Long Strawberries Poems
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A weasel wibble wobbling can be said to have ingested copious amounts of indemonstrable indelible ink today as it soared into doorways, hallways, cloakrooms, and buffet tables. Buffet tables are neither buffaloes or bongos. In fact they are a pleasant sight to behold. Many colours. Many tastes. And the sounds of chatting from the sandwich stack is delightful especially when the mayonnaise is chuckling away at the jokes told by the ham and cheese. Little dainty cup cakes are immature so a quality conversation cannot be held. And the large jug is rather unintelligible and uninteresting as it yawns away the hours before the consumption takes place. The operatic oversized plate of soprano pineapples and chords of cheese with onions today but the mighty weight of the plate of rice and pasta salad bangs away and interrupts the acts really so the sauces must line up and push the nuisance plate to the floor and this they did. The dog was very very pleased and lay down after eating it all for a doze. And over half a dozen eggs kept jumping up and down and throwing their mayonnaise hats off. We font want these hats. We want whipped cream they shouted. The despondent tablecloth groaned. Another booming buffering buffet. And then the cutlery began having races between the foods. Zoom zoom zoom. Wow. The might of the jar of gherkins was being prayed to by the punnet of strawberries. And the profiteroles were preforming Pilates to an amused potatoe salad. The salt and pepper were arguing over who got used the most. And the coleslaw was diving on and off the pizza slices which annoyed the pepperoni who shouted go away in a very high pitched voice. Buffet battling bemusingly being buttering breadsticks. And now the time had arrived. The hungry swans and tulip people were here. They saw the mess. Blamed the dog. Then walked out in disgust. Oh dear. The tablecloth picked itself up and all it's contents too then went out of the back door and soared off in the air. It landed on a busy beach where it fed lots of little sea urchins. Who were grateful. They gave the tablecloth an ice cream to say thanks. Then the tablecloth went into the sea and swam to the island of the nine figs. Great isn't it. Ha ha the waves want wands. Hahaha boats bouncing into the sky. Left angled fueled fuel vision of a visionary variant spelling of mid. Xxxxx contemplation z z z z in a kiosk z
Form:
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
- [ ]
Of all the horses I have known,
And I have known a few,
It's of Rebel, my daughter's first loved horse
That I'll be telling you.
Her girl friends on the nearby farms
Had horses theirs to ride.
That she could not have a horse too,
She just could not abide.
We lived in a little pioneer town.
Our home had a tiny yard.
To fulfill my small girl's wishes
Would truly be too hard.
One day I found her crying and
It broke my mother heart.
I told her we'd look for a horse.
At least we'd make a start.
Well, that was all I need to say.
There was no reneging now.
We'd have to ask her daddy
And I didn't quite know how.
Her fresh tears won him over
And he told her he would try
To find the perfect horse for her
if she would no more cry.
We had an old unused garage.
If was mostly filled with trash.
She and her dad hauled to the dump,
What they couldn't sell for cash.
In June she went into the fields
Picking strawberries to help pay
For the horse for which she'd been looking
And would be finding any day.
At last there was one advertised
At we thought, a decent price.
She called her horse savvy uncle
To ask for his advice.
My brother checked the horse for her
And said that it was sound.
Exactly waht she wanted to hear,
She plunked her money down.
She cared for her horse the best she knew
And before long had proven she
Knew more about a horses's care
Than either her dad or me.
Rebel was quite a tall horse.
She had to climb to get astraddle
And sit up on his bare back.
We could not afford a saddle.
Rebel was the perfect horse
For a loving ten year old.
He was docile, slow and gentle.
Only when loose did he get bold.
There were times when he would get away,
From where ever he'd been tied.
He'd whip around and run again,
Just when we reached his side.
She and her friends had lots of fun
In those happy carefree days.
Swimming across the Swinomish Slough
Is a memory that stays
Our daughter got her money's worth
From that big sturdy horse,
Until his age began to show
And Nature took it's course.
Our town has become more lucrative
It's residents a richer crowd.
A horse stabled in garage these days
Would never be allowed.
My daughter raises horses now,
With the purest of blood line
But our Rebel of unknown heritage
At her age of ten was fine.
