#biscuits
I burn
beautifully
in the fires of vanity.
Got lost
in my own reflection
on the frozen food doors—
there I was,
lined up with the rest
of the products on ice:
three fifty-nine
for four egg rolls,
six twenty-nine
for frozen bread dough,
six ninety-nine
for wild blueberries.
Superimposed,
my long mug
trying its best
to blend in.
My forehead says
I’m three ninety-nine,
but my solar plexus
clearly marks me
at five fifty-nine.
However,
my **** is, apparently,
on clearance,
reduced by thirty percent,
and
going for a buck nineteen.
At the end of the aisle,
an old lady eyes my biscuits,
rattling her coin purse
like she’s about to
roll a Yahtzee.
I flick my gaze
back to the glass
and my own ghostly image.
What did I
come here for
again?
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 12:18 PM UTC
Sobriety,
with regards to me,
who would've thought I'd've thunk it.
Cavalier,
*** wine or beer,
if you gave me a drink I'd've drunk it.
Alternatively,
a biscuit with tea,
and I'll contemplate life while I dunk it.
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 7:25 AM UTC
Cupboards filling up
with stuff we can’t touch
like industrial sacks of dry roasted peanuts
and biscuits for cheese, specifically.
Seems this season of excess
begins with an interminable exercise in restraint,
where even one mince pie is missed.
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 2:27 AM UTC
Cookies are bright twinkles
fun and easy on the eye
they say 'come on, you know you want me, step up and don't be shy'
take off the lid
dip right in
everyone loves a tiny bit of sin!
Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 2:42 PM UTC
it was still pitch black when she slid out from under the princess and pea
sized stack of her mother's quilts
her feet slapped the chilly
wooden floorboards
of her grandmother's screened sleeping porch
as she scurried into the main house
made her way into the kitchen
snatched several day old biscuits
stashed them in the pockets of her flowered flannel robe
silently, assuredly she swept a mason jar from the pantry shelf
carefully crept to the icebox
poured herself a fridgid, frothy jar of cow juice
slid silently
out the side door into the crisp predawn air
of the country morning
on winged feet
made her way to her favorite meadow
plopped unpretenciously under the
welcoming branches of grandfather oak
snuggled into the ruff bark of his trunk
a bite of biscuit
a sip of cold cow juice
a smile
what better way to begin a day
than welcoming
the bird's songs?
patiently she waited
the sun began to rise
the field flowers turned their faces toward the light
as her feathered friends songs began
smiling, self satisfied she said outloud, to no one in particular,
it is good to greet the day
it is better to catch the first worm
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 10:58 AM UTC
The alarm got us up before the sun fully awoke
we pulled our sleepy bodies out of bed
got on our grungies not even fixing coffee yet,
got our gear together in the pickup
and headed for the peninsula
where we hoped the sand bass would be schooling,
searching for some breakfast of worms or flashy things that looked to them like food.
If we were lucky we hooked a few which we would cook later
or save for the freezers back home.
When we got back to the campground
we’d comb our hair brush our teeth and head into town
for Pat’s Cafe who served the best biscuits, eggs, hashbrowns, and pancakes in the region
and if we were lucky Pat herself with her long black hair and **** lips
and substantial hips
would stop by and in her Texas twang and charm
she’d tell us about their farm
we’d speak of our wives
and some of the small details of our lives
and how we loved that large beautiful body
that sparkled and sang to us each spring
and how we savored dipping into Lake Whitney.
In late afternoon we would laze about the RV
discussing Theilhard and Jesus and Charlie
he’d speak of Bob Wills and we’d share
trying to make sense of the spirits there
and how they made us leap and soar.
We spoke in sync and explored
lines of novels, and fascinating texts
that made us eager to discover what was next
that would make us laugh or shed tears
of all those memorable years
we’d been brothers
afloat of the same waters
becoming men who hoped to make their mark
spark something good in the minds
of other seekers who also drank wines
fermented in corridors of learning
who had the same yearning
for knowledge and truth
embedded early and deeply in our youth.
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
Biscuits
It will take time to adjust to this new reality
There will be good days and bad days on the way
Along with other pre-discerned times unmentionable
Where life will be Mad Max esque and totally lawless
What will I do at such times and what will life do to me?
Tea and biscuits with pals or robbing banks with sawn offs?
Or both...
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 4:42 PM UTC
Toast
It’s so comfortable inside my bed.
I think I will stay here until I am dead.
I’m never going to move again.
The air is cold, my quilt so warm,
My feet are nice and toasty.
I have a day off, so I will remain lost,
In a world of imaginary.
I drift off to sleep until quarter to three.
They say that’s a whole day you have wasted!
All I reply is, I have had a bad day since I was a kid,
So a lie-in once in a while is just what I needed.
