisfying
fat-purple-blueberries.
I can only imagine a taste,
to take a bite out of
1950’s life. My tongue
red and blue, savoring.
My memory only holds
my Great-Grandma
in a corner chair
in her daughter’s home;
and a couple visits
to our home
with her sister.
At least I remember that,
but paint me purple,
or let me go closer,
for her granddaughter
made me rhubarb pie.
That’s my mama,
whose Great-Grands
will only mostly recollect
what I surrender
from the past.
Heart to heart we live as one inside this castle for two
soulmates for life we hoped, but we never really knew
Hands interlocked, shoulder to shoulder , we toiled all day
only the bathe in the night by a moonlight's inlay
Heart to heart we loved each other like never before
believing in each other no matter what God had in store
Lips to lips we kissed like children in the garden of love
seeded and homegrown we grew like flowers, beloved
Heart to heart we grew old together and lived as one
walking side by side we savored every moment in the sun
Face to face we watched each other grow and change
knowing that I love yous were always in our vocal range
Heart to heart we shall live until God takes us both away,
to that Castle in the sky where we will live forever this way !
Love, Mystic Rose
From the morning papers
We read the woman, a former actress
who stole a prince and was hated by the kingdom
is a duchess selling jam and pottery
Her husband, the prince, looks bewildered
We also notice the woman who was
prime minister, for a very short time found
crawling things on the carpet, given
its former occupant, this was not surprising
The woman with her short reign has
written a book, in the hope of being regarded
as something more than a misses Bean
laying her awkward talent bare in The USA
My view
is that homegrown failures
should not be exported or bought up like
water, to foreign investors
as rivers and lakes belong to the people
to swim and drown without
interference from speculatants who
muddy the water and turn it into sewers
No mansion on the lake
A cottage on the lane
A hub for dwelling sake
Worn wood on windowpane
Potatoes in the bin
A mattress for my bed
A table in the den
Suffice for breaking bread
A garden wrought with weeds
That flourishes in the Fall
But still supplies my needs
When neighbors come to call
Though rustic it may be
Whenever I may roam
I ever long to see
This place that I call home
My heart and I speak every day
We walk and talk alone
I ask it for new poetry
New rhymes that are homegrown
It gives me little snippets
That then become fullblown
Thoughts, reflections, hopes and dreams
Of you in me are sewn
I do admit I worry
What if the well runs dry?
But once I get into the zone
The verses start to fly
So effortless to write of
There's a breadth and depth to you
To cause the troubadour in me
To come up with something new
Daily, sometimes two or three
I've had some days like that
Where they just seem to write themselves
Cohesive in format
Bouquets that bloom in morning
From a nursery of new seed
They germinate so quickly
All fertilized by my need
To tell you what you mean to me
I want for you to know
How much I think the world of you
And how you make me glow
I grew up in a small rural Iowa town
my parents were spawn of farmers
we had “farms” out in the country
we did not live on them but we planted them
our summers were spent hoeing, weeding, raking.
a child I teach stopped me. “There is a hoe in this story?”
Loud laughter. They know about hoes apparently.
I have to explain about the other kind of hoes.
we planted our crops in straight rows made by a tractor
then put a neat wooden cross at the end of each row
telling what we had planted there – radishes, carrots, lettuce,
there is nothing like a homegrown tomato or a homegrown radish
store bought produce cannot hope to compete.
Watch out for my Hellcat Hemi,
It's got four on the floor and more.
Oh how it squeals on big chrome wheels,
You should hear that engine's roar.
It comes alive at 185,
You can bet it'll rule the day.
So bring your car and money jar,
When you want to come out and play.
It's no phony with all those ponies,
Just homegrown muscle for sure.
Ain't no pills to prevent your ills,
The disease without a cure.
With that Devil Cat on my side,
I've got the hottest ride around.
Don't try your luck with car or truck,
Cause I'm Hell on wheels and Hellbound.
Recalling how chiggers can itch
I'll still cross the muddiest ditch
the biggest blackberries to find.
Deet sends most critters to their niche.
Wrestling briers, a path I'll stake
while dreaming of cobblers to bake...
Whoa! my full pail I left behind
the moment I spotted a snake.
Returning with weapon in tow
and searching along with my beau
At last, I regain peace of mind,
he scares off the snake with a hoe.
Retrieving my bucket brim full
we hurry past fence and the bull.
Are they worth the grit and the grind?
You bet, homegrown blackberries rule.
July 31, 2022
Contest: Your Thoughts on Blackberries
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
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