For Horse contest took 7th place
Gush Potatoes
2 cups of sour cream
5 Tablespoons horseradish
1?2 cup of white cheddar
1 Cup of grated parmesan heavy cream
3 tablespoons of lemon juice
1 tablespoon of lemon zest
1 Tablespoon of red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon of of fish stock
4 cloves of minced garlic
4 green onions
1/2 cup of minced herbs
( thyme, rosemary,, parsley, dill,oregeno and tarragon)
2 grated hard boiled egg yolks
--------------------------------------------
mix smooth set aside
in a casserole dish add 10 cups of cooked white potatoes
cover with sace mix evenly
bake 350 degrees for 35 to 45 minutes
)---------GREENS ALLEGRO--------(
4 cups of drained cooked mustard greens
(recommended( GLORY)
2 cup of steamed bell pepper
red and yellow
2 cups of caramelized onions
3 tablespoons of minced garlic
1/2 cup of pumpkin seeds
1 cup of chopped smoked turkey meat mixed with
about 1/4 cup of cooked bacon
1/2 cup of crushed sundried tomatoes
in a wok add olive oil and sesame seed oil mix
add garlic and peppers and onions
stri fry and add pork
1 cup of chopped ham and cooked bacon and turkey meat
add mustard greens
stir fry
add tomatoes
and top with pumpkin seeds
serve with tart pickled onions
)-----------> Honey, rum, Brown sugar Carrots<--------------(
ATONAL
Steam 15 cleaned carrots until tender
in a casserole dish
add the carrots
1 cup of crumbled feta
3 Tablespoons of rum
5 Tablespoons of mango juice
3 Tablespoons of Pineapple juice
1 cup of golden raisins
1/4 cup of honey
2/3 cup of brown sugar
1/4 cup of lemon juice
1 teaspoon of cumin
1 teaspoon of cayenne
1 tablespoon of dried cilantro
1/2 cup of cooked ground lamb
1 cup of pistachios
add carrots
in a bowl
add spices and brown sugar
mix honey rum and friut juices in a sauce pan
bring to a simmer allow the alcohol
to boil away add lamb
pour over carrots
crumble feta
attop carrots
sprinkle nuts a-top
cover with foil and bake
at 350 for 25 to 30 minutes
Adagio Meat corner
slow cooked beef
------------------------------
serve with roast lamb , roast pork, roasted beef, grilled shrimp and fish
Strawberries, kiwi, and with a vanilla bean cream pastry on a almond nut cookie tart for dessert
Paired with a Moscat de Asti
Day 1
I fall—not through space
something thinner—
like light stretched
too far
across the skin of a thought
I buried years ago
The tunnel hums
with memory—
a child’s scream rising into laughter,
the sting of ozone before the storm
the flicker between blinks
where everything vanishes
Darkness
Sun blinds—
Day 2
The sky is a calm equation—
no clouds, no noise,
just light folded neatly
like fresh hospital sheets
The grass soft as breath.
No bugs. No bruises.
Everyone wears a gentle smile
like they’re born with softness
“Hello, Alice.”
They say it like a blessing.
They say it like I belong.
The air is perfectly
warm, like an infant’s cradle
Day 7
They say God
carved this world out with scalpels
—not one corner flawed
Every turn I’m greeted with
a warm, prepared smile,
“Hello, Alice.”
Nothing bleeds.
Knives are ornaments.
They assume I was born
with the scars on my wrist.
Even sorrow comes in silk-lined boxes,
labeled, packed,
ready to ship away
I tried to cry
The air wiped the tears dry
The silence tastes sweet here
and I cringe at the taste of sugar
Day 18
I tore up the garden today.
The tulips giggled
as I snapped their necks.
No dirt beneath—just
velvet lining.
I screamed into my reflection
in the lake with no ripples.
She smiled back
lips curled at a planned angle
I wandered around the city
grabbing strangers by the wrists
I want to shake their smile off their faces—
What hurts here? I ask
They blink:
What’s that?
Day 19
A couple invited me to dinner.
Ray and Jay.
They’ve never fought.
They finish each other’s sentences
like synchronized clocks.
They agree
on the color of the sheets,
the taste of strawberries,
how long to hold eye contact.
I watched them toast to peace.
I wanted to scream
just to see if they’d flinch—
I don’t know how much more I can take.
Day ??
I stepped off the roof
Not for death, no—
i just want a crack in the lined tiles
hair unravelled by wild wind
a cut that stings before it heals
But the air caught me,
soft as a baby’s first blanket
I landed on a bed of
roses with no thrones
Ray helped me up
while Jay offered me apple tea
“Hello, Alice,” they said
“Welcome back to the dream.”
I just can’t wait till Christmas
I just can’t wait till Christmas
With thoughts of ice and snow
And Santa in his bright red suit
Shouting ho ho ho.
Flying with his reindeer
With presents on his sleigh
Delivering them all by midnight
For us on Christmas day.
We put lights and bobbles on the tree
We do it every year
And a sign post in the garden
That says Santa please stop here.
He comes right down our chimney
With presents in his sack
And we leave him milk and cookies
So he can have a snack.
I wonder what I`ll get this year
As I know just what I’d like
I hope I get a scooter
A skateboard or a bike.
