While the steak broils.....
This
martini glistens in the glass
the olive,
sullen
sulks at the bottom of a crystal lake
while ten thousand silver silvers of ice float
swim
in the candlelight,
Still.
I am still
I wait for the moment when
I take the first frozen sip
a kiss
full of ice and fire
the hole of the olive looking at me
in wide-eyed surprise
Joe
Joe
I like that one very much.
Joe is clearly
having much more fun
than me,
being out of gin,
so no martini.
I have the olives,
but not the booze,
You miss your shopping,
you snooze you lose.
I'll have some steak,
a glass of wine,
that will be tasty,
that will be fine.
Nice piece Joe! I love the sullen olive image. I've always preferred a twist myself, seems more sprightly, happier, in a strange way.
Halloween has begun here at chez k
Last night we threw a costume partay
Though some were quite ghoulish
Most women were too girlish
All trying to be oh-so-sexay
O no cav!
how can it be!
that you have less booze than me.
My little horse must think it queer
to stop without a farmhouse near,
stranger still
the omission sin
got no vodka
got no gin
I have some beer, I have some wine,
all in all it should be fine,
cooked a rabbit yesterday,
have some steak that's still okay,
a touch of vodka, no vermouth,
so no martini, yes, forsooth?
Here in Gotham's deepest lairs
the martini de vodka still draws stares,
No vermouth, no, none at all,
a whiff of juice de olive, or
white onion, that's all.....
so enjoy the hank of hare
the haunch of bouf
frozen Russian crystalle
remains aloof
When vodka's it, it must be Russian,
no Finn's or Poles, no lowly Prussian!
The caviar will be encouragin'
and please make sure it's from a sturgeon.
As for vermouth, a touch I would
grant the bottle, not the goods.
It ain't no sin
to be a Finn.
Ask Esa-Pekka
Salonen.
For him we play
The violin.
The sound is gilding
Frank Gehry's building
In the brown sky of L.A.
Angels play.
(OK, I know, I know...... nothing about poetry.... )
)
But the success is in the fun of trying.
I love to look upon your gentle face
I laugh when you upset the vision of grace
I have set for you
It makes you the more complex and human
It sets me aware I'm dealing with a woman
Not some dream untrue
That is so warmly beautiful a sentiment, edgarblythe. How much I enjoy your thoughts!
Thank you, rose. I may one day cull the worst out of these things and spiff the rest up for a collection.
Today I put ink in the sailboat
That you might leave translucent trails
In your erratic wandering
For you always set sail when the moat
Is dark; you might run off the rails
Your good karma squandering
A rose is a rose, I have heard.
From the bard, Gertrude Stein,
Gypsies' queen.
What nice things she says to the rhymers.
Please write for us, Rose,
Rambling climbers.
i do a limerick very well- just so-so
and long story writing is sometimes a GO
But making a verse...
my lips i do purse-
Say 'come words' and they say, NO
Rose, limericks can be hard to write.
So often words put up a fight.
But prose poems are good
free verse is the wood,
From which many folks get delight
In any case, write, write, write.
In these long months the declining roses
seek to emulate the changing beauty
of the radiant, shameless trees, once green,
now finely dressed in radiant colour,
red, orange, yellow, and shades of brown,
proud, triumphant trees, shedding brilliant leaves
in stubborn preparation for winter's
cruel kiss. Barren they will wait, no hoary frost
shall bend them, and white shall be the colour
of the robes they wear, till season's graceful
changes embrace the warming sun again,
to see the trees go green once more, and bud.
The rose sees the fiercly proud, blazing trees,
and for the first time, feels the prick of thorns.
