Short Sorrel Poems

Man
Wild rhubarb is way too good for ya





summer 2016...

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asparagus fritatta
pickled cucumber
wild chervil and sorrel soup
sweet potato cake
poppy seed crackers
leek tartlet
wine!...

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Lemon grass & ginger broth
mint lamb an sorrel
asparagus,soft egg sauce
strawberry sponge with
black pepper ice cream
confort food 
Try!...

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A John Dory with rhubarb
Sea trout with beetroot
Fresh salmon with sorrel sauce
Mackerel munchies
Scallop salad cream
Cod and chips
Dip !...

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The sunset
is delicately chipped
            in cherry wood.

Summer sings in your memory
that sits now, silent,
under a puzzle of trees,
sunlight salmoning hair
streaming into hands.

It is over.

A summer sonata
is in the wind.   Winter
comes silently
            on sorrel moccasins....

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colourful Flags of the Caribbean 
Flood Londons streets,
Vibrations from the sound systems  
as they play their reggae beats

smells of curry goat,
and barbecued jerk chicken 
Fill the the air,
While men and women are whining with feathers in their hair

Everyone’s United 
dancing and chanting loudly,
Sipping from cups of homemade sorrel,
displaying their cultures proudly....

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Swirling scuffling newspapers
Scrawling in civilized dirt
Alleyways devouring
Discarded stories of hurt
Sunken sorrel skin
Writhing in distended shame
Ingested figments of food
Decomposing depravity’s name
Corroded cans of compassion
Littering hunger pains 
Kicked into comatose corners
Prodded by public domain
Flaccid fingers of despair
Folded to somehow convey
God if you can hear me
I haven’t eaten in ten days...

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Comes silently
on sorrel moccasins

roosted on tortoiseshell
of root cellar

singing, stumbling
in numb imaginings

lit with half-light
vegetables
squeezed in jars
of russet and avocado

above
a cornice of sky
split with laughter
searching
for broken arrowheads
gold and silver among leaves

air billowed white
from lips
soft frail bones
of snowflakes
magically appear
scattering in breath
taken away
into apple night...

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Housemothers twain, swaddled in sorrel fur

And bustled skirts, walking ‘tween the parklands.

Brilliant cobalt sky, above cawing birds,

Who demand substance, with their harangue?

So the fostering queens proffer their alms.

 

The badelynge of ducks, on polished ice,

Lambently advance with feral affray.

As morsels of cardinal fare, entice.

The attending dames in their tender, urbane way,

Have rescued these birds from another wintry day....

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Soft yellow
      streaked 
               the terra cotta
shadowing 
        the sallow saffron
             a bluish buff;
the flaxen rubrical
rain-bow tinted
mandarine
                   unseen
tinged burnt sienna
reflecting raw umbery
on the green;
                mosaic gold
mottled the sorrel
virent yellow
               stained
a pale apricot
          redish rust
and dotting
       the lind
                  crimson...

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Merry Christmas Soup  
  
We sit together raising our glasses

Of eggnog, glühwein, or sorrel punch and passing on

Blessings of goodwill, throughout the flowing seasons

Unzipping our thoughts through poems and songs 

Expressing the emotions of every heart in friendships

Accentuating their beauty through metaphors

Rhythmical we toast for never ending inspiration 

Merry Christmas     


12/25/2016...

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Loved Their Coast the Most

always perfect host
you could hear them brag and boast
loved their coast the most

around waves (rock) would curl
at the same time it did whirl
see it start to swirl
(where we found white pearl)
(saw a brown sorrel)
(flowed over coral)
(response was a choral)
(like good looking girl)
(on beach self did hurl)
(picture like mural)
(against the portal)
(saw a swimming squirrel)
(country was rural)
(saw it virtual)...

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A thousand years ago
on a sorrel hill,
arms became wings.

We dream of the room,
the belt's snake sting
given for wrongs we have done.

Now we rise in dreams
to things never expected,
pluck the opalescent shell
of locust
from rain soaked oak.

There is no original sin.

We take the punishment
as our last: arms, legs,
torsos growing by the day--
summer's cool culvert
darkening our tongues,
fleshing a nakedness,
a first breast
appaloosaed in sun....

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