Long Succulence Poems
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We met over oysters and scallops in the French Quarter
of a mismatched ether.
She sent pictures - her in a mirror, beside a mirror,
partly hidden by a mirror, naked under glass
(I still have that one).
She liked to reflect and be reflected.
I admired her self-regard, her low-minded succulence,
Her high-handed high-heeled slipperiness.
Raw fresh oysters and Dom Perignon for breakfast and lunch.
Scallops seared in butter on a crostini and a
Sauvignon Blanc for supper.
This minimalist diet kept her svelte, prim, and of course
most improper. I thought of her as a swim without a swimmer,
splashes of her revealing her lovely lips, and they were indeed
lovely,
red but not scarlet more a sea anemone rouge
as it fades to a pink laced coral.
The camera may garnish but it cannot hide
that kind of salty lusciousness
caught fresh every morning.
I likened her to a glistening slickness to be sipped or guzzled
Her words slipped through you like Gaelic eels.
Her neck undulated as a dolphins caress
as she swallowed her catch and zoomed.
I confess to an occasional shame-faced queasiness;
and then oyster and scallops are best consumed
over the internet where too much of them
cannot sour the stomach or tease you softly
with a squirmy aftertaste.
Yet I still imagine her in a mirror again
her teeth as pearly as pearls, yet snip-snip sharp
and as pointy as stiletto’s rent through a fished-up
filet of heart.
I was very young when, I first tasted it;
that sweet, milky nectar of the Gods.
One Easter morning it appeared in a basket,
on our piano bench and it was wrapped in shiny foil;
all colors of a pastel rainbow.
Tiny egg-balls, smelling like cocoa and sugar;
one looked the most beautiful blue,
I’d ever seen and it was larger than the rest so,
I bit into it first.
The revelation of such ecstasy, I had never before, experienced;
it melted across my young palate,
leaving a trail of succulence to, claim its’ path.
Divine bauble of confectionary delight; indeed it was,
It disappeared all too soon;
left me sucking the back of my front teeth and craving another of those mouth-watering adventures.
As I grew, I experienced unbounded insight into that world called…chocolate.
It seemed, some miracle cure for nearly any ailment from,
losing a softball game to the loss of a pet;
the mystery medicine took away every sadness.
I could have it cold or hot, frozen or liquid, with orange or raspberry filling in any shape or size.
That wondrous creation of confectionary bless, was everywhere!
Oh joy of joyous celebration;
I was in love and filled with,
elation for the sticky, gooey,
sweet, meditation-in-my-mouth.
Nothing in life can compare to its’ mind-bending aroma; I would bathe in it if I had enough, to do so.
I have shared it with so many; family, friends, pets with,
Never one complaint; fully convinced that it was the ultimate, sanity in a world gone mad.
The day that researchers proclaimed its’,
“medicinal value”; I celebrated with a semi-sweet toast to this, food of the gods; my ambrosia; never looking back.
Lord, you’ve put a hedge around me
I know
I’ve always felt it there….
Protecting me
I stand behind it
Looking over
The grass beyond is verdant
The other side a paradise to the sight
There is fruit there…luscious…fresh
Waiting to be tasted
Waiting to wet my lips with succulence
I peer through the hedge
Looking for an opening
A way of escape
I long to break free
To be alive
Unbound
But you have woven the branches tightly
I stand up
In pain
In need
I look over the hedge
I feel enclosed
Dying
Yet I know
I KNOW
You have built it around me
To protect me
You know my wayward heart
Longing…
You have done so
Because you love me
Because….you know
You KNOW
Out there…the grass is the same
It only LOOKS greener
Out there the fruit LOOKS fresh
Yet….it will rot…like all fruit rots
And I will remain…hungry
Yet, Lord, my rebellious heart
Is planning
Scheming
To wield an ax
And cut through
And run free
Please, Lord….
Make the hedge higher
Make the hedge stronger
Make my heart faithful
To You
The hedge of your love
My security
My salvation
From the pain
Of yet another broken heart
Make my heart content
To stay on this side
The safe side
The right side
Of the hedge of Your love
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Psalm 39: 4 - 10
For there is not a word on my tongue,
But behold, O LORD, You know it altogether.
5 You have hedged me behind and before,
And laid Your hand upon me.
6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
It is high, I cannot attain it.
Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Or where can I flee from Your presence?
8 If I ascend into heaven, You are there;
If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there.
9 If I take the wings of the morning,
And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
10 Even there Your hand shall lead me,
And Your right hand shall hold me.
The land suffers too much greening;
luxuriance froths to fever and glut,
birds cannot consume all the insects,
nor serpents eat the thronging flocks.
The soil hogs on the swill of decay,
drey and burrow are ovens
for a prowling pestilence.
There is no softness. The sun
bites the bloated and rancid,
a balance is tipped off kilter,
the climate repaints its face
more garish each day.
A little poverty is needed, a tax
on the riotous and abundant,
the sickly succulence of ripe sap
be drained and clarified.
We live now in the eyes of strangers,
hunters are maddened by the gnawing
of long fevered bones.
All around me the land suffers too much greening.
