Quietly waiting
at the table
legs swinging…
Then, Aunty Jean
brings in
green soup.
Mother-glares at me,
sister-stares with me
at the cold green soup.
Is it medicine,
pond slime,
mushed frogs?
...at least twenty
spoonfuls long.
Silently I say, “Ugh!”
Quietly waiting
at the table…
Aunty Jean brings in
passionfruit cheese-cake,
cream dessert.
Is it more slime,
frog spawn,
tadpole eyes...?
Oh no, it’s a giant slice.
I take one bite…
“Oh,” says Uncle Ron,
“Don’t you like it?”
“Not really,” I murmur.
“All the more for me,”
He smiles,
turns goggle-eyes,
leans across,
adds my slice to his.
Cauldron bubbling,
mixture squelching
sauces oozing
gases belching…
“A glass of milk?”
“Yes please, I’d like
a glass of milk.”
“...and a chocolate frog?”
“No,
No thank-you,
Aunty Green.”
Categories:
passionfruit, 4th grade, food, nonsense,
Form: Free verse
The scents of summer waft through the air
Warm and tantalising
Nothing compares
Soft perfume of coconut suncream
Smells of the salty sea
Distance aroma of fish and chips
Summer scents drifting free
Tropical fruit refreshing smells
Pineapple, mango, passionfruit
Freshly cut cucumber and salad
Summer scents absolute
Freshly mowed grass
The inviting aroma of a barbecue
Evening fragrance of citronella
Summer scents anew
Categories:
passionfruit, summer,
Form: Rhyme
Milk drip slid pooled lake lick languish
Cirus segments slice sour anguish
Berries bowl buried, sandwiched
Split banana smiles skinless raw
Pokes ice topped mountains tongues adore
Indulged inhibition, law
Melt pulp passionfruit volcano
Delish disallows you say no
Seed sea syrup sweet halo
Sundae dips silky mango dice
Cubes correspond smooth cream entice
Twang of mandarin comes twice
15th January 2021
Written for Rob Levassuer's Contest
Seasonal Attention To Detail
Syllables 8 - 8 - 7
Categories:
passionfruit, blessing, fruit, happiness, seasons,
Form: Rhyme
I have set foot in sands pitch black
I have smelled the delicate aroma of mountain stream lillies
My fingers have traced the lines on ancient dawn redwoods
My eyes have ranged acrossed the elegant curves of ageless waves
I have tasted the sour passionfruit, plucked from high trees
I have prayed in the cells of long dead monks, who prayed long before me
I have felt the stony coldness of the great arcs in the desert
My breath has become part of the world around me,
as will I,
when my long days of everywhere are done.
Categories:
passionfruit, adventure, hope, imagination, inspirational,
Form: Lay