Long Tastier Poems
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FEAR NOT TO VISION
Fear not to vision
Trust to catch stardust from
Whence we came
Create a new World, woven
With Peace and Patience
Fear not the glaring blaze of Light
It dazzles us with lucid eyes
To clarify the vision
Brighter than newborn blood
Tastier than marula fruit
Smelling of cinnamon and rubies
A father sails the seven seas
Luminous guides smile
In another land
God speaks loud as DNA unfurls
Unfurls in the Void
©GhairoDaniels
Poetry&Song
Poem recited on YouTube @ghairodanielspresence : Poetry playlist
( This little poem first appeared in the
Testament on Forced Removals under Apartheid : District Six Memories Thoughts and Images, Attic Press 2021, as part of a set of poems on Forced Removals )
i become a stone,
still a leader,
but translation
transforms me,
as i learn
“le crayon est rouge.”
“Je m’appelle Chantal.”
enchanted by my “nom français.”
a shy child, changed by her name.
my friend and i
on different sides.
she’s critical of Madame Gold.
i rather enjoy
the running jump
into “Lac d’Aiguebelette.”*
we whisper fun, of one boy,
with the crooked nose.
i lose my charm
an anchor
clinging to the radiator.
french class particularly enchanting
as if we travel across the vast sea —
explore the Louvre and Eiffel Tower,
the catacombs and Notre Dame.
crèpes in class
tastier than home ec.
Madame Gold calls on Kat-a-leen.
She’s not happy, a bit.
but i smile, and wait a long long while
before i visit, for real, the city of lights.
now in my sixties, i learn much more
of the sordid history of Paris
and its close-by venture to Versaille.
but all our hometown places
have their secrets, their horrors,
their orgies, and battles.
God keeps beauty in the steeple
and the turquoise sky and the lake
reminding me of “paradis.”**
french class, history — a loft
for an awkward child.
perhaps that’s why Madame Gold
was so enchanting,
not a bit of a witch like Kathleen thought.
2/25/2021
Lac d’Aiguebelette pronounced “lack-day-boo-lette”
Paradis pronounced “pear-a-dee”
Written by Gail DeBole
on July 21, 2024
(Recipe from Grendel’s recipe book)
Note: Sequel to Grendel’s Supper (also posted on PoetrySoup)
Ingredients
• Fresh Unferth meat (taken from the bones of old man Unferth)
• Other human meat/parts
• Marsh water
Directions
1. Outside at night, build a fire under the eating pot.
2. Throw Unferth meat into the pot.
3. Throw other human parts into the pot.
(Pot must be large enough for the bulk of a human’s flesh.)
4. Throw in any animals who might wander by that would make the stew a tastier concoction.
5. Eat right out of the pot.
6. Share with other monster allies.
FROMAGE BADINAGE
Some cheeses improve with age
But, in danger of being verbose
Just serve me plain and mature
Yellow, without that thick rind
And tastier on the tongue, I find
Not fancy, with that false allure
As some blue veins are varicose
But wait, there is a war to wage
Never the plastic American kind
But calling it sharp, it’s still bland
Some made backwards, as Edam
There’s French ones, some smelly
I’ve seen them advertised on telly
As cheese, Philadelphia is a sham
And yet so few dairies understand
Please keep it natural, not refined
A few odd cheeses can squeeze by
As Greek Feta or Cyprus Halloumi
From Italy, there is Mozzarella too
For pasta, it is Parmesan, of course
With a true origin one can endorse
All should be entitled to their view
I report what I taste, so just sue me
And crumbly cheese makes me sigh
I’m going to sea in a blueberry boat,
The murky coastline looks like a root beer float,
The crested wave surges a dollop of cream,
Awakes the most welcomed, instilled in their dream,
Friends wanted to go on a strawberry boat,
With a chocolate sail, they will eat till they bloat,
I told them to wait, for beyond this great sea,
There are tastier treats, they'll not want to leave,
A reason why I've got a blueberry boat,
It's a bait to our treats, a lured feast to gloat,
It is a magic show, of untold measure,
There are loads and loads, of absolute treasure!
