Long Whisking Poems
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she has a special magic
or so it seems to me
in the early morning when i rise
i process the beans in the grinder
a short succession of tasks
the coffee is brewing
aroma of her hint of cinnamon
fills the kitchen
as i wait i look out the window
dawn has erased all the darkened shadows
the flowers line the property's end
all are ready for the day
i speak their language, tell them to be patient
let me take her coffee and a pastry
she will be with you shortly
it is Saturday and your day with her
tomorrow is Sunday and i am whisking
her away on a picnic
she does this to me you know
everything she touches becomes family
we share conversations about her
the coffee pot is in its last gurgles
remember, cream, one lump i hear
apple turnover, warmed, buttered
the tray is now filled and ready
pushing me to a faster pace
i turn to the coffee pot, thank you
be right back for mine
as i disappear into the hallway
there is a last gurgle, you're welcome
she has a special magic, everything she touches
becomes family to me
3/3/19 Kismet
With a small puff the breeze lazily blew the clouds
slowly they began to scatter and then reformed.
Steadily the wind increased in strength and with gusts
it blew first one then another causing them to scurry.
The sun beamed down in delight as the sky cleared
turning to azure tinged with sapphire blue hues.
Yellow warming beaming rays heating the earth
all around are buds springing into life and unfurling.
One by one the petals open and stretch upwards
across the valley a blaze of colour waves in the breeze.
Forgotten now the icy winds and snow of cruel winter
as all about the signs of new life slowly emerges.
Hearts sing along with the playful breeze whisking by
as lambs bleat and skip as they chase each other.
Then tired fall asleep at their mothers feet awhile,
as Spring does her work preparing earth for summer.
As the morning breeze springing sprightful fragrance
Stolen cleverly when he kissed the soft colourful petals
I woke up into a new fresh delightful daylight
To taste once more my honeyed life and my blossoming day.
From my flat laying lazily at level six
I was contented to watch the sunrise
He rose with all his fervor and might
And I wished him a happy day out.
The sighing wind called me to look down the streets
Where I saw people in masks treading hastily
Like ants rushing here and there in hurry
Never they wish nor smile to any other faces.
Stand alone in bunches they waited for their turn
In buses or cars which ever halted to pick
Like strange samurai soldiers flying to a war zone
Never they wish nor smile to any other faces.
Fearful glances and rushing little steps
Even the whisking dresses frightfully heard as sneezes
My heart cried and burned seeing those pity stances
Oh, dear little creatures, stop your playful bounces.
The mighty human race moving towards a comess
When like weird aliens, Covid trying to invade
But tomorrow we will rise from our burning ashes
To tame you and make you a story for our coming cradles.
Third Place in N-A re-run 7 Poetry Contest sponsored by John Hamilton
What if..
What if; it wasn't a lockdown forenoon
Mommies whisking to kitchenette
Daddy's out with newspaper headlines
Little cubs denned in their late quilt and wishing no schooling today
Rest world racing themselves to indulge in work deadlines
What if; it wasn't a lockdown noon
Chefs busy preparing victuals to serve in eateries
Office canteens loaded with lunch boxes and gossips
Some heading for evening tales
What if; it wasn't a lockdown evening
Coffee shops buzzing with bud pairs, roasted coffee beans and whiffs of smoke
Peeps roaming and returning their abodes before the dark was deep
Little cubs falling asleep in their study and no Surf, no Netflix
What if; it wasn't a lockdown night
Dinner table would filled with traffic and homework folklore
Bedtime would doubly the fairy's list-
Children wishing for no school tomorrow,
Men for hike up his business,
Women emancipation from irons of household chores and society norms
What if; it wasn't a lockdown
Contemporary would have been so lost in it's own bloods and veins
June month would have brought us fruity summer of 2020
And I would have written a poetry of love and lust
Up in the northern hemisphere,
Eskimos inhabit.
There,a certain Eskimo is.
Fair and thick-skinned,
particularly short- heightened.
Agile,brave and enterprising.
Clad in a flurry jacket,
this Eskimo dashes out into the snow
through a route he plies daily,
whistling, la,la,la....la,la,la!
Soon,he returns with a trolley,
a trolley filled with fishes gasping for breath.
Right behind his igloo,
la,la,la.....la,la,la! ,this Eskimo whistles,
as one in a high spirit,
whisking one egg and then,another.
La,la,la...la,la,la!
This Eskimo whistles
as he fries his fish sausages.
La,la,la....la,la,la!
This Eskimo hares into the streets,
parading the lanes,
knocking at one door to another.
La,la,la.....la,la,la!
"Come buy my hot sausages",he sings.
