Launched
pea-
nuts
take a
long time to
hardly even fake
making a weird bounc-
ing effort
once they
hit
the
glow-
ing showroom
floor.
Looking the sea is fine
Having no fish caught is also fine
The poor has other thing to eat
The spinach in the pond is looking good
To cook the day's stomach not empty
Paired with some boiled eggs and eggplants
It's already a joyful to live a day
Life without having in the pocket is a challenge
The mind is working so hard to survive
Thanks God, He let His field grows many greens
Some wild legumes, beans and ferns
For me and my family to live for sustenance.
A SPECIAL BOND
A special bond lies within us,
Me and my father’s bond is harder than the Earth’s outer crust,
Worth than gold,
That is never old,
It shines brighter than the sun,
This bond is filled with fun,
Made from love,
It is a special love,
A special bond it surely is,
In melody it says,
My courage and strength is my father,
My proudness is my father,
His love goes past the daunting hurdles,
It is like legumes fertile,
It is more than special,
With my father,
With the love and care of my father,
Even the highest mountains I can reach,
The skies will be simple to reach
Even the strongest towers will shatter,
All the drops will turn into beads and clatter,
It is a truly special bond!
Years of silence I can't recall
Tears I pant on the scrawled wall
Clothes worn in an open cell
Souls torn, drowning in smitten well
Costumes worn by zombies
Moving as mannequins, not gnomes
Legumes not grown as beans or chickpeas
Roving pass skull watchers of spumes
My heart beating slow, recurring
My voice bleating low, murmuring...
Your soothing eyes I can't forget
Looking into my eyes of regret
Your hands you stretch I can't reach
To cleanse my body and bleach
Creeds of lore I can comprehend, not detest
Breeds and condescend at my weakest
Your soft hair I wanted to smell and comb
Your touch I can sense, I goad that aplomb
I will always remember you as always
On this avenue you watch over me sideways
Each day I walk barefooted without wellington
Your footprints you leave on Kensington...
I dream of a place
Where difference will come
And gather what is needed
Regardless of what's been done
There'll be fruits, vegetables
Legumes and grains
Cleaning products, necessities
And the sacred offering each will bring
....to the altar
No cash register will be seen
Because there'll be no pockets to line
Under the government of LOVE
Everything yielded, belongs to the DIVINE
....CREATOR
There will be no theft...possible
For taking has its price
The consumed product
Will reveal the sacrifice
Patience is the golden key
We will watch lives transform
The value of difference
Will become the norm
...AFTER the GREAT STORM
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-09-2023
Celebrity Carrots shook hands with onlookers
Barrel-chested Beets beat their chests like bass drums
Soft-spoken Celery Sticks whispered soliloquies
Mild-mannered Mushrooms spun themselves silly
At the Vegetable Pride Parade
Not even legumes left behind
Rootin'-tootin' Green Beans
~ by blaring trumpets designed
there is no mother nature ~ mere reality with her rolling pin
spreading an infinite universe ~ with no instructions on a tin
bring humanity into the mix ~ a strange ingredient comes in
the spit of droll intelligence ~ from our salivating menippean
# # #
Still from May Day, to the Summer solstice in June
a Helios vegan picks his nose daily, of the greenest legumes
By
David Kavanagh
In his weary hour
The legumes blossom on time;
Out of jocundity in honour
Of the beautiful turf
The drowsy peasant peak.
His weird blistered palm blimey,
His nasty regalia wretched,
He produces plenty and eats small
He produces good and eats bad
To the nobles he worked,
The dark noxious pest
Ravage and wrest
The peasant-shaddock
This tonic the dressy peasant
A nocturnal haunter.
This extempore task
Demoralizes his sinew
His swansong
Rhythmically envelops
In serenity and drone.
Each rising smoke
Nervous him to move.
This previous eyes
That know no peace
By the smiling scorching sun.
At the dark hour
He puts on his clogs
And marched to the farm shack
There he finds the beetles
On the yam.
