I came with restless voices in my head,
And doubts that paced the borders of the room;
They named the brittle things I left unsaid,
And made the silence thicken into gloom.
Then all around me music caught its flame,
And dancers swung in circles round the floor;
Lamps softened my small and private blame,
While laughter rose—a bright, unbroken roar.
I watched the circling dancers as they turned,
Until the music entered through my feet;
The doubts I carried no longer returned,
And fell silent beneath the rolling beat.
The room swung wide; the rhythm filled the air,
Its mighty pulse outshone each private cry;
I had no thought to feed, no grief to bear,
Only stillness as dancers whirled by.
Amid the music’s storm, my spirit found its home;
I met a quiet place, and ceased to roam.
Cicadas drone their sun-drunk, tireless hymn
as July swelters, gold and overfull.
the driveway steams, the plastic buckets brim,
and heat, like dye, won't sit still or stay dull.
We cinch the cotton tight in twisted rings,
as if a knot could hold the blazing tide.
but sweat and color are unruly things:
both spread, both stain, both won't be denied.
Cerulean and crimson breach their line,
seep into one another, slow, unplanned,
and thicken into a hue with no design,
no name the rubber bands prepared it for.
The soda ash unlatches what was sealed;
the color doesn't sit, it moves in deep,
past cotton's threshold, till it's not revealed
but lived in, permanent as things we keep.
So heat unstitches winter's careful fold,
loosens what was buttoned, cinched, and pressed,
and turns the plain, repeated days to gold
the way a fever turns a body's rest.
Unwind the bands. Let August find the proof:
a swirl no ruler's hand could have designed,
the driveway's stain, the sun-bleached, faded roof
of summer, fixed now in the changed mind.
i told you it was cold
i ran to you for warmth
i bartered with my soul
i prayed to calm your storm
you said i did not say
claimed i was always far
or rotten, there i lay
a dead, uncaring scar
i told you i would freeze
in that melancholy house
you blamed it on the breeze
said thicken up my blouse
you lied to my face
though the temperature clear
was as frozen as space
only fit for a bier
i know you will scold
if i asked you to stay
hunting songbirds of old
just to scoff as they bray
but i reach out my hand
as i so often do
because i know that my ways
are so foreign to you
i cry to embrace
your harsh, distant corpse
i would not dare to face
you with words you can warp
do thermometers lie?
was the temperature fake?
or did you let me slip by
to succumb to my fate
5 cups of shredded beef
2 cups of caramelized onions
6 T of minced garlic
1 cup of minced green pepper
3/4 cups minced celery
5 cups of sliced mushrooms caramelized
2 cups of mixed provolone and mozzarella
1 teaspoon each of thyme,basil,orgango,,paprika
1 cups of sour cream
2 cups of beef broth
1/4 of nutty brown roux 1/4 of flour+1/4 cup of butter
4 teaspoons of toasted sesame seeds in 5 T of olive oil
2 T of cayeene pepper
10 cups of cooked rice ( 5 cups of white and 5 cups of wild rice)
toast seeds set aside add cayeene to olive oil remove from heat pour over seeds set aside.
sauteeveggies celery, onions,garlic, dset aside, sautee mushrooms remove from pan.
in a sauce pan make roux add broth add sour cream add seeds and cayeene. don't thicken set aside add the cheese.
mix cooked beef and mushrooms and rice in a large bowl
add the sauce and veggies
toss and mix evenly. add to cassorole dish and bake at 360 for 20 minutes.
serve hot and enjoy
Maybe, just maybe my influence
Was too strong
Or maybe you thought I was wrong
But as thyme goes on
You might see what I am saying
As true
Reduce your veggie stock
Stop the thicken clock
Take head and do what I say
1/4 cup of golden currents
to compliment the carrots
5 tablespoons of cream
3 to 5 tablespoons of conagac
To make her she's in a dream
It thickens with reduction
A stronger taste you wish
to achieve
Soar through these conversations
To create the way you believe
My dirty rice won't be in objection
And the key to your satisfaction
Is tryna get the woman to agree
In what your togetherness believes.
Sunday dinner is a time for family gathering
Enjoying conversation and home-cooked food
At the home of matriarch or patriarch of the clan,
Feasting on gumbo is a tradition for our brood
Oysters, shrimp, blue crab from Lake Pontchartrain
Onion, bell pepper and celery ~ Trinity of seasoning
Dark caramel color of roux though stirring is a pain
File' powder is made from ground sassafras leaves
It's used to thicken to a consistency that is nice
Leaving it out is a sin in the world of Creole cuisine
E'ach ladle of seafood's bounty is served with rice
Grateful to the cook for the effort to please our taste
Using the right ingredients brings smiles to the table
Makes us a happy family when nothing goes to waste
Broth of gumbo is a local favorite in New Orleans
Offensive not to have another bowl if you're able
We wake to the morning—
and find ourselves mourning.
The Powerful Incense or Priest that once stilled the air is gone.
You leave our peace forlorn.
Our peace has been lost;
the atmosphere is full of mules.
I thought wars had rules.
So this is not a war—it’s a massacre.
Blood will flow by the acre;
the air will thicken with massacre,
because the Incense of Peace has been massacred.
This war is measured in mar.
And the only way we’re taught to stop this war
is to war.
Speak such as mine.
