Long Cantaloupe Poems
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To Eat A Peach
Spring is here.
The delicate tree blossoms replace
the delicate white lights of Winter.
From the petals fruit will grow.
Pears, plums, apricots, cherries,
nectarines...
Peaches.
I set the unripe soft rose and yellow
orb on the windowsill.
Two days later I tenderly lift it
and gently squeeze its warmth before
I wash it.
Biting into it...
the sweet liquid is Ambrosia.
The juice runs down my chin onto
my tee.
I greedily suck the peach’s flesh dry.
I daydream as I munch.
Peach cobbler, peach pie with a lattice crust,
peach shortcake, peach muffins,
stewed peaches, peach tea bread,
slices on your cereal, slices in a bowl with cream.
OR...only for dessert?
How would a
chicken breast soaked in a peach marinade taste?
My taste buds begin chattering.
Summer’s here!
corn on the cob, okra, tomatoes:
small ones that pop in your mouth
and big beefy wedges that
garnish crisp celery slices, carrot medallions,
tender Bibb lettuce, sliced mushrooms, cucumbers,
asparagus, broccoli, Vidalia onions, cauliflower...
Watermelon, blueberries, cantaloupe,
strawberries, honeydews, raspberries...
Juicy hot dogs, spicy barbecue, thick charbroiled hamburgers,
hot German potato salad, 3-bean salad, macaroni salad,
potato chips and French onion soup dip,
soft pretzels dipped in brown mustard, popcorn...
chocolate chip cookies, Snickerdoodles,
strawberry shortcake,
chocolate cake with red, white and blue frosting for the 4th,
apple pie
— softball, Mom, doggies —
I awake with a start. There is drool
on my pillow.
Another day begins but it’s really
not another day.
It’s the same day I’ve been living
since 1 May 2017 ~
The day I let the dentist pull
out the last 5 teeth I had
in my lower jaw.
And as I come to consciousness
my tongue pushes
against and spills out over the
the soft toothless tissue that burns constantly
and is covered in a thick gooey saliva ~ place a
teaspoon of Elmer's
glue in your mouth ~ if
you care to have a taste
of my reality.
Summer’s here.
Clear your palate.
Clean your plate.
Barbara Dickenson
1 May 2018
- [ ]
Why can I not write?
I am overwhelmed
By the minutiae of everyday life!
Dawn comes, and I awake, but no!
I pull the covers over my head
And close my eyes tightly
Against the coming day.
I am not ready yet!
When I can avoid it no longer
I sit up and dress, reluctantly,
Take the dog out, bring
Him in and feed him,
Give him fresh water.
Give him his pills and
Spray his poor shaven rat tail
With anti-itch lotion,
(He has a hot spot!)
And put some ointment on it.
I fix some breakfast,
Wash it down with yesterday’s coffee.
Take the cats some fresh water,
Get them their breakfast,
And clean the litter,
Wipe Sweetie Pie’s eyes
And put drops in them.
I’ll comb out both Sophie
And Sweetie Pie later on.
I make my bed and
Clean up the dishes,
Get out my big green backpack
And put Doug’s clean clothes in it.
Oops! I forgot to start the laundry
I brought home yesterday!
It’s already 10:30, and I
Have to leave by five to eleven!
Spray on the sun lotion,
Check that I have my Patriot ferry
Pass and the SPF 50 lip balm
Doug asked me to get.
It’s hot and humid, but I trudge
Twenty minutes to the ferry
For the half-hour boat ride
That I actually enjoy!
Just me, the water, sun and breeze
For 30 minutes of quiet
For my not-so-peaceful mind.
Three hours to have lunch with Doug,
Bring him up-to-date with
All the news of friends and family,
Watch him in physical therapy
And learn what I will have to do
In a few weeks when he gets home!
Back to the van, back to the Patriot ferry,
And another brief time for myself.
I walk home, hot and tired.
Take Andy out, finish the laundry
And hang it out on the line.
I think it won’t rain tonight.
Run to the store for some
Necessities, cat food in particular,
Check the e-mail, answer some notes,
Water the parched garden
Take Andy for a walk, and
Then feed him his dinner.