The great anxiety of the peasant
Is the bragging fire of winter
He fasted to lull it
He became gaunt
The sturdy peasant.
The time unknown: the blazing fire
Burnt the bedecked bower
The ranch house and the lettuce
Barefooted staggered him
To the farm with his straw hat
And met the yelling ashes
The cracking twigs of cocoa plant
The peasant live no day
Longer than that and slept
Happy National Parents Day (tomorrow, July 24) to all you Poetry Soup moms who are, ever have been, or who would like to be. And with this caveat...be careful what you tell your children. They often tend to be quite liberal with your meaning and quite literal in their interpretations.
My mama taught me manners
That serve me to this very day,
But there's one I never understood
Nor could fully quite condone.
Mama said:
"Don't slurp the soup,
And sit up straight,
And eat every bean
And pee on your plate."
I didn't question her advice…
'cause moms are never wrong…
But because of it,
Now I'll only consume legumes
When I'm alone.
So, mamas, when you give advice,
I urge you to be wary,
Lest your kid, like me,
Grows up to be
A victim of vocabulary.
Two weeks since I began
back on the first of Jan,
my aim, better diet, lose weight,
one more birthday passed
hopefully not my last
so I'm changing before it is too late.
My input of dairy
was really quite scary,
demolishing cheese by the wedge,
my waist getting wider
from real ales and cider,
so time to cut back, eat more veg.
Eating more carbohydrates
cutting back on the phosphates,
ramp up vitamins B6 and B12,
If they've got Niacin and Thiamin
you can bet that I'll buy 'em in,
supplements slowly filling the shelves.
Pantry looks like a garden
as my resolve hardens,
more greens than I've eaten before,
Spinach, Broccoli, Legumes
are now taking up room
from the top shelf right down to the floor.
I'm into week three
for a healthy new me,
there's a few more tweaks I haven't done,
But I think, honestly
I prefer the old me-
this one isn't having much fun.
Harvest Bounty
Season of harvest, horn of plenty;
Tiller of soil reaping the fields:
Grains and legumes, hay and vegetables,
Fruits and plants, and gourd family genuses;
Filling silos, barns, pantries, and cellars.
Grapes abound, on vines climbing trellises,
And plump, red tomatoes dangle from stakes,
While apples grapple to keep from falling,
And livestock fatten on pastoral grasses.
Reaper of fields to feed the many.
Crops quenched by rains and meandering streams
Are ripened under the inexhaustible sun
And spring forth produce abundance in season.
Cornucopia spilling over with autumn goodness.
Tattered from custom
slightly stained
her old apron lay in a corner
idle
Each stain
gains life
used as a mitten
for oven roasts
apple tarts
carried outside on the back-porch
to cool down
a handkerchief
to wipe off grubby faces
a solace for spoilt tears
She bundled in it
loads of black figs
juicy peaches
ripe tomatoes
legumes from the garden
fresh eggs and
sometimes
baby chicks cheeping
to our delight
It was a purse
a clothes-pegs basket
A glove around her hands
to warm them in winter
she slipped it on
each morning to protect
her clothes
and shy little me
from strangers
she only took it off
when she
slept….
Season of Harvest, Horn of Plenty
Tiller of soil, Sower of seeds,
Reaper of fields to feed the many.
(Grains and legumes, fruits and vegetables)
Season of harvest, horn of plenty.
Crops quenched by rains and meandering streams
Ripen under the inexhaustible sun.
(Spring forth produce abundance in season)
Cornucopia spilling over autumn goodness.
Toast and jam
Sausage, ham
Cap mushrooms
Red legumes
Tomatoes
Potatoes
Eggs to try
Poach or fry
Breakfast tea
All for me
Tummy full
Last mouthful
Happy tum
Yum, yum, yum!
Day dismal
Pink bismol
Legumes are the flavor of the walls
Wet, soft, and sexy
They penetrate the soul and leave with a feeling of pure joy
We love all root vegetables equal
We are the root vegetables
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