(***Sight still under construction)
2019 September 12
howmanysyllables
12 lines x 11 syllables = a perfect 132 syllables
How does she get so many things done and make it look like fun?
We all stared at the woman, lying out in the sun.
She was reading a book, showing off her burgundy hair.
Like a lioness, she was also observing six children in her care.
She ran the entire spelling bee by herself last Saturday.
She has endless energy, stated my cousin Gay.
Her pies are tastier than anything I could ever bake.
She is a healthy wizard who never has any kind of ache.
The woman in question reached up into her hair.
Took out a streak of magic and hit Gay in the derriere.
I began to laugh my petootsie off, so she zapped me too.
She is brilliant, we both agreed, but also a tiny bit shrew.
no one sleeps tonight
we up and be jammin
we be jammin
we gone dance the night away
hear what I say
we gonna party all night
we be dancing and grinding
tell your freinds bout this jambouisri
we gonna do the
dickie dew woop
shingle dindle dippy dew
and foo chi gruntier
and the stumble dippy too
we be dancing
dancing
all night long
ddon't get jealous
my party's better than yours
we funning
ya'll dumb and
my stuff tastier than yours
ya'll gonna be fightin
while we be grunting
and making love
ya'll crazy
I mean real crazy
ya'll jealous that
our party is better than yours.
aint nobody in love with
nobody here
we having a jamba lamba good time!
Eggplant is eggplant!
Some food, sort of spices,
vegetables, legumen,
leaves ... are undesirable ...!
Among all, for sure
the bitter eggplant ... who likes it?
But poor eggplant wants
turn this little bitterness
in pure taste and pleasure ...
And she herself who teaches us:
"cut me into thin slices,
not so thin you can't
recognize me ...
Pass me in wheat flour,
then beaten egg until
i moisten with pleasure ...
Then throw me
in a bowl full of cheese
Parmesan ... when I'm
well impregnated with this divine
cover ,,, throw me without fear
in skillet already hot in oil
abundant ... hope the first oil
please ... wait a while until it
becomes golden ...
Remove me still a little hot,
and serve yourself a cold beer.
rest in the armchair and watch
Toronto Raptors wins...
Friends in truth I say to you:
tastier snack than this
In the world there is surpassing ...!
Candy-cane colors swirl;
a twister of confection can
sweep through my dreams, anytime.
The sweeter the dreams,
the sweeter is the nightly intermission;
making the anticipation of the play’s end,
a tastier treat.
The dinner theatre of the dreaming mind has,
many plays and many actors.
Time spend in peridot fields, turquoise rivers and agate deserts can, produce myriads of scripts
for, actors familiar and a good meal that,
no king or queen would turn away.
Attendance is mandatory, though the actors volunteer;
the script writers remain anonymous; it’s the actors that get the story across to the guests, anyway.
In the light of day, play scenarios are relived but,
well-prepared theatre goers overcome easily,
all of the day-mares.
Mango season, for us, is a celebration,
Our eyes are on enthusiastic elation;
In sunlight, they shine in golden green,
We children gather to witness the scene;
Though we have our mangroves,
Neighbor’s is tastier; reason none knows;
As throwing stones at them prohibited,
And plucking these get us exhibited;
We wait for some good crow or parrot,
To push one for us as though some merit;
Bird-pecked mangoes seem tastier,
‘They’re God’s graces’, some whisper;
When one eats others seem to salivate,
To bite the bitten one, for our turn we wait;
Stealing mangoes is a childhood fun,
The owner’s dog chases us and we run;
The owner joins his dog and leaps,
Though within him childhood peeps;
Mangoes hundreds we may have at home,
Yet, each stolen one is a diamond dome;
Once the season goes we get gloomily shut,
Like the squirrel that loses the mango-nut;
Our dreams we cherish golden mangoes,
Sucking them merrily we dance tangos;
Though not thieves, we do good stealing,
Guavas and mangoes with no guilt feeling;
If you too have been doing so please tell us,
If what we have done is sin, kindly forgive us!
14 June 2021