Long Cobblers Poems
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SOLILOQUE
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Alone in the way; without seeing even a single way amongst thousand ways. But he could see a lamp where cobblers and emperors stand together, lamentably begging.
Some of them were not reluctant even to steal the iris of the God.
And their prayers turned out to be a question towards the God.
Went back.
Free from edifice.
Since then, never prayed.
One cannot worship the flowers of prayer with the thorn of appeal; cannot touch either.
Once, at an unforgettable time of loving experience, God asked me.
Is there anything to be appealed?
undoubtedly answered.
Nothing but love; to give and take.
This heart itself is notes of love and the offertory as well.
Songs of love by obliterating heaven and hell.
Wrap up my heart with your esteemed love.
Melt me down with your thermal love.
‘Great Scott, shucks and darn, I’ve gone and lost a shoe’
cursed the elephant followed by ‘this simply will not do!’
‘The blasted thing is far too loose, I should have had it mended!
So, whoever has found my shoe must now be apprehended!
I’ll search all day and through the night, for months if it be needed,
I will not give up the search until I have succeeded.
They cost a mint and are the finest shoes in all the land,
To think someone has got my shoe is a thought I cannot stand!’
The search began with lion Bill who also loved his shoes,
but he had to catch him quick as he was packing for his cruise
‘I do not have your shoe’ said Bill ‘you really are a clot!
For I’m size nine and you’re a twelve, unless you had forgot?’
He searched each house one by one but couldn’t find his shoe,
He even tried Hyena Geoff, Tim the Hogg and all the Zebras too.
None of them had seen his shoe or even had a notion,
But Jemima the Gazelle did suggest a memory potion.
Crocodile Joe mixed him a concoction of the finest,
said ‘this should help you find your shoe or else will help your sinus!’
‘Gee whiz, son of a gun and jumpin’ Jiminy Cricket,
My shoe is at the cobblers shop it says so on this ticket!’
I adore blackberries I must admit
fresh, ripe, big, juicy, heavy summer berries
delicious to eat growing wild
in a country dappled meadow
then, picking a bucket or two or three
to made blackberry jam or jelly
or whirling into a smoothie
for breakfast
delicious as a tart, a pie, a cake, a square
and fat muffins warm from the oven
how about blackberry cheese cake
and warm dripping cobblers
I have even added them to a spring salad
so, delightful
but the absolute best, best, best
is blackberry wine . . .
________________________
August 25, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/Blackberry Dreams Divine
Copyright Protected, ID 08-1483-301-25
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Your Thoughts On Blackberries
sponsor, Matt Caliri, Judged 09/08/2022
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
Parallel Lives
Is there such thing as living two separate lives?
I lived in a vale called the “Valley of the cobblers” were everyone
wore wooden clogs, a dead giveaway if you have been out late,
I have many friends there know me by my first name.
Have a homestead rising donkeys of the sturdy, strong type,
also sold miniature donkeys, children especially liked them
I had a man who looked after the animals when I had to return to
city life, but as time passed I came to believe my real life was
in the valley, because I feel like an intruder when I walk amongst
modern man – it could be the clogs- people stare at me
think of me as an abstraction a painting once seen on the wall of a café.
Went on a bus to get back where my friends were, the bus drove and drove
and when it stopped I hadn`t reached my destination.
Have to try again I miss my real life and want to come home.
One of the joys of summer are lightning bugs.Do you remember, as a child, chasing them on a balmy evening? They are so elusive. When you see one in front of you and go to catch it, it would be gone; only to blink just a foot or so away from you. Carefully we would put some in a jar with holes poked into the lid for air. Then we would watch them light up. Never leave them in the jar very long, or they will die.
Nature’s bounty is showing in the colorful blooming meadows.Grasses and wild flowers are a riot of color; there are Daisies, Yarrow, blue Chicory and black eyed Susans displaying their charms.It seems impossible to remember that the mere beginnings of all this abundance was only a few months ago.
July days are full and long. The water in the creek flows lazily, just like the cottony clouds that glide across the blue sky. Milkweeds, Honeysuckle and Hay scent the air. Hay has such an incomparable scent.It brings back visions of climbing up into the hayloft as a child. Playing in the hay, tunneling through it, finding “Daddy Long legs’” and the kittens that the barn cat hid there.
