Spontaneous Poems

individual
You might try this site for different styles of poetry.
http://fuzzy.snakeden.org/

how came to your tea
a girth hauntingly
mirthlessy devoid
in its whimsy
taking you away
as if to a launch pad
to the other side
how impishly how thoughtlessly
cru
el

Indeed, please give no second thought
to all these lines my Musing brought...
A daft escapism, games and more
Under, I hide the odious chore.
I am sighing while I am dying
making sounds of groan and creak,
But the one... I wont do, lying
Still hindered by the tongue in cheek
Go way! GET AWAY! my flesh will fly
And being there-- is mine to why

Tiny cups filled with ambrosia await the table
the gods are truly fruitful
toss aside the coffee pot
fill the cups in unmeasured spoonfuls
brewing it with a twistedly turn
...that should help you keep up with the day
put the zap back in your zip

AAHHhhhhhh coffee.

What's the brew you are having, colorbook?

Photos of BBB's Aunt Luella Trumley Doering
The first photo is of my Aunt Luella Trumley Doering when she was a young woman. The second photo is of her in her forties. Wasn't she a beautiful woman? ---BBB

She is very lovely, BBB. She gave a lot of herself with her talent.

I love your poem tol. Colorbook-- what would the human race be like without coffee?

As for your aunt Luella, BBB, I agree: she kept a graceful and beautiful air to her forties, which is nearly as impressive as the wonderful poems that she left.

Consider the lemon,
leper of the fruit display,
looked upon as sour,
but necessary. Sad lemon.
The apples, like tarts,
shout "Eat me out of hand!"
The lemon does not beg.
I am a lemon. We are all,
at some point, lemons.
"If life gives you lemons,
make lemonade!"
What pap. What nonsense,
to drown our essence
in a sugary mass.
This is no life.
Lemons, pigs of the fruit world.
We are not plodders,
We strive, and so we survive.
Like the pig,
we offer all of us to you.
Lemonade indeed...
Vinaigrettes,
(Lemon pepper, lemon chipotle, tangy citrus)
Lemon chicken,
Lemon mousse,
Caramelized lemon tart,
Moroccan preserved lemons,
Lemon and olives,
Candy us in slices,
Preserve our zest in grenadine,
to make our yellow coats
a handsome shade of red.
The lemon does not ask for your sympathy,
it only asks that it not go ignored.

Makes good furniture polish, too.

Edgar!

Lemon is a most DELIGHTFUL fruit. However would I EAT without it??


(I guess it does polish things, and does a good job as a deodorizer for the drain and disposal... hmmm)

I INSIST I eat more of them than I use for uh... uh things.

(Really good prose Cav)

That orange oil cleans better, actually, but stinks up the place for what seems an eternity. Lemon has a much more pleseant scent. Just one more thing it offers to you freely. Thanks Jackie.

I drink the juice of six lemons at once every three months. It is said to help keep the arteries clean.

Oh my, Edgar,
Couldn't you just have the juice of half a lemon, a week (12 weeks in three months)?

Or do you mix it with seltzer water and ice?

(or something stronger?)

I once read of all the QUALITIES of drinking (or dosing on) vinegar.
Then, I learned lemon juice was BETTER than vinegar, and tastes better too. Who knows? Sometimes I think I just follow the crowd.

I never use vinegar on a regular basis. Too acidic. Citrus is also too acidic, so I just do the lemon thing. Personal health consideration. Other acidic things to avoid, white flour and tomatoes. I am not suggesting anything for you to try.

Hi Edgar, might ye be enjoyin a bit o' old Irish verse this fine morn?
Sorta gets ye mind ablowin dun ta glenn.....

A PAIR OF BROWN EYES


One summer evening drunk to hell
I sat there nearly lifeless.
And old man in the corner sang
where the water lilies grow.
And on the jukebox Johnny sang
about a thing called love.
And it's how you are kid and
what's your name.
and how would you bloody know.

In blood and death 'neath a
screaming sky
I lay down on the ground.
And the arms and legs of other men
were scattered all around.
Some cursed some prayed,
some prayed then cursed.
The prayed then bled some more.
And the only thing that I could see
was a pair of brown eyes that was
looking at me.

But when we got back
labelled parts one to three
there was no pair of brown eyes
waiting for me.
And a rovin' a rovin' a rovin' I'll go
for a pair of brown eyes.
I looked at him he looked at me
all I could do was hate him.
While Ray and Philomena sand
of my elusive dreams.
I saw the streams the rolling hills
where his brown eyes were waiting.
And I thought about
a pair of brown eyes
that waited once for me.

So drunk to hell I left the place
sometimes crawling sometimes walking.
A hungry sound
came across the breeze
so I gave the walls a talking.
And I heard the sounds of long ago
from the old canal.
And the birds were whistling
in the trees
Where the wind was gently laughing.

Sure, it's a brilliant piece ye have writ there, lad. I admire it very much.

peace came to me
in the still kernel of night




oops - timed out. got to run.

I canni take the honor boot tank ye for the praisin .... twas finded in me wanderings .... I don mind sharin.

Enjoy

Go here but be mindfull o the little folk....

Blarney
and kilarney -
Hmph.
What do i know?
A texan's
almost mexican:
Irish
in my big toe