I’ve chosen twenty-five herbs, spices, flavors, and spice combinations—A to Z. Pick at least three for your poem. Use more if you so desire. You may also choose one of the words or phrases for your title.
Aleppo Pepper Arizona Dreaming Basil Cinnamon Coriander Cumin Dill Fennel seed Garam Masala Ginger Krakow Nights Lemongrass Mulling spices Mural of flavor Mustard Seeds Nutmeg Paprika Saffron Sea salt Sesame Seeds Sunny Paris Thyme Tuscan Sunset Vanilla Zatar
Coriander uncle went riding in the car they really wanted company but Nutmeg would go that far They took the thyme to ask her just where she’d like to go Her answer was overseas Sunny Paris made her glow The went on their vacation and left lemongrass so green He didn’t want to travel It’s stuff he’s already seen.
I don’t know if I should include a translation but without it and emphasis on different syllables, this may make absolutely no sense whatsoever.
Keep reading if you want to see what was in my head….
Beware, it is scary.
Cory and her Uncle went riding in the car they really wanted company but not Meg would go that far They took the time to ask her just where she’d like to go Her answer was overseas Sunny Paris made her glow The went on their vacation and left Lem on grass so green He didn’t want to travel It’s stuff he’s already seen.
…make sure your piece contains some form of the word punch and comes in at exactly 44 words total.
Jackie is such a fruitcake She has lived her life alone She never visits family She doesn’t even own a phone She drinks her punch real icy And sips her tea real hot She always has some old cookies But, personality she has not.
This week at the pub we are asked to make up our own aphorisms. In the definition, an aphorism is a statement that presents a moral or philosophical idea. It does that with a pithy statement that expresses something general idea of the world by for instance being a metaphor, it does not mention that they refer to. negative situations but when I was thinking about it, so many do. I don’t know if this is true or not but when thinking of one it seemed like that is where my head kept going.
So, here is mine…
One person alone cannot thicken the blood that runs between two people.
Beaming in his bolero the peasant wasn’t quick He knew he shouldn’t dawdle, but man, the air was thick Being a true pluviophile he really wished for rain He couldn’t get the portrayal out, like phosphenes on his brain Liking what he was thinking, a morsel of a plan He slunk right past the bouncer like a filament in the sand The pocket of his trousers was full of coins and junk And also there was woolly fuzz, uncanny ’cause it stunk But as he thought about it the more he decided no and feeling strikhedonia was happier to go His plan to take his money and use it on some drink Was foiled by his odor and how bad he did stink He’d never get inside the bar without being thrown out Serving stinky poor men was not what they’re about And so he went his way back to find an open space to rest his hot and weary head and find his happy place.
When I look in the mirror and look at my legs I glimpse limbs that are swollen like hardboiled eggs This Hypostasis was brought to the light It isn’t a joke, it’s a sad, lethal plight Its like a bad prank of the lower body Responsive to fluid under skin you can’t see. I head to the doctor on a bus ride to town to get me the update likely making me frown I’m the underdog here, I had no clear choice Antics of real organs that haven’t a voice In a world like a mansion with places to hide The fluids stay put on the body’s insides I ask you to tell loved ones, “With your body have stealth“ and remind them to keep a good eye on their health.
Sitting alone at my table for two staring right down wondering what I should do xerophthalmia happening just like before then there you come, right in the door. In a purple Kimono you rekindle my flame Using a metaphor, forgetting my name In business casual an end to the day I worry about turnover and want you to stay The fees that abound contradict how I feel Making this dinner, the loveliest meal.
Merrill asks us to write a poem of any style about a restaurant.
Going out for some fast food I often find myself looking for the best of deals, no package off the shelf I want my food cooked right there so I can see it when its done Watching people cook up food can be a lot of fun When I’m at a Mcdonald’s I see the patties cooked I wonder if the cooker’s cares that I just took a look. At the nearby steak place I smell and see the grill They tell you that it tastes so good and usually it will I used to do a salad bar before I heard the facts People do not wash their hands or cover up their hacks. When I think too hard about the food I get when I am out I start to gag near hurling too, trying not to shout “Go back home, this place is gross, they drop things on the floor Grab your stuff but leave your food and head right out the door! Bugs are here, the grill is burnt, oh God there is a hair!” I grab my stuff and pay the bill to end this whole nightmare.
Like a fractal deposit along the creek bed an astounding accomplishment poignantly said Sunset in a cup, so light and refreshing Keeping all your close friends silently guessing where have you been and where are you going You’ll slip out the back with nobody knowing The sound of a tin cup rattling with change Time suddenly frozen, no need to arrange A shipment sent back from an unlisted number your hot mind relaxes and then you may slumber.