We`ll dress our dogs like reindeer
In little reindeer suits
Put little antlers on their heads
And four black shiny boots,
Listening to our favourite songs
Played by a big brass band
As we take a trip to Edinburgh
Through the winter wonder land.
Hats and scarves and gloves on
As we wrap up nice and tight
With the markets lights and funfair
It`s really quite a site.
Merry go round and rollercoaster’s
And a ride on the Christmas train
The big wheel and Santa`s grotto
Then we do it all again.
Everyone’s on holiday
And their faces all aglow
Their worries left behind them
Like footprints in the snow.
Crepe`s and chocolate pancakes
And strawberries on a stick
Sweets and treats and doughnuts
And I get to take my pick.
But my favourite is the great big tree
That`s too big for my home
And it really smells like Christmas
As we go inside the dome.
With lights and decorations
Like you`ve never seen before
They`ve travelled the world just for a glimpse
And they`re queued right out the door.
With winding vines of holly
Around the pillars it does grow
And no matter what the weather
They always have some snow.
Then Christmas day is best of all
With presents under the tree
There is some for mum and some for dad
But most of them for me.
Unwrapping all my presents
And nothing has been missed
I got everything I wanted
On my Christmas list.
Everyone comes for dinner
And dad fills up his belly
Then snores for an hour on the couch
As were watching Christmas telly.
Now I just can’t wait for Christmas
As I count the days and pray
But mum just shakes her head
And says its only boxing day.
Even before the arrival of the first snows, so brilliantly candid,
we climbed mounts less dangerous than the Alps's;
and we proudly chalked it up to our experience.
Now the snowy cliffs with bouffant boulders,
have lost their captious and so beatific image,
and quite too often we got pinched by burdock,
distracted by the robins chattering on a coarse descent;
I champed on crisp strawberries, while he challenged his strength.
My buddy never castigated me for my bizarre behavior,
and I admired him for displaying humor without repulsion,
or retort, and with chisel and hammer we engraved faces of historic men
on the smoothest rocks which were replete with their handsomeness.
Those adventurous afternoons are repealed when we look up,
and recreate them through our Male Chauvinism, cheery not dumb;
we felt like cave men making rudimentary drawings of their hunted animals,
while their women picked wild chicory for an early dinner.
Chums we were, resembling cowboys with wide hats in a chiaroscuro,
drinking in a bar filled with fashionable ladies frolicking and saying hello;
and chili con carne we ate, and plenty of beers to wash it down.
After our money was all squandered, our pockets were empty and we felt alone,
dazed...wobbling with fear, afraid to face our witless wives at home;
we were two idiots wooing empathy and some undeserving love.
And didn't they seem two witches ready for vengeance in their frown,
trying to squeeze the truth out of our silent and pretentious mouths too fulsome?
Frost will bring winter soon, and the snowy cliffs with bouffant boulders will be covered,
our hair have turned almost white to match the bright color of the deep snows,
as this river is freezing up, to become a sheet of ice, where no boats or barges pass;
and we play chess, the intramural game of a confined life, without those clandestine affairs.
Our darlings approve with sweet intonation, intensifying their affection so amorous;
and we embrace them with that tenderness that they have long desired...
staring at the snowy cliffs with bouffant boulders that these two climbers made their own,
remembering the cold and the shivering...coming down to a valley of comfort and domain.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Cobblestones of pantry and a wide toothed grin. Visitors from afar pay no heed and paramount is the settling and uprooting of cultures old. Might as well be blood in that feather quill who prints octagonal lines on a parchment. The otters are arriving on their many boats. Their hats adjusted. Times of affluential fashion and norms carried in a wide brimmed basket hat. Always with a bow. The many eyes and ears of tree lined shores listen to the arrival. And as the booming stick pounds on the floor of this jungle the rush of brown skin dashes to the floor. Garden not a wilderness. Dangerous it is to attempt to train a beast. Attempt not to understand a culture. And harvest only what us necessary upon landing. Beginnings are not a temple they are akin to a whisk. Whir whirring and causing carnage, chaos and death. The cavern then utilised for storage. Those that had dwelt side by side now shuddered in the new comers presence. Myths are a faith and a comfort when the camps of the intruders are land lepers. Lesions. Talua the wise woman of dragmo speaks. Ordering all precious items be hidden in the sacred cavern. Enshrouded by canopy. Therefore unreachable. There it would be guarded by the blues. There it would come to no immediate harm. Yet, if one day the total environments were threatened with loss then the blues shall rise and with their many gifts call upon the sky carriages to assist the lands. Thus ensuring no single specie would be eradicated. So now to look upon the dawn. Imagining life as a fish or a prawn. Diving to depths but with no passports. Clapping and dancing with the bullfrog parade on bulletins. Tickets are not trains but trampolines to flies. Under a mountain pass moves a mammoth. Giggling bears in vaulted chapels. Undergrowth has reclaimed this place. And planets due are akin to pouring cream on strawberries on a very hot day. Weaving wavering weaponry weapons weeping wept webs weekly waking winking walking waves. *** potency. *** pickled ice cubes. Xx a pickle ice skating *** myriads of time paths in a juice. *** balmy bacons *** I think not a morning I wish fir a harmonic interlude of a dancing flower at midnight in a noodle broth. *** brethren. Brotherhoods. Breathe. *** zoological. X
Form:
I go to the supermarket
to buy some mangoes.
