there's strange fruit hanging from the tree
we planted in the garden
those giant eggplants i can see
in cloth wrapped, burnt and hardened
the white ghosts cooked them on the vine
while chanting blasphemies in time
to metered prose of Tennyson's E. Arden
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 10:52 PM UTC
there's strange fruit hanging from the tree
we planted in the garden
those giant eggplants i can see
in cloth wrapped, burnt and hardened
the white ghosts cooked them on the vine
while chanting blasphemies in time
to metered prose of Tennyson's E. Arden
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
A Septet.
Request permission to use this poem