Time for MY dinner, but what?
Let’s see. I sauté a couple of
Chicken tenders in the small pan,
Slice up a whole tomato,
Add some cantaloupe and cottage cheese,
Eat some of it and fall asleep
In the chair in front of the
Fan on its highest setting.
I wake up with a start and make
Myself get up and clean up the kitchen,
Afterwards, I watch a couple
Of mindless television shows
While I make mental lists
Of what I have to do tomorrow.
Rats in the cellar, squirrels in the tree,
things aren't the same as they used to be.
When I left for school with my li'l lunch pail,
I didn't expect a penguin to swallow a whale.
Such an injustice, I've never seen,
a cantaloupe falsely imprisoned a bean.
It's unheeded screams, uncontrolled laughter,
when it's trolls that live happily ever after.
Doors off their hinges, pancakes are stacked,
biscuits are burning, windows are cracked.
Termites in the baseboards, rabbits that fly,
pigs that regularly take to the sky.
Voices that whisper, mad dogs that bite,
winds that go howling and look for a fight.
Wrapped in cellophane, mixed in a blender,
taped up in cardboard and returned to sender.
Rainbows and ravens, kaleidoscope dreams,
leafless branches, gallows lit by moonbeams.
Music boxes, pink ribbons and bows,
tags come on packages; tags come on toes.
Curtains lifted, sick, unsavory scenes,
gear wheels in gear wheels run strange machines.
Dissected, disowned and double-downsized,
unaided, unacknowledged and unrecognized.
Puzzles, conundrums that cannot be solved,
water plus turpentine make witches dissolve.
Pimentos are diced, harsh words are spoken,
nightmares are jumbled; eggshells are broken.
Lost in the doldrums, eyeballs protrude,
walking on blisters, a horse latitude.
Spineless jellyfish, lackeys and flunkies,
silver tongued vultures, branch swinging monkeys.
Experts and pundits, paid authorities,
Kool-Aid in canisters, down on your knees.
Bishops take pawns, the fat lady sings,
fires ablaze on black nights with kings.
Shattered stars, fragmented stones,
shining splinters, bleak, burning bones.
Songs without meaning, songs without words,
sung by unseen phantoms and silent birds.
Refrigerators with pictures nobody knows,
eyes staring back, no answers disclose.
Spiders and spinning bicycle wheels,
buffalos, bandits, and slippery seals.
Electric toothbrushes, electric chairs,
lethal injections, pushed down the stairs.
Pieces on the floor, a sad state of disarray,
the gift you've left me is insanity's bouquet.
You stole my cookies, pilfered my cat,
laughed at me roundly and turned me down flat.
Mice it in the attic go chitter chatter,
have I lost my wits or gone mad as a hatter?
Well I was feeling stir crazy and I needed to move
All juiced up you could say, with something to prove
So I strapped a helmet to my melon and headed for the door
No telling where I was heading, just feet to the floor
I hopped on my bike, closed my eyes and sped away
Letting go of all the stresses that led up to that day
To unwind I ride blind, and when I ride, I ride the rind
The watermelon kind, in the unexplored of my mind
So uphill to the clouds I inclined launching through fluff
My tire seeds flying from speed, the skies rough
The faster I pedaled the more seeds hit the clouds
Mixing with raindrops, growing like unruly crowds
These air born watermelon vines suspended in the sky
I couldn’t explain if I tried so don’t ask me why
It began to rain, but not your regular precipitation
Green and white orbs hurdle down without hesitation
Now I’m riding back home on a falling melon mountain
Exploding everywhere like a fruity citrus fountain
Sweet pink pulp showering the earth as they land
More seeds take root now and isn’t it grand!?
There isn’t a square foot not sprawling with melon
And if loving this is bad, well, call me a felon!
An endless supply of the sweetest summer slices
Who would have ever thought, if left to my own devices
My scenic bike ride up above would leave an orchard
For the whole world! And if you think that it’s absurd
Then YOUR bike is probably made of metal, and rubber tires
And maybe you are the one that has some crossed wires
So listen up honeydew, you may say I’m out of my gourd
But you cantaloupe being married to an idea you can’t afford
Squash the misconceptions and you just might really find
You’ll close your eyes, open your mind and love to ride the rind!
