Maybe I’m not ready-
Not as ripe, not as fresh-
It might take me longer to grow,
But I am just as sweet
Just as beautiful
Just as delightful
As someone else.
I’m slower than you-
I need more care
You can’t understand.
You are ripe.
You are ready.
As i lay asleep last night
my mind wondered through the window and out of sight
catching a ride on a passing crow
it went places i’ll never go
Gliding it passed over palms and rivers
swooping under waterfalls left me with shivers
rising on a warm sea breeze high
it watched the golden sun set and with a sigh
Returned begrudgingly to where bedridden i lay
paralysed, a vegetable as they say
There was never before heard
Such a cacophony
As the day I witnessed
The vegetable medley
'Since you've bean gone'
They blasted out
The runners and broads joined in song
They could have rocked it all night long
But it was Taters turn
They rocked the stage
The veggies went wild
The 'monster mash' was all the rage
Then was petit pois chance to shine
He wowed them with a dance
Then made the broccoli sway and weep
With 'Give peas a chance'
A bite of meat
I dare not eat.
I'll have some fruit instead.
No milk for me
Why, can't you see?
I'd rather have some bread.
I don't want it if it's meaty.
You like to eat entrails
A bit like zombies--beastly!
to make the thing called "Veal".
I can't believe what you go through
for your tasty high priced meal.
you hated poems so much that you
became one, sweetheart
(tell me, does this suit your tastes?have i gone too far?)
i tried to write a love poem and it turned into a suicide note that doesnt belong to me
i guess you didnt find it romantic when i called you carrotseed,
when i pined so much that i turned my love into a grove of trees
you make comparisons between me and natural disasters like it's a habit you can't get rid of
but there's nothing natural about the way my heart beats when i see you
baby, your eyes have never looked better
I usually just twist my confessions into metaphors,
so instead of having to hear it you just see me shutting a door.
and behind there I'm climbing the walls, painting my naked body
with symbols of solace. Breaking out of windows and falling off the trellis.
My back always breaks in the garden below.
One clove a day
health eternal I pray
that it is not true,
for I am well short
of the twenty two thousand
to have been eaten
by this date
one plant if it were new to enter
anywhere, would not pass inspection
as a common garden vegetable,
it would take decades and investigation,
to give the nod to forty garlic chicken
or even to transport one clove.
some say it is the taste,
to others it is the waft,
of air in advance of the consumer,
knowing it does the body good,
but if one eats garlic and your mate
must too, or there may be a break in that allure
is a toxin buster,
if you can muster
can raise a whoop,
from a troop
of the healthy.
eat it raw to digest
your will to resist,
that all will cease
and desist, to disagree.
eat it cooked,
make it good,
that it would
all the benefits
PSA: this is not a good poem, this is an explosion.
internal dialogue echoing within my fatty brain, overweight from months of stagnant vegetation.
one repetitive sentence feebly attempts to remove the attackers
“go away go away go away go away”
linoleum floors squeaking as my slippered feet find their grip,
praying that these feet don’t lead me to a kitchen full of knives, hungry to meet the stretch marks striping my newly obese thighs.
i’d rather have scars than these purple proofs of my inadequacy
the familiar hair-band meets my forearm for the first time in an age,
my vegetated brain slowly recognises this pattern from once before and the skills from months of therapy begin to kick in
wondering how on earth i will live for seven more weeks
desperate to make my voice heard
but stumbling into silence as my head slams the wall and bounces off the floor
leaving me stuck in my own harrowing mind,
one that is far too tired, lonely and ill to fight for much longer.