Short Rock Salt Poems

Winter's wake-rows of black stones and rock salt....

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It was difficult to revisit, 
the birth therapy.

Arms had no emotions, 
the violence will not go.

Let us take a back road for 
the sake of anatomy.

And find out a man and the woman 
to bend the gender.

The rock salt and the bruises 
will melt, if you were warm blooded.


Satish Verma...

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Iced down in a wooden tub,
Chilled more with rock salt,
Taking turns, Tom Sawyer style,
Hand-cranked until firm.
Remove the paddle,
Barely scrape,
Lick!

Homemade ice cream with fresh fruit
Is reason enough
To suspend any diet,
Avoiding further
Justification.
Just have some
Now!
...

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I went with Dad,
just us two,
to the hardware store.
We got replacement tubes for the TV,
Sometimes, filters for the heater.
He bought me
Necco wafers -
all different colors -
priceless coins.

Sometimes,
we picked up rock salt
for the ice-cream maker - 
vanilla -
cold, smooth, delectable,
an elusive taste.
One man knew
the secret,
in Downey, California, 
1965....

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Old man winter slaps at the soul.
But my spade is smiling and sharpened.
I was born in Buffalo.
So, my bones are made from ice picks.
The heart pumps out rock salt by the bowl.
I've been through blizzards, chewed on black ice.
Hopscotched over downed power lines. 
Drank from busted pipes.
Got 55 years of calloused fists.
To pound black ice into diamonds of spring.
So, bring it on old man.
Bring it straight to me!...

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Memories of childhood on the porch      
   My dad bringing out the freezer             
      Milk, eggs, sugar, rock salt, ice              
         Neighbors invited                                    
            Warm night, crickets                               
               Passing bowls                                         
                 Slurping                                                  
                    Aahhhh..........

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She slipped from among us
in search of good hummus,
like a whispery breeze
at the scent of chickpeas;
escapes for tahini
rivalled old Houdini.
Her nose for good cumin
was simply inhuman,
her longings, appeasing
on lemony squeezings.
She never found fault
with a good pink rock salt,
and oft was caught splurging
on fine extra virgin.
But she went on a bender,
took a shine to a blender,
sliced her tongue on that trough,
and her hum is still off…...

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Early morning    -     snow scattering
Landscape of white  -   sun reflecting
But not for long  -    soon it’s melting

During the night  -  freezing of sludge
Rough surface walk  -   bit of a trudge
Rock salt on top    -     colour of fudge

Now on the path  -  thin layer of snow
Hiding unseen      -     black ice below
Without warning   -   down you will go

Dark cloud above   -   now lots of rain
Last of the snow  -  all down the drain
Early evening    -     fresh snow again....

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I remember when the bitter weed did bloom
We'd sit outside by the light of the moon
Catch fireflies and place in a jar
I remember just who you are

On these nights watermelon sliced
Ice cream entombed in store bought ice
With rock salt bought from the store
To make the ice freeze and us want more


Janet Frame New Zealand famed writer
stated in her novel "Toward Another 
Summer" that her mother said the best
poems are written on scraps of paper, 
old envelopes, and paper napkins....

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