June 28, 2022
A Watermelon Fantasy Ride Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose
When you are
an agonizing
echo from a
benevolent voice,
life exhales in
mahogany haze,
spreading across the
lachrymose meadows as
scarred rivulets of
sandalwood scents,
where ceramic
rhymes slumber in
watercolor coffins
with opaque metaphors,
weaving hoaxed
hymns of the nascent
heavens within these
mortal hues.
I'm a bronze brushstroke
of origami colours,
pinned to the weary
wall as the state
of forsaken art,
splattered in acrylic-
resembling sombre
diamonds that
knit ebony pixels
of my onyx heart,
scattered across the
blistered brims,
framed from
fate crossed palms;
doused in poisoned
henna depicted
in dismay, to portray
the painting of despair
within my splitting mind.
Isn't the monochromatic
shade of an aesthetic
mural a clementine
symmetry, where ruby psalms
stained with black peonies,
bleed thistle-ribboned
tales from an orchid's silence?
Not every artist
can mold
peace from a
pastel palette
filled with poignant
petals engrossed
in purple pain,
but poetic fingers
can sculpt an evergreen
masterpiece through
crisp flakes of
tumbling torment,
carried through
arctic mists.
But is there a
teal-azure texture
to create a
timeless tapestry
interlaced with
lavender musings?
As melancholy soars
beyond roseate realms
like a moon-winged butterfly,
fluttering across
cantaloupe sunsets,
etching heartbeats of
hope in harp's periwinkle pigments,
when twinkling jewels
lose their shine,
leaving tales untold
to waltz with
forlorn silhouettes-
dwelling in a gallery of grief.
For, in the calligraphic
corners of chaos,
I’ve found healing,
between ethereal pages
within a cathartic labyrinth.
New city street
With the wink of an eye
and a shuffle of feet
We wandered about
down a new city street
Where vendors wore blue
with a tangerine sash
In hopes to look good
with no chance it would clash
Their carts were adorned
with ribbons and beads
And funny designs
made of cantaloupe seeds
They hollered and bellowed
and beckoned us near
And when we did stop,
they let out a loud cheer
They offered us products
like peanuts with cheese
And daffodil handkerchiefs
in case we sneeze
Belts made of feathers
with buckles in red
And weird little cones
you could wear on your head
We bid and we haggled
but always were nice
To get a good deal
and a much better price
The street lined with houses,
most two stories high
With windows like shamrocks
reflecting the sky
The balconies all featured
ribbons and bows
That hung from the railings
such colorful throws
Where women were calling
to neighbors across
For clothes pins and hampers
they hoped they would toss
They spoke in a language
so funny to hear
For what they were saying
was not always clear
The men were all mending
and tending the place
Their hats cockled sideways,
a grin on their face
The knees of their jeans
were all covered in patches
While they polished the brass
on the handles and latches
It seems they were singing
an old fashioned song
We tried to join in
as we walked right along
We laughed and we giggled
so much fun was had
But we had to leave
and that made us both sad
So we promised each other
that we both would meet
Again very soon
on this new city street
Oh, my love, how I wish...
you were here by my side
so we could both surrender
To this beautiful solitude,
this peaceful, intoxicating silence
I'm blissfully lost; killing precious time.
Time I wish I could stretch...
the length of the Nile River.
Mute, confused ships can't seem
to decide whether they're coming or going
The sky is slowly changing before my eyes
As the cantaloupe melon Sun
fights to stay afloat over the horizon.
Silence is interrupted...
by the ebb and flow
of the faint tides, sweeping time
out of my pristine mind
crying out your name in hushed tones.
We both miss you so.
As the calm wind sighs and whispers
soft yet incomprehensible
language into my pleased ears
I wish you were here
To bask in this soothing
sounds of silence with me
NA the day away Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Lu Loo (Winner: 1st Place)
Submitted on 09/03/2019
Sound of Silence Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton (N/A)
Date written and submitted: 07/27/2019
You will get hard hits.
So hard that your witch ass
Will let out that amber piss.