I AM A HOLY WOMAN OF GOD NO FEAR OF YOUR HO HO HO HONDA THREATS ON LICENSE PLATES YOUR HOME INVASIONS IDENTITY FRAUD UPON MY SPACE I AM ME YOLANDA MY PATRON SAINT OF HUNGARY AND POLAND I AM BEAUTIFUL ELEGANT AS PRINCESS OF SAVOY YOLANDA I AM ALL ARMY STRONG I AM ALL THAT I CAN BE I AM MY OWN HERO I AM CHARITY I AM PEACE I AM COURAGEOUS I AM BOUNTIFUL I AM COMPASSIONATE I AM KIND I AM AWAKENED FROM DEATH JUST LIKE LAZARUS I AM CRAZY HILARIOUS I AM THE SUN I AM FRAGILE I AM BROKEN SUCKING MY THUMB I AM SHY I AM TIMID BUT CUNNING TOO I AM THE WIND RUSHING THROUGH TALL PINES LANDING ON THE MAJESTIC MOUNTAINS WHISKING THROUGHOUT THE PLAINS AND PRARIE LANDS I AM AWESOME I AM THE RAIN SOFTLY HITTING MY FACE IT TICKLES WASHING MY TEARS AWAY I AM FUNNY I AM LAUGHTER ROARING ACROSS A CROWDED THEATER I AM PRESENT I AM HERE I AM THE RIVER FLOWING FREE I AM THE LAKE CALM AND STILL I AM THE WINGS OF BIRDS GLIDING ABOVE THE CLOUDS I AM BEAUTIFULLY MADE I AM ME NO OTHER ME I WANT TO BE I AM BLESSED I AM THE FIRST HICCUP OF A FETUS THRIVING INSIDE THE WOMB I AM THE VERY FIRST SMILE OF A NEWBORN BABY I AM ONE WITH THE HOLY SPIRIT I AM THE BREATH OF GOD I AM THE TWINKLE IN GODS EYE I AM AN AMERICAN POET I AM YOLANDA I AM ME I AM PRICELESS I AM UNFORGETTABLE I AM JUST ME WHY WHO DO YOU SAY THAT I AM
“You have a wicked sense of humour”
Someone recently chided
Twisting what seem like serious events
Into silliness quite one sided
That's why I'm here to lighten things up
Adding sunshine to the group
From the great responses coming my way
It seems everyone's happy as poop
It's a real tough job but someone's gotta do it
To counter the doom and gloom
That permeates the airways every day
Whisking them away with my broom
A broom of happiness of very good cheer
Coz life's a very short trip
Just live love and laugh at the world
With a happy-go-lucky skip
“You have a wicked sense of humour”
Had it since I was a young'un
Now decrepit but still chuckling away
Every day is for funnin'
I had put our meeting off so many times for fear that it would fail, and be a waste of time. I prepared a lovely salad. Thought I'd make some mayonnaise. The kind I thought you liked, with a yolk of free-range eggs, gluten-free and ovovegetarian. Low-carb to be on the safe side as well. Not the bottled commercial stuff full of preservatives and chemicals, but hand-made fresh from scratch au naturel, sweet, tasty, tangy and lovely.
I gently beat the egg yolk and slowly drizzled the vegetable oil into it a few drops at a time, while whisking, relatively not too briskly. I thought all was going ever so well. But the mixture became clumpy and lumpy as the emulsion broke, fell apart, and separated. I started again, mixing ever so slowly this time to bring the immiscible oil and yolk slowly together to meld and combine. But I failed again and again and again.
Out of eggs, with no time to get more, I made a vinaigrette instead! Oil and vinegar, smooth and rough, sweet and sour. They meld so well, despite their relative quirks and differences. No yolk this time. Touche.
Nap Time
In the astral world of utterance, one overhears the whispering of sweet nothings, breathlessly whisking up a spell of portioned scents that nay, nearly spilt the teacups swirled cremes delights and demitasse gooey treats,
Behold the phoenix rise to full measure under a lunar ecliptic mystic mesmerizing trance, upon a peacocks crown, whose stretched out azure-chartreuse wings, becomes enmeshed betwixt the manes of an unbridled passionate gallop,
For it leaped towards a skipping array of a colorful rainbow's path, that was freely dancing throughout its phases within the warmth air of a frozen sky,
As it spread o'er a vast terrain of mounds and vales of gathered greens tethered to tawny treasures teeming of life with no end at joyful pleasures,
Thus at the behest of Cherubs during the advent of endless stars whose dreamy light twinkles instructions that seduces a flock of whimpering lambs a free ride on their woolly souls,
Fostering meek minions to flow in the channels of a righteous domain free of a distant storm pushed by the lashes of sunbeams tickled whips temperate to your hearts enchanted beats that steadies the gauges of innocence,
And as a cluster of mirrors enlightened volumes of your sojourned quest of luminous unconscious prominence in a period of this, your inner realm expanse, collectively storing away as romantic muses within the anthology of your memory as its key
All delicately locked by the fortuitous magnitude of your eyelids.
2019 May 16
*4th Place*
Baby Face What's You THINKIN 2
~~James Edward Lee Sr.
The ease of love
Crosses her face as if it were a sin
Not to smile.
Heaven knows no bounds here.
It pours over this dust bowl
Like the silent joy of floating time.
And now a gathering at the waist.
She wades through children in coffee-colored skin.
She didn't wear a bra today
And the silent split cracked like thunder.
I wept through a wonderment
Where feet and jeans might meet,
A lovely, tender whisking
Of sight and sound,
Soul and flesh,
Crackling time.
I touched her back to get by and
She stirred.
Startled.
I went on for water
With love behind me.
And summer everywhere.