I’ve had five coffees
And spent hours on detangling
computer wires.
Reciting a poem I remember
from fourth grade
I opened another three college
letters in the mail yesterday.
The mailman’s teeth were yellow.
We regret to inform you
We regret to inform you
We regret to inform you that
There are no mangoes in store
Says the employee,
Eyes grey and sunken. I notice
His neon blue shirt has
thinly stuck to the skin.
I wander and run my hand around
metal
cold the fridges are cold
I open the door and let the icy
sternness turn me numb.
Maybe my face will fall off.
Perhaps I can write about it in a
supplemental essay.
What is one difficulty you’ve
had to overcome.
Well you see one day they had no mangoes
So I slept overnight
on the kitchen tool isle.
I carried a packet of Pop Tarts with me
only to put it back as I left.
In the morning I prayed for a mango tree in
Hazy misty weather.
I notice a puff of greasy air.
There can grow no mangoes here
For it is all ashen and tarnished and empty.
Look, that street where I would once turn
with my dog to go to the park.
When I was five how lovely it had been.
I remember green and summer
and bees and boys.
Now, my hands have written themselves
away – inked blue.
I pull my scarf behind my neck
twirling it around myself once more. Note
Need to Call Aunt Celine for Christmas.
Taking a walk is good for the body.
Aimless walking can be a primary sign
of depression.
Daily activity helps to relieve
stress.
Try not to let it take your spark away.
That's what they always say.
Lights pierce my eyes and
I missed a friend’s party.
Called in sick
from the lights.
We have other fruit available if you’d like.
Kindly I turn down the
meaty strawberries.
Perhaps I could buy some gum
Or whiteout.
I think about how
the city seems as stiff as I do.
In the chilled morning, before I leave.
How nice would it have all been
If I simply had some mangoes.
A soda and these rice cakes will do.
Maybe I should grow my own –
There in the sun cracks –
thread between sky and portwater.
There may grow my mango tree.
Meetings part one....A moon is neither a plant nor a weapon so never sit in a washing basket at ninety eight degrees. And a tick tocking plant is available for hop scotch games. Timed over frontiers and available to view in a slip stream. Hang gliding sparrows then. They dive to skies unseen. Whilst horses in cars kick out no fumes as fumes belong to plates of rotting peas in a disorganised kitchen. Speeches from a rhino make the bees tap dance. But when trapping an ant one must place a teaspoon to entice. Moonlit menagerie many monsters moving. *** armament aflame. *** antacid alter *** clandestine cinemas *** luminous .... Meetings part two....Circular wisdom robotic wisdom of a once well fed leaf. Orangutans race across the well placed floors of a once dusty landscapes when acrid moons sip a passing juice of sea bud. The flares from a dome can be found in worldwide chains. But never let it be said that upon mastery of sun chiming the turning flame could alter even the most dormant of chasm. Thus releasing the glows. Ejecting powerfully with great force. In a constant ever increasing united wave. Fathom not a thread. It is to be of great peril. As balance and footsteps are very carefully counted by a nine metre sea slug who buries items if antiquity on a beach. Often during a sandstorm. A reason unsaid is a goblin ghost. Woo woo nightshade collapse. So go paint a plant then. Several sheets of toilet paper are often akin to paperwork in print. Circulating a very stale air. All pop. Yogurt pots are empty. Please do fill yet no film is of the fodder of the diet of royals. And royalties are only marginally accepted by crafting a large diagram of a field to delay deliveries. Justice delivered in a strawberry jam. Strawberries are the wisest fruit. Dance with a heifer, a snake, and a very wise stripy frog. Erogenously placed power porks pickling places potently. When a free bird cackles. As a bud erupts. Volcanic arts in a sky. Xx radiation xx branches *** during dinner dance do *** culminated clapping clam xx and healing hippos plus 48% of a dangling dandelion in a sarong. Xx fashionable. *** dutiful deity. *** horsemen hounds. *** tea sedation *** representation *** oink oink oink b 4 q
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