Megapunches will steal,
Your soul. They will take,
Turns like you dudes take,
Turns freaking the neighborhood,
Ho. They will run a train of,
Punches, slaps, pistol whips,
Stumps, cutting , causing
Blood pumping through
Your arteries and veins,
Harder than the effect,
Of 1000 watt RMS speakers,
Losing all of your handsome,
Facial features. All because,
Of oh girl you thought of,
Her you were smarter.
They will hit hard, hit harder.
You will have seizures,
And lose many bodily fluids,
All because you have a call,
On your life and you want
To live like a wannabe g,
A pimp instead of more
Like a druid and have a wife.
You heard, you heard,
A call but refused to,
Listen to it. So all you,
Hear is dudes bass,
Bumping punches,
Loud laughing, smelling,
Perk and hearing that,
Your ass got no worth,
Hearing that you a,
Pussy ass witch who,
Got all my people bent,
Walking around this,
Territory like you a,
Nigga that's heaven sent.
They see your face looks,
Like its been stuffed by,
A cantaloupe and they,
Continuously laugh,
Because you got,
Their punching autographs
The fake assed mack,
Wannabe g, and pimp,
Gets pissed and pottied
On thrown in the trunk
Of Cadillac CTS and
Thrown in the ditch
Near the house of
His new witch all
Because of how he
Refused to answer
The call and receive
The fat treasure chest.
wrote 12-28-10
I can’t believe I thought that there’d be no darkness when it’s dawn,
I’ll be your queen of hearts, even if the cosmos did crack,
‘forever’ exists as an unseen reality, and the sun will always sprinkle saffron crumbles,
upon vivacious petals of violet roses,
painted by poetic dreamers with writers block,
amidst sharpened thorns and thickened thistles.
But why do golden flares burn the selfless skin of silken silhouettes that swirl to his salmon streaks?
Is there no empathy left in cerulean spheres?
I remember the warmth of his solar presence,
and how he whispered sweet tales to the blue breeze;
he said he loves the storm that sits on
the edge of angst,
yet he chose to flee, in the quest of citrine light,
at the sight of roaring rain and raven clouds,
too reluctant to walk beneath skies engulfed in chaos.
I ponder, who am I to blame?
when the truth is, I assumed the splitting songs of this thunder-struck canvas,
would never be a reason for him to erase inked promises.
Perhaps, I should have seen, how the sparkling stars waned in silence,
and the moon veiled its pearl necklace,
tired of the monsoon monsters, mercilessly moving,
above seas so calmly awaiting~
cantaloupe wings of the compassionate sun.
So, today, I’ll follow our honey-glazed dreams,
still left along ivory shores,
adorned with seashell souvenirs,
while reminiscing how, you wove profound pantoums,
from refined refrains of rhythmic romance,
to calm the lawless nature of my inner-psyche. …
Oft' I've traveled on interstate highways to reach my final destination,
With white knuckles grasping the steering wheel in great trepidation!
I whiz along at seventy-five and for my safety offer a fervent prayer.
'Tis akin to driving the Indy 500 speeding like a bat out of you know where!
I prefer to whiz along at 25 miles per hour on a quaint country road,
Enjoying scenery sans billboards and such in a more relaxing mode!
I can stop by an eatery for good ol' country grub run by Mom and Pop,
And browse among other peoples trash at my leisure in an antique shop!
I stop by to fill up on gas and happily discover something rather rare;
The man fills the tank, cleans the windshield and checks my tires for air!
Fields of amber grain gently wave at me depicting a scene so bucolic,
And a herd of deer in a yonder copse contentedly graze and frolic!
A farmer waves to me as he tends his field of melons and cantaloupe,
And I'm thrilled to see across the way a magnificent herd of antelope!
I enjoy the witty verse of poets on Burma Shave Signs along the way,
And faded Mail Pouch Tobacco signs on barns filled with scented hay!
At the whim of each vagabond breeze, old windmills turn and creak.
Timbers rumble as I cross a wooden bridge above a rippling creek.
Although my automobile gathers dust along a road that is graveled,
How I relish traveling along quaint country roads that are less traveled!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired