Pushing the envelope outside the box
if only here to accentuate
the many ways in which
emu may emulate
by delivering nutrients' benefits
and what's more
help repair with anti-aging hydrate
yet won't clog your pores
they herd the birds in a mob
not a troublesome job or task
with ladle fire pit pot and hob
'How is it collected?' I hear you ask
as allegedly good for the skin
anti-inflammatory emu oil
is scooped off the bubbling surface
when they're brought to the boil
mighty conquerors
we vanquish and liberate
in the name of right
patriotic, strong and proud
valiantly, we risk our lives
the stalwart oppressed
we defend against tyrants
for our way of life
patriotic, strong and proud
bravely, we pay with our lives
the green battleground
knows nothing of boundaries
or of right or wrong
the meadow never laments
equally draws nutrients
I wish you were there
When I needed you the most
I thought you were the only one
Who will protect me, at any cost
When my trembling hands
Wiped off the heat of tears
I was going through so much
All that my heart had always feared
The pain I felt right in the chest
Strong enough, to forget the rest
The swollen eyes, were a sign
I had lost the nutrients, the brine
The severity of sorrow, the sorrow
When you know, there is no tomorrow
The decision I had to make that day
The Heart said stay, brain wanted to go
I couldn't hate you for this stuff
You're my love, it wasn't bluff
Now If I stay, I know I'll surely shatter
You can't fix me, you know this better
I like my fungi
sauteed in butter
in a pan with a chopped clove
of garlic, parsley and plenty
of salt and pepper.
Or sliced and simmered
in chicken stock
with arborio rice
and topped with parmesan
cheese in a creamy
mushroom risotto.
I like the musty,
earthy smell
that some fungi have,
the exquisite delicacy
of the gills,
the soft, spongy feel,
the variety of shapes
and colours that range
across a pallet
of grays, yellows,
pinks and purples
through to a bleed
of vibrant reds.
Fungi feed
the senses.
But most spectacular
of all is the fungi
that hides beneath my feet
in a buried network
of fibres thinner
than a human hair,
connecting a forest
in one enormous web
carrying nutrients
to hungry roots
and the secret language
of trees. Poetry
is like fungi.
Juicy and sweet, these berries delight,
Unique flavor with a hint of almond's bite.
Native to North America's land,
Eaten fresh or dried, both are grand.
Baked into pies or made into jam,
Enjoyed in wines, a treat for the fam.
Rosy bronze leaves in spring's embrace,
Rich in nutrients, a healthful grace.
Indigenous peoples cherished them so,
Essential vitamins they bestow.
Saskatoon berries, nature's gift we know.
They inhale the poisonous substance,
adduction had no power over resistance;
their brain's responsiveness is too slow:
look at them: their glance is so mellow!
This is the offspring of the floating potheads,
they renounce everything that means strides;
they sit in a relaxed pose with mindless eyes:
soldiers fight the wars, while they enjoy puffs. "
Vacant glances and sunken cheeks stir disgust,
their veins must be fed with drugs, not nutrients;
don't they stretch out that bony hand to collect
a meager sum not enough to buy Ecstasy pills?
Onlookers speed by, not expressing human apathy
for the useless ones who display a state of misery,
but who are the offspring of the floating potheads?
Friends, strangers, the homeless, and the Diddies!
The rains are here, relentless as ever
The grass blade is excited like never
The season of hibernation is over
Swirling in water, as a duck dumpling
in sauce
The blade of grass has come home
A rich gourmet of moisture and nutrients
Thrusts the roots, taking its journey southward
And the shoots going northwards
The grass blade has taken its place.
As the rains continue in its season
The lush of greenery fills the reasons
Natural beauty in lyrical passion
Paradise in a paradox, Laying among
the lilies.
My Roots
Pluck at my green leaves
Devour my fruit with gusto
Hack at my bark all day
Carve your name on my trunk
My roots remain steadfast
Snip at my blossoms
Relish in its colours and scent
Stroke my buds and wait
Swing on my boughs with glee
My roots remain steadfast
This is my identity
This is what defines me
Makes me unique
Makes me bold
My roots remain steadfast
Clones are ubiquitous
My DNA is under attack
My companion mimics me
But could never be me
My roots remain steadfast
I am under scrutiny
My community of overseers
My society of critics
Searching for anomalies, imperfections
My roots remain steadfast
I absorb the nutrients and I grow
I draw life-giving water and thrive
It is with roots I survive
My generations of gripping roots
My roots remain steadfast
The wild wisteria's vine in winter
Sends its roots out and deep
It draws up moisture and rich nutrients
To prepare for coming spring
As in each rest period of winter
It goes deeper into the rich earth
So, its shoots can gain momentum
To reach for the sun when spring touches earth
When all is ready in spring
And winter disappears
The plant searches for the sun
To make its blossoms appear
It climbs higher up its support
It reaches farther looking for other ways
It wraps all in beauty _and
Then_ winter helps it rest
In winter let's go deeper and be filled
Let the Holy Spirit search within
In winter soak up God's teachings
Rest, get ready, for spring will come
Sleeping, my darling. Laid out, my sweetheart. Cold.
Memories of springtime, sappy. Doormat, dormant.
Tolerance in the hush of Winter. No hurry to bud.
A vine in Winter;
Winter is slow.
Just how I like it.
Nutrients, in a nutshell; the soil spoils me with its richness.
I shake and sip through a straw; divine all the royalties,
whilst sleeping, dreaming of a verdant summertime.
Winter is slow.
Just how I like it.
Carbohydrate-filled, I don’t need much energy to laze
about in the hills, watching flakes melt upon my vines.
My time; I am expecting to thrill, when warmed to the gills.
A vine in Winter.
Just how I like it.
I don’t mind this tender time, for in due season, I’ll grow.
For now, cryoprotectants let me safely tarry. Tomorrow
is a sunny disposition, Annie; the terminus of dreamland.
A paper carton
bloats in the fridge,
its manufactured nutrients
stretched thin as a lie.
I pour it down the drain.
The disposal gurgles
back its curdled skin,
a sour hymn rising
through the pipes,
fumes of expiration
smelling like post-partum
nightmares.
Amen.
fulfilling craving plight
festive midst color bright
filled with nutrients delight
fruits along sweet blends aright
flavorful creamy cheesy bite
fun treat toward diet height
finding us thank God* for pleasant sight
feeding well our hearty appetite...
fruity salad of healthy flight
*1Thessalonians 5:18 18 In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
December 15, 2024
2nd place, "YOUR CHOICE K" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 4/8/2025
You boffin from The Caucasus Mountains, are you a devil or human?You have destroyed my seeds, the source of my survival.
I used to grow my seeds, which gave birth to more seeds on the same piece of land, but today, you have killed my original seed.
You boffin, are you a curse or a blessing to humanity? Why have you assassinated our ecosystem,which was self-sustaining and thriving.
I never invited you to come upon my land. You have sucked out all the nutrients from my original seeds. Your goal is to see us Perish .
You boffin, are you simply a long-term liability to creation, or you are here to colonise my food by contaminating my original seeds.
What have I done to you to deserve so much evil and wickedness from you? Everywhere you go, you create chaos and miseries.
You boffin, you have brought synthetic seeds upon my land and total destruction of the natural world.
You boffin, are your acts of human or devil?
By Chanda Katonga.
Decompose leaves
Beneath flowers
And shady trees
Now got rotten
Coming back soon
To give loom soil
Its full nutrients
So other life
Bereft survive.
Pure, raw and wild
All the nutrients
Healing powers.
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