The luxuriant froths over into a feverish lush.
Birds cannot consume all the insects.
Snakes cannot eat all the birds.
The ground hogs on the swill of decay.
If this is natures wealth then a little poverty
is needed, a tax on the riotous and too abundant.
Death the reaper must rule his kingdom with more gusto,
both the prey and the predator sparring none,
the sickly succulence of overripe sap
drained and clarified by a cooler sunlight.
I was whelped in more temperate climes,
wolves died of hunger and age not heat stroke.
The rabbit burrows are oven gates
for marauding hordes and an avid pestilence.
The balance is tipped and off kilter,
The climate repaints its face more garishly
each day.
I hear the mandibles of ferocity, their
click and remorseless grind,
and there is no softness in the nibbling jaws
of those who rampage silently,
those, who strip the bloated and obese
to the dark and rancid bone.
I secretly journey now under dawn stars,
trace my way over cooling paths
before another fevered heat
force feeds the land.
When is Spring, at last, Here?
When will its gossamer grace fill the air?
When does the wind carry its jasmine perfume?
When do unassuming buds in radiance bloom?
When do ambivalent clouds cancel their tease?
When does the capricious sun harken to please?
When will its bounty of fruit surrender their succulence?
When do the bluejays and robins retire their absence-
And fill my backyard with their musical acquiescence?
When do the squirrels, bold as they may,
Start stealing seeds from the birdfeeder's display?
When does the grass grow, lush and verdant?
When are the dandelions playful and flippant?
(While I know there are those who won't take heed-
I say the sweet dandelion is NOT a weed!)
When can I fold away my sweaters
In preparation for lighter weather?
The answer - hooray! -
Is Today, Today, Today!
I shall indulge in a glorious decadence,
caressing the softness of your bronze skin.
Luxuriating in your coconut scented splendor,
as I gorge on the succulence of your bounty.
Caressing the softness of your bronze skin,
it is impossible to imagine a greater pleasure.
As I gorge on the succulence of your bounty,
my mouth craves to know you completely....
It is impossible to imagine a greater pleasure,
Consummate with me our boundless passion!
My mouth craves to know you completely,
let our bodies be instruments of true loves expression.
Consummate with me our boundless passion,
leaving not a single desire unexpressed.
Let our bodies be instruments true loves expression,
only then can we truly be transformed.
Leaving not a single desire unexpressed,
luxuriating in your coconut scented splendor.
Only then can we truly be transformed.
We shall indulge in a glorious decadence!
Written February 4th 2015
For Shadow's indulgence Contest
Be a "what if' being
a poet all seeing,
let your wishes
ride upon unicorns and rainbows.
Don't be typically cynical, be topically hopeful,
have faith in the ridiculous
the fantastical.
Le us not wait
let us be grateful,
let us not hesitate
to stare at our navel.
If the Mindful Universe
(that ever succulence of sprit),
can make an ape think,
lift it into the poetry of creative ideas,
it can change your heart,
it can make it bloom in much higher gardens.
You are the who-man, the walking womb,
what inseminates you,
what seeds your imagination
are the wings of an everlasting,
ever increasing wonder.
Butterfly dreams will learn to soar.
Unicom's will be a poem you have yet to write.
My name is Aphrodite and
my offering to man
is fierce love.
I spread it out before you
like a lavish bridegroom’s dinner
with foods named aphrodisiacs rightly after me!
Caviar, oysters and shrimp;
spears of warmed asparagus and
artichokes stripped of leaves to dip in luscious butter;
truffles too with fragrant muskiness;
all foods of succulence - to stimulate your appetite.
My tender lips are moist - champagne to further whet desire.
You drink me in. . .
Entreating you to take your fill, I whisper in your ear,
“Partake of me, my love. Take more and more.”
When your feeding frenzy
is at its peak -
that’s when I offer you - dripping from my fingers - sweetest fruit:
honeyed figs with cream, peaches, plums, and kumquats;
and last: one red well-ripened berry.
Utterly sated,
drunk from delectation;
motionless, you lie there on your bed.
And when your eyes move rapidly
beneath their heavy lids,
I slide my body carefully off yours,
slip back into my gossamer-thread gown,
then tiptoe to the door; turn the knob;
and without looking back,
step into night.
You waken and want to feast again
but find that I have parted.
(to banquets such as mine, one rarely
is invited more than once).
And so you live and love,
knowing that you can’t resume -
ever in your life again -
a coupling so completely gratifying.
Your passion was consumed in
your consuming of this goddess!
I take from men again . . .again. . .
and then again.
But the nourishment that I require
always must be fresh,
and that is what
eternally
sustains me.
For Deb's Contest: category Unreal
traced the silver wing
the pointed beak
eyes that dot the skies
gold star,
flowers with beating petals
a forest feather gumption
between a parrot’s toes
gripping tight
the marriage knot
his love sought blueberries
a fight of
juicy treats, and carrots
the orange consumption of gasoline
under the bower, a fleet of butterflies
they clench beholden teeth
they break mid air and spoon goodbye
what do they seek but the succulence of heaven
in haste, a quill dipped in birdshot ink
5/29/2018