C pers 2.2. Dumpling
26.25
13/12.5
7,5/6.15
3.75/3.025
1.875/1.51425
_____________________
3 cups of blackberries
5 cups of white grape juice
1/2 cup of congac
1 3/4 cup of sugar
1/4 t salt
2 cups of water
Simmer til purple sauce forms
Tame sweetness with
2 teaspoons of lemon juice
__________________________________
Dumpling mixture
__________________________________
4 cups of selfrising flour
1/2 teaspoon of salt
1 cup of sugar
3/4 cups of almonds chopped
1/4 cup of melted butter
1 egg
1 teaspoon of vanilla
1 teaspoon of almond extract
1 t of cinnamon
1 teaspoon nutmeg
2 cups of buttermilk
Mix thoughly adjust moisture
Drop dumplings into simmering berry sauce
Add white grape juice to readjust sauce
Cook dumpling done about 15 minute
Thicken sauce with 2/3 cup of heavy cream
Plus 2 Tablespoons of cornstarch slurry
And 5 tablespoons of butter.
Serve topped with slithered almonds and ice cream.
It rose at dawn
A gleaming hungry sphere
Its glow a promise
Whispered in every ear
It fed on trust
It fed on hope
Both freely given but never earned
Then it scorched the fields
Of those who once had yearned
It claimed the sky
Declared itself the sun
Demanded praise
For fabricated wrongs undone
When people cried beneath its blaze
It turned their doubt to fuel
To thicken its own haze
No oath too sacred
No vow too steep to bend
The orb consumed and consumed
Leaving ruins without mend
Still it shone
Insisting it was light
While casting shadows
Over an endless night
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First,
the stubborn angle of light~
wrong where it always felt right.
Then,
the floor tilts beneath your feet,
but no one else seems to notice.
Words you trusted thicken in your mouth.
The old map bleeds new rivers.
You could scream,
but instead~
you breathe.
The world reshapes itself
around that single, quiet act.
Winter withers all the meadow’s flowers,
and the frozen hours
paint the woodlands pale:
as the snowfalls thicken,
lindens cast their stricken
branches stark against the season’s whiteness.
Yet I mourn this barrenness less sadly
than I grieve how badly
Shame and Honor fail:
Honor’s stream runs shallow,
Virtue’s field lies fallow,
no heart seeks to cull the rose of rightness.
The spring restores the leaves and petals to the flowers on the thorn-hedge,
but the man whom wickedness has taken
and who has forsaken
Honor’s holy pledge
walks a path of sorrows,
nor can face tomorrow’s
gleaming dawn secure in manhood’s brightness.
— translated from the Middle High German
---------------------------------------------------------------
Change is the only constant,
and the wind of Ketu sweeps through France.
On the Eiffel Tower of time I stood,
watching Saturn’s scythe descend,
and Rahu’s shadow thicken over Paris.
The markets will collapse,
streets will burn with protest,
and her influence will fade
like an empire turned to ash.
Since 1792 she stood proud—
now she bends,
the first of Europe to fall
into the poverty of nations.
Nations, like men, are born,
they rise, and they perish.
France must descend,
and Europe will follow.
The wind of Ketu whispers:
“Look within, not without.”
But Europe, rich on stolen wealth,
has no strength of its own.
Wars shall rise between brothers,
borders will bleed again.
France is the spark,
Europe the forest,
and destiny the flame.
And the whisper of fate says:
“When France falls,
the world must choose—
to burn… or to be reborn.”
Written July 05, 2025
*************
I am anchored when I am a garnet,
The mineral topaz when I shine.
A midnight fantasy of moonstone,
This precious gem's spirit is mine.
Emerald ideas are proliferating,
Within the gardens of my brain.
As opalescent moods still fluctuate,
With indeterminate strain.
I illuminate, akin to a glass prism,
When elation continues to rise.
A Sapphire flame symbolizes justice,
Increasingly irritates my eyes.
When shadows start to thicken,
I don the obsidian stones' grace.
And allow the illumination of jasper,
Restore equilibrium in my living space.
Each diamond carries a whisper,
A truth that I have been able to flow—
This even caused fractures in the facets.
Still catching the dawn glow.
I evolved from stardust,
With spiral galaxies to approve.
Should you perceive that sparkle—
You are stardust, companion, and groove.
I will order in just a minute.
If there’s grilled cheese, I want in on it.
Or maybe I could have some fries.
Which is on the menu to my surprise.
I enjoy a burger on some days.
But maybe not Mondays.
I want mustard on my shirt.
And guacamole on my skirt.
As long as I am full.
I don’t mind the messy toll.
I will order in just a second now.
This lemonade is already making me go “Wow!”
I asked what he recommended.
He says the fish is splendid.
In 15 minutes my order came out.
I wanted to see the delicious food he was talking about.
The fish was good, I took a bite.
But then I felt a new plight…
At the table next to me, a man ordered chicken.
I felt the plot start to thicken.
It looked so good, I wished for a bite.
I had to hold back with all my might.
As the man walked to the bathroom.
I felt sad in this dining room.
I snuck over and stole a little of his food.
It wasn’t much, so it wouldn’t ruin his mood.
But he came back to the table too fast.
I was chewing the chicken with his eyes overcast.
I told him the chicken was just ok.
But I’m glad I ordered the fish today.
Potato latkes, fried in oil
Are eaten every year
When calendars remind us
That our holiday is here.
To keep up the tradition,
There are choices we must make –
Buy them frozen in the market,
Use a mix (that’s a mistake!)
Find them in a local diner
Or, if you have time and space,
Gather all of the ingredients
And your cookware in one place.
Then you peel and grate potatoes
With an onion, egg and salt,
Plus you have to squeeze it dry;
(To leave some liquid is a fault).
Add in matzoh meal to thicken
While your oil heats in a pan;
Next, you fry them ‘til they’re golden
Or the closest that you can.
If you’re lucky, all your efforts
(For it is a lot of work)
Will be worth the energy you spent
(With compliments a perk).
Just as long as you eat latkes,
Get them any way you’ve chosen.
Since I spent all morning grating,
Come next year, I’ll go with frozen.
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