Desiccated mice thus far do gnaw shreds of scant regret.
Good and bad love, honey-dew in a salty brew.
In my closet, pockets unpack pockets,
bags billow under closed eyes,
eulogies for the living etched on wet lips and
kitchen towels. Owls turn to cry
their mournful ‘why’s’, more kitchen towels
to mop tear stained flops.
One horror story lives on, much chewed over
by skeletal moths.
Pots of peeled moonlight inhabited creaking lungs,
their beams slowing curdling.
I still store a few pickled smiles for saucy women.
In my book of lies there are half-truths worth more distorting,
fields plowed over far too long,
fallow earth where the dead are uncovered
only to dance again on the graves of the long entrenched.
Those drunken gallimaufry of games left unfinished,
great works that now slack and dodder, sent unfixed
back to the soured whirlpools from which they sprang.
Yet here I am, this spark in a potash of smuts
a mite of light twinkling its merry pip and squeak,
while majestic beings hover
to grab up my rash stash of tawdry self;
and I say:
Yes let them come, and god help these,
my patched and paltry wings.
Categories:
potash, poverty,
Form: Free verse
From sunset
Of the jamboree,
I will be sitting here,
O gracious!
I will be churning fast,
Two buckets of stark potash
On my table,
I will be straining my eyelids.
My mouth is full,
My eyes are swollen,
Beyond the stretch of my stomach,
My throat has choked, and
I am breathing fast.
I will run away, but
I stood up and lurched,
To the right, and to the left,
Home! Here is home, sweet home!
Categories:
potash, absence, celebration, food, lonely,
Form: Free verse
Potash and compost, tomatoes and rose,
Back in your greenhouse where everything grows.
The gurgle of water, filling the can,
To water my memories of holding your hand.
Prize-winning carnations, striped candy floss pink,
Clove scented blooms, you give me a wink.
I step into the garden, maybe you’re there.
With a trowel in your hand, on an old garden chair.
Mousseline and Pompom, Juno, Khayyam.
We picked all the petals and turned them to jam.
Sweet tasting strawberries, with roses we strew
Stirring together, a red glistening brew.
The other’s they mourn you over cups of hot tea,
but here in your garden, it’s just you and me.
Time with my grandpa, my happiness flows,
As I think of you growing, a carnation and rose.
Categories:
potash, flower, garden, grandfather, remember,
Form: Rhyme
Mind soaked with thoughts
Slow in the move soughts
consume every peny of time
Wondering around spill wine
Turning the system of nerve slow down
Like a furious anger overflow down
What a fuss in the meantime potash alum
Slowing the tick tock motion of pendulum
In thw sunshine dusk appearence in vision
Blurred the path down in a mid sun
O peace in the senerio gone
Switch off the mind not on
to face the music tone.
Categories:
potash, crazy, drink, mental illness,
Form: Rhyme
SPRING GARDEN PREPARATION (20150213)
After the winter season
But before the rains begin
Catalogues of heirloom seeds
Delivered just in time
Earmarked and prioritized
Farmer’s Almanac consulted
Given planting periods
Horoscopes included (but useless!)
Individual seed varieties ordered
Junk mail shredded and added to compost
K (potassium) added as potash
Lumber purchased for trellises
Mulching around transplanted seedlings
Non-Genetically Modified Organisms only
Organic fertilizers only, too
Planting by phases of the moon
Quick-fix pesticides are anathema
(Round-Up kills everything--US, not just weeds)
Seed boxes keeping seedlings warm
Testing the soil for minerals and organics
Unleashing ladybugs and pollinators
Vertical gardening to conserve space
Watering just enough, but not too much
Xenocide, killing unwanted weed species
Youngsters helping (or hindering)
Zoning plants to vary root depths
Categories:
potash, food, garden, home, life,
Form: Abecedarian
In between abandoned shapes, an
evocation deadens the tongues. A ***** in you
drives you to wilderness. Oversexed, the paws
strike savagely on the necks of lambs. The
candlesticks revert back to acid bombs scorching
the tender hugs.
Fences are irretrievable. Tunnels were smuggling
the lips, petals and potash.Low cost of
fire braves drowning. Enemy crawls in
every bush. Little white birds are frightened. Bees
want to go for pilgrimage. Cranberries drying
up for lack of courage.
Linen basket was full with nameless shirts,
who disowned the beautiful ghosts.
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
potash, adventure, allegory, angst, animals,
Form: I do not know?