S K Y
in my pocket holds
eu
PHO
ric elves who
forgot they need to plant
pumpkins and peas
s ~ K ~ y
Y
y
in my pocket lets
l o
O
s E
coloured clouds
landing on
your lap of
aloe aloneness
sky in my pocket weaves
wings on acorn ankles
reminding I can swiftly fly to
macadamia mountains high
sky in my pocket sighs
sunlight, then rains crystal
tropical tears into our empty bucket
to quench a thirsty
Love
Categories:
emotions, extended metaphor, feelings,
Form: Idyll (Idyl)
are you pho real?
there is an overwhelming consensus
i had to ask
two people had told me they hate all soups
'it's just water and soggy food.'
'slop in a bowl.'
'looks like dish water.'
what kind of reaction is this?
the varieties found online are incredible
i am stewing -
on hearing this, a colleague said to me,
'it's like your gf leaving u for another bloke
only for her to hang around your house for
a few more days.'
i said to him,
'it's not like that at all.'
Categories:
pho, anxiety, emo,
Form: Free verse
In between a wand and a warded space
lies an old Book Of Shadows to embrace;
Fee fried foe thumbs,
throw them in as the guitar strums;
Picked over hair follicles and toenails,
A few fast words followed by quick inhales;
Freeze dried pho crumbs,
throw them in as the harp hums;
Now toss in the vibrato of a ghost,
that sound is the recipe’s binding host;
Free fly fall mums!
Fester rich color to smack drums;
Add to that something so easily missed,
subtle allows magic to come undressed;
Fae, fire cauldrons!
manifest the desired outcomes;
In between a wand and the hand it takes,
lies an old Book Of Shadows to embrace.
Categories:
pho, emotions, feelings, magic,
Form: Free verse
Akukhona ukuthi ngifisa ukukuphazamisa,empilweni yakho etsha
Ngeke ngakuqanganisela kepha ngangethembile ngoba ngangiwa ngivuk nawe
Nami ngangazi ngelinye ilanga ukuthi ngniyophumula ngibuse nje nge nkosi
Kepha kuyangicacela ukuthi ngangiyikake la ingalele khona
Ngangikondla ngenkece engekho ngikukhulisa ngenkece yasemajalidini
Uyihlo wakushiya wahamba okwe juba lika Nowa
Angimbeki cala ngalokho naye ngoba wuye owazi isizathu salokho
Ngiyofa inhliziyo yami igcwele ebuhlungu
Ngoba lawomabhilidi enfant is a khaki gazing angel okwelanga ukuth ngangizihemela
Konke ebengikwenza ebengikwenza ngothando
Nangethemba lokuthi ikusasa uyoba lusizo kulomdeni
Pho ke umuntu akathenjwa
Ungilahlisa okwenyongo yenyathi
Ungiphika phambi kobuso bami
Ungitshena ezikabhoqo uthi awungazi
Uyongikhumbula uyofisa ukulungisa izinto
Kepha Kobe sekonakele vele
Uyosikhihla esika Mandi
Uyofisa ukukhulum nami
Kuyobe kusasizani vele?
Ngiyobe sengikwelama things
Ungisize ungahlabi zinkomo
Ungahlabi zimbuzi ungaqumi ngisho nezinkukhu
Ngoba lokhu kofaka umkhokha ekhaya
Iyobe isiwuchithile inkonyane.
Categories:
pho, children, kids, mother, pain,
Form: Free verse
We sit across a table eating Pho;
two old friends, sharing food
and stories of our little worlds
Of my new love; my old projects
of his sweetheart; his old business
the dross men use to hide our hearts
We timidly tiptoe towards truth;
tiny steps in the deepening dance
of two old friends, carefully sharing
We talk of our ageing families;
my father's dementia and
his mother's parkinson's
He hesitates to use the chop sticks
that he's been so proficient with
and tentatively, he takes a fork
His hand absently stirs the soup
with the fork, as we dance away,
carefully, back to our little worlds
I feel the shaking of his hand
as we shake hands goodbye
and I wish that I could forget
Categories:
pho, friend, health, heartbreak, imagery,
Form: Free verse
pond surface askew
wet sock frozen to my shoe
cold hands turning blue
Categories:
pho, nature
Form: Haiku
Boys opted to dance as the groups were selected,
A boy paired off with a girl formed a group,
The pole fifteen to eighteen feet affair,
With ten different colored tough ribbons.
The post stood centered within a big round,
Colorful strips barely touched the ground,
Along with other pairs we formed a circle;
Each pair picking to hold them in their arms:
The music began to play and we walked,
Watching pair in front keeping steady pace,
Each step kept drawing us near to the pole;
Music stopped; restarting us to reverse.
Next we wove around pairs in meshed styling,
Ribbons pleating over the shinning pole,
Evening sun shone with the rainbow shaft;
Boys never returned to this silly craft.
Picture help:-
http://images.encarta.msn.com/xrefmedia/sharemed/targets/images/pho/t242/T242422A.jpg
Categories:
pho, school
Form: Free verse
Too many poets.
Dreadful.
Roiled.
Yes, I too, am a guilty poet.
While I sit and wait for my soup to arrive, I read a few pages of Simic, and the Seattle
papers.
The noodles cook and drain.
Mrs. Green slices the smoked pork.
I fight to tune out the background signals, the laughter and static,
while I scribble arthritic sentences
in my composition book.
I never run into anyone from the old days.
They are all far, far away or dead.
I don’t remember the last time a pretty girl
made me laugh, or an old friend
told me a good story.
The bowl of Pho came, hot and spilling over the side.
I watch a skinny teen with bad skin, scribble in her binder for fifteen minutes, and I
wonder what she is saying.
Categories:
pho, angst, art, on writing
Form: Blank verse
She plunks down a plate of egg rolls
Man, oh man, do these greasy pieces of heaven take tolls
On my heart, dear Mama
Shows me love with food piled on tables that never end
Iced tea, Pho, spaghetti, rice and pork chops
Sternly setting bowls down in front of you and encouragin’
To take pieces of buttery garlic bread and mop it up
Love, bestowed upon us in showers of peppered chicken
Spending hours in the kitchen
To prove some affection
In saucers of soy sauce and dumplings that went on for miles
She’d put adoration in soup, spicy reflections
Of passionate motherly love
Mama, she never smiled
Unless someone complimented her style, the swagger
Of her intimate cooking skills, the way she swung her dagger
Of specialties, killing hunger, cravings
All her meals ending with ravings
Of the best kind
Scraped knees and broken hearts are cured with warm chocolate cake, suede
Smooth, mending them better then when they were made
Mama shows fondness through ice cream and steak
Warm dinner plates
Her “I Love You” was a big portion of lasagna
Nobody says “I Love You” better then my Mama
Categories:
pho, family, mother, love,
Form: Free verse