Short Concoctions Poems

The Herbalist,

Stood before his wall of jars,

Mixing concoctions,

For the local folks who came

for health, despite wrongful laws.



For the "Jars" contest   Jan 19, 2012...

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aromatic and deep mahogany
decoction swirled with steam
a cupped nectar of rebirth
morning glimpses of heaven
first sip a remembrance
nuanced tincture
delicate demitasse
mmm...Mine...

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Enticingly juicy
Melting on the burning 
Lips of passion
Stretching tongues to lick
But soured drops long left over
Icings of deadly venoms
Ooh greedy zealots
Gulping to stupor
Concoctions for all such gluttons...

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Contrived to be relevant
An extreme subversive 
of distorted concoctions
While having his stricken soul bare
And denigrated to a faceless crone
For his vicissitudes are an improbable casualty
Of a broken soul.......

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Witch Joyce had a contest with Wormwood, the warlock of choice.
He had stated his cauldron made better brew than that of Joyce.
Their cauldrons created conniving concoctions that tempted and dared.
The rest of the villagers, gnomes and faeries ran away, for they were all scared....

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So diseased and in need of surgery
my anointing facing stench forgery
poisons and impurities I chew
clean corners of the heart, becoming few
deadly concoctions and spice in a brew
I bow and plead to make the air new
begging for your touch and the morning dew.
...

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crows conjuring curious witches
cauldrons containing concoctions I concur with
elegance in ebony, elusive and alluring
sensuous in satin, sassy and scintillating
chosen for every painting I do
to offset the hot pinks and neons
to outline and exude and uplift
refined, respectable and reassuring...

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Lava oozes from my skin
Or so it seems everything 
Burning from within

Meltdown mind dissolve
Re-ingest concoctions I don’t 
Dare now to evolve

I place my trust in a newer hand

Caring not that I'm engulfed 
Moulded like smelted metal
A newer form is fashioned

And like the Phoenix ..................?...

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The master maker of exotic sandwiches is Dagwood Bumstead!

   Blondie (nee Boopadoop) views his masterpieces with dread!

      He compounds his concoctions with everything from anchovy to zucchini,

         And Bumstead could make them vanish faster than an illusion by Houdini!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retireed
© All Rights Reserved...

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Candy cane collector cooks confections
Accepting others' ideas with affections
Revising and rewriting recipes regularly
Creating candy concoctions creatively
He is our baker the neighborhood said
All the December candy he made in red
March candies were green clover shaped
Super hero cookies were aptly caped
What started out as a Christmas thing
Ended up as a profession with extra zing...

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Peculiar.
So very peculiar, I know not.
My mind cannot imagine.

What flying thoughts are these,
Which jab constantly without ease,
At the senses, threatening to break through and flutter about most unwelcomely?

I defy you oh uncontrollable mischief!
For you surely play me like a riddle,
Teasing and weaving about unsolvable by all means.

To question is to allow,
Such infallible burdens,
The privilege of consideration....

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PREFERENCE
the succulence
  on display
 arrestingly
 different
a
timeless
exactitude
 alongside
 luscious
 beauties
  concoctions
of symbolist n
abstractions
 simplified lines
  emptily idealised
yet
authentically
expressed
 & depicted
if
somewhat
in absurdity
of
  an  exploration
of  the sensual
in
the  of
  conscientious
to   make
a startling
 masterpiece
illustrating
&
 portraying
a naive
  fantasy...

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So many shelves filled with so many bright bottles
Tantalizing concoctions to make us sparkle like our dreams
Each one filled by a child’s blood
Mixed with the dying strength of a crumpled woman
And to no avail.
The magic promised by their pain disappoints—
The colors fade, the curls fall, the fabric rips
And with a dying scream, they are gone
With no one to mourn them
No one to plead for their lives
Bought at so cheap a price....

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She had spells other witches only dreamed of doing.
Her pot was full of exotic homemade recipes she had stewing.
Her spells were legendary, her ingenuity was amazing.
Goats, cows and chickens were in her kitchen, grazing.

She calls the animals, and they come, bending to her will.
A cardinal and rooster just flew into her open windowsill.
What concoctions will she invent today? The other witches wonder.
She brings on a storm complete with lightning and thunder....

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Helzabob had her own ways of tweaking spells a tiny bit
She unleased some monstrous concoctions on her sister.
Helzabor created creatures who danced, twirled, and sometimes bit.
One time they went after a stuck-up guy who insisted on “mister.”

Mister came down the hill and slid into the witch’s house.
Everyone ran for cover, especially rat, crow and mouse.
Helzabob with a diabolical smile met him at the door.
She zapped him into a new green creature forever more....

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the same fat f*cks keep coming here every night, the same youthful twits, twisted on their favorite chemical concoctions and smug to the world, especially to a greasy chicken joint and its cyanide chewing staff. but that speed smoke, that's my five minutes in the sun, my podium, my telescope, my textbook, and my lover. for those short seconds I am the son of Zoroaster, master of my own dimensions, peering curiously through cheap glass into inferior galaxies with whimsical interest....

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