Minister in England, professor of philosophy, Alan Watts
elusive and mystical storyteller connected all ephemeral dots
Pre-eminent interpreter of Eastern thought and religion
Yells “exactly!” as I dose off, awaking me, irks just a smidgen
While working in my flower bed,
a bird flew and buzzed my head.
I very quickly started to flail
thinking it must have been a quail.
I dove in a motion of herky jerky,
wondering if it was a wild turkey.
I looked at my cat with whiskers he was licken',
my thought it may have been a chicken.
I did not see not even a smidgen.
could it have been a very young pigeon?
Perhaps with any kind of goofy luck,
it could have been a Mallard Duck.
As it went by a feather came loose,
i noticed it didn't come from a goose.
It flew as fast as a speeding bullet,
no way could it have been a small pullet.
I stood up and removed my glove,
thinking it must have been a dove.
When I looked up it flew as an arrow.
To my dismay it was only a sparrow.
What is it? What could it be?
something special in the recipe
Is it from Gramps or Grandma
dear Mom or sneaky from Pa
That unique taste special blend
did you get it online or from a friend
Not quite vanilla or cinnamon
just a pinch of flavor a smidgen
Not to sweet or even sour
but boy oh boy does it have power
Did it come from the orient or France
so good makes your tongue dance
Almond extract just a touch
nutmeg but don't use much
Brown sugar with cayenne
lemon peel or soy sauce from Japan
What is this special spice
should I ask Alexia for advice
Whatever it is makes eating good
happy taste buds are understood
Gather around now don't shove
the secret ingredient it's made with love...
of course.
Words dissolve in a simmering pot~
not soup, but something more.
Each ladle releases a new verse,
a flavor never before tasted.
Some mix their sorrow as deeply as a roux,
while others scatter hope like coarse black pepper.
A smidgen of resentment bitters the broth
while laughter improves the brew.
I bring my scraps, my burnt-edged rhymes,
my half-chewed thoughts still warm.
The pot absolves the awkward lines,
transforming them into poesies.
And when the steam has filled the room,
when my tongue is tinctured,
I leave not fed—but changed, undone~
with someone else’s hunger inside.
Consider the pigeon
It’s been itchin’
for a smidgen
of recognition
So it started
a bird-feed kitchen
That no bird die
of malnutrition
Toss a smidgen
To a pigeon
And you know he’ll eat it,
Though once fed
A crumb of bread,
You can’t get him to beat it.
Still, what’s worse
And worth a curse
Are seagulls if you’re snacking,
For I’ve found
When food’s around,
They sometimes try attacking.
My advice –
You’ll pay the price
By tempting those with feathers,
For they know
Where humans go,
There’s food in any weathers.
I used to be a little different from how I am today,
especially in some beliefs and things I’d do or say.
My mother was (and still is) fanatical; there was no true religion
except for ours; I lived without her zeal – having but a smidgen.
I had no testimony to match my mom’s though half my life I tried
to practice my religion, till one day I put my church aside.
I never had been able to accept some doctrines that for me
seemed senseless. So with no apology, I live now religion-free.
I know God lives; God’s grace and love are all. I know this because
I feel it deep inside. The person that I used to be I never truly was.
Dreams, do we imagine!?
or imagined for us?~ not really ours
man’s daily/nightly flighty escapes –
perhaps mystically inspired? Projections of a
superior curtain-wizard: His/its contrived illusions,
erudite brothers propose, the mind
a carnival trickster -- a phenomenal liar: such illumination
just mental, painted flame, no spark of true spiritual fire,
myself least fond of, the notion before the thinker...
the drink making thirsty the drinker --
like the egg and the chicken, the shell or the cluck
prayer answered or declined
and not a smidgen of exciting, wagering blind-luck --
Give a pigeon just a smidgen
And his friends will flock to share
While each sparrow’s focus narrows,
Wond’ring if it’s worth the dare.
Soon a robin may come bobbin’
Though he’s just consumed a worm
Which the grackle tried to tackle,
Losing out by just a squirm.
Then the seagull, looking regal,
Takes a dive to catch a fish
As the finches land mere inches
From a shiny take-out dish.
In the city, streets are gritty
But the birds still find a meal
For the locals (and some yokels)
Leave them lots that they can steal.
Now Santa is getting eccentric
His sleigh is now fully electric
He made Rudolph retire
Pressed the red button - ‘Fire’
His world then went totally hectic
He searched for a roof with snow clearing
And found a good landing site nearing
First attempt was a mess
He had no GPS
And no reindeer doing the steering
There was no choice; he had to go back
But he felt he was getting the knack
He then, feeling bolder
Looked over his shoulder
And demolished the next chimney stack
Rudolph, eating sprouts and not grass
Had seen these events come to pass
He helped Santa out
But ate one more sprout
And then put a flame to his ass
“By God, that’s one hasty arrival,
Could you please ensure my survival?”
And Rudolph said, “Sire
I shall stoke my fire,
But promise our team a revival.”
So up in the sky, roof to roof
Relying on sleigh-ski and hoof
Santa got his job done
With a smidgen of fun
And sometimes a butt going ‘poof!’
A murder of crows
A crowd of pigeons
A mob of mealworms
Hedgehogs? A smidgen
A swarm of swans
A drove of ducks
A throng of turkeys
This horde is full of un-lucks
Born a dainty daughter of an orchadist,
the thrill of picking apples she can’t resist.
She dances around the fruit-full apple trees,
while the red delicacies swing in the breeze.
The southern wind blows across the orchard,
and the boughs shake at the flutter of the bird.
The apples fall through the shine of morning sun,
she picks them tenderly up one by one.
Their crimson hue close to heart she feels so dear,
as the orchard morphs into mesmeric Eden for her.
The apples attract her with the seducing allure,
the smidgen of Eve within her isn’t yet obscure.
Classes on tranny and ***** diversity
universities reek of perversity
Discrimination abounds all around
save if your skin's black or brown
Tuition hikes obscene, naked robbery
flaunt luxury dorms and diners, effete snobbery
Not a smidgen on learning or teaching in glittering reports
just facilities upgrades, data analytics in sports
Grade inflation boosts illiteracy ever higher
agree or disagree ~ at least I'm no liar
She pawned her ring
went into hock
Sold her long hair
went into shock
Took to the streets
with naught to eat
Just a smidgen of dope
and a cup of hope
Tried to beg
took in a few bucks
Injured her leg
cried, 'This really sucks'
Do you know this poor soul
She's rather pretty, not very old
A decent gal, she fell through the cracks
of a godless world, where the 'haves' talk smack
[Quite possibly the most juvenile gag I’ve
ever posted on Soup. In my defence, I was
probably twelve when I first heard it.]
*
He went to the library to borrow a book
The librarian said, “Please do take a look.”
He looked for an hour but couldn’t decide
She said, “I’m surprised, when the choice is so wide.”
She pushed two books forward and said, “Look at these,
I’m certain that one of these writers should please.”
He gazed at the books with a smidgen of doubt
And asked her to detail what they were about
“Now, Dickens,” she said, “a likely solution,
With London and Paris: the French Revolution,
But if you feel reading this might take you ages
How about something with rather less pages?
“This other suggestion instils quite a chill.
A man selling body parts fresh from a kill
He first kills a woman so ample of breast
And markets those ‘wares’ to a girl who has less
The man said, “One Classic and one Burke and Hare,
How might I distinguish the books you have there?”
She told him, “The first is ‘A Tale Of Two Cities’,
the second is titled ‘A Sale Of —’
[you were warned]
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