Blackberries are ripening in the berry patch For a time we did a lot of picking. We enjoyed many delicacies that we could prepare with them. Pies, cobblers, and cakes as well a s jams, juices and wine. Going to the berry patch was a welcome, relaxing activity after work. Most of the time it would be very hot there. Occasionally a snake would be sleeping on a branch nearby, causing me to move on slowly. I would stomp my feet, hoping they would move out of my way. Bugs and mosquitoes would buzz all around us.
Summertime is full of joy.The sounds of crickets and cicadas are the music of summer. There are baby animals., tottering around, growing up, discovering. Flowers gladden our hearts with their beauty. We swim in pools, ponds and creeks to cool off and refresh us. We can pick homegrown fruits and vegetables for our table.
And there is the toddler following a butterfly, calling: “Wait for me butterfly, come back here! You are going too fast!”
To Know Without Knowing
Red moss, crimson as the blood of a slaughtered calf,
I knew I had seen it before but could not recall
where or when. To see a landscape painting, knowing
I had been there before
In the Valley of Cobblers, children ran barefoot on
summer grass and scented wildflowers
unpasteurized milk, and healthy, innocent laughter.
I know this to be true, but I don’t know why.
I think of reindeer; will they eat red moss used
as they are to the grey variety? The sun keeps shining
like Spanish blood orange with a wicked cold.
The good earth is dry and waits for rain
The Red Moss is a forgotten love story. Perhaps
if I sit still long enough and wait
I will remember it.
So sorry to see you go Mo
Tally ho & bravo but must let you know
Not being weird...you had a bigger beard
Face more hirsute to boot than even WG Grace.
Gleaming beaming grin..streaming through thick and thin...
Joker scheming and memeing of jolly japes in manic scrapes
Becomes a theme which actually factually shapes the team..
Huge heart but at the start...batting was his art
But got the ball to dart...a sneaky peak of freak tweak
Rev of Revs..runs would leak but could get the conker to squeak
Bunsen burner turner..utterly butterly unique
It went wrong not long after the Swann swansong
Lucky that plucky Mo came along
Should be defended as ended up our number 3 in history
Lyrical levers larruping lush cover drives
Ridiculously pretty on the eye...fragrant flair as fresh as glacial air.
Humility..civility..and fragility...a kinder...peaky blinder..Midlands nobility
No cobblers.. Mo has to be one of the finest lip and cherry
Wobblers to ever come from the city of Brum
Where he was born...bred and buttered
Rally the Mayor to not dilly dally
Name a street Moeen's Alley
Oh and just in case you didn't
Hear in the first place...
Or history does somehow misplace
Mo the face of grace..elan..silky as lace..
Had a bigger beard than even the feared
Revered and rather weird...WG Grace
Pretty scented leaves startle the gray sky.
In the distance a bird makes a weird cry.
The thought of summer is put gently down.
Most of the flowers are not still around.
The ones remaining have turned ugly brown.
Oak leaves on the porch are everywhere found.
The promise of winter is alive now.
Apples and pumpkins harvested know how.
Deer are planning their November escape.
Harvested fields over gentle hills drape.
Decorated porches of fall colors
Whimsical nod to sisters and brothers.
The sweet apple cobblers and pumpkin pies
Sit on the counter delighting my eyes.
Written 11-10-2019
Contest: Scented Leaves
Sponsor: Kim Rodriguez
Succulent strawberries slide off the vine in front of appreciative robins
The smell of fresh cantaloupe wafts in the warm July Kansas air
White tailed deer have wandered up to eat my juicy yellow apples
Yard alive with fruity fragrances that have replaced May’s lilac aroma.
Tiny almost indiscernible moon is slipping away, sun glides gently into view.
Kind neighbor brought me fresh peaches last night, delicious on ice cream.
Gather thirty stalks of rhubarb, determinedly head toward my raspberry patch.
There will be fresh cobblers tonight with cinnamon and sugar on the top.
Crow gives me a severe scolding. I have not thrown anything his way yet.
About noon I will throw out a few split open strawberries for the butterflies
A monarch and a dragonfly flit past me. My garden is more alive than ever.
Is that watermelon ripe? Wow! I will collect it on my way back to the porch.