But now my stomach is starting to grumble.
Three meals a day is a must.
So I throw on some clothes and drag myself to where I need to go.
Boring, boring, boring toast!
But, oh well, it is something at least.
They tell me I have to eat.
It’s been twenty minutes and I am still not finished,
With this rubbery, so dry! Food,
With absolutely zero taste at all...
Have a guess what I am…Bored!
My cup of tea is just (stupid!) flavoured water.
My biscuits are broken in barrel and cup.
I should stop eating this toast, I know I oughta,
But it’s nearly done now
And once it is done, it is done.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
Ya, weeds.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCMLXXXI)
Now April dogs our sunny minutes, pale
Blue skies with nary cloud to mar that sense
As orange 'non splashes buildings in defense
Of rosy sunset just where dinner's bail,
The biscuits cut ere that eye cease t'avail,
And curtains drawn while steamy soup fr'intents
Give us cause to reflect, black night what'd fence
Dessert as we talk oer the future's tale.
I roll the first words 'cross my tongue as't stir
'Fore butter gives flour cause to be anew
Sheer dough, that haunting sense light rouses fer
Auld memries of lost days what winks unto
My soul, though's but March first. Is it sae poor
To feel it in our bones likeas twould woo?
01Mar18e
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 12:36 AM UTC
who are you?
please tell me for i'd love to know
i'll invite you in for tea and biscuits, you can tell me everything
please tell me who you are
i'd really love to know
for otherwise you're nothing more than just a stranger to me.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 8:08 PM UTC
early morning sun
your Maw Maws love on a plate
biscuits and gravy
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
I DREAMED OF BISCUITS WHILE LYING IN BED,
SOMETHING YOU CAN'T DO WHEN YOU'RE FINALLY DEAD,
I DREAMED THAT MAYBE I WOULDN'T WAKE UP,
BUT FIRST I HAD TO DEAL WITH AN OVERFLOWING CUP,
PERHAPS I'LL STAY HERE - NEITHER AWAKE OR DECEASED,
OF LONGING FOR EVERYTHING MY APPETITE HAS INCREASED,
YOU CAN'T TOUCH ME OR CHANGE MY MIND,
TO STAY IN THIS LIMBO I AM RESIGNED
TO MAKE THE BEST OF WHAT I'VE BEEN GIVEN,
I'M NOW IN MY OWN KIND OF HEAVEN, WHERE
I CAN CONJURE UP EVERY NEED BY
FLICKING THRO' FILES AND SELECTING MY FAVOURITE
SMILES; SOMEONE'S SHAKING MY SHOULDERS BUT
TO NO AVAIL- WHATEVER I WANT, I WILL NOT FAIL.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
Carla kept nudging me to learn Italian.
It is the language of lovers and liars she said, life’s two best friends,
Discipline yourself, it will teach you to sing, she offered,
Each phrase a lyric, a seduction,
It will give you an unfair advantage over younger men, she promised,
Tickle her ear with this tongue and she will shiver and unfold,
Her heart, her knees unlocked.
Italian is a calculate of rhythm, Carla suggested,
Every woman understands timing and phase,
Our life is nothing but cycles for god’s sakes,
How have you not understood this?
It is the lingua of fair play, she continued, each syllable an equal citizen,
A dialect with an innate sense of justice,
Women are as intrigued by its possibilities,
As they are by threat and danger,
Either of which you can no longer promise.
Tell a woman you love her in Italian,
Ti amo più respiro, I love you more than breath,
And her ******* will disappear,
She won’t be able to take her eyes off your lips,
And as we all know, your mouth is your hook,
Your irresistible smile, the pout, the persuasion.
You are a poet, a miracle I know,
Your words are narcotic when you put your mind to it,
I’ve heard you quell an unruly crowd;
Your resonant tone could soothe a pack of ravenous jackals.
But with that intricate face of yours,
Your accumulating age, the leather wrinkles,
Believe me, you will soon need to help to ****** even a photograph.
Enlist, become Italian, Carla told me, it is your only hope,
And she tossed the last of her wine onto the sand,
Watched the red stain saturate and fade,
And lay back to face the sun.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
I stood in line
to be weighed
in the bathroom
of the nursing home
Anne crutched herself
behind me
you haven't
got a chance in hell
of winning
that chocolate bar Kid
she said
I've seen more meat
on a butcher's pencil
stuck behind his ear
might win
I said
might fly
she said
the kid in front of me
got on
the green metal scales
and the nun
moved the weight
along the top
not you Malcolm
she said
the kid got off sulkily
I got on the scales
and the nun
moved the weight
I looked at her
black and white
headdress
her pinched features
not you Benny
she said
I got off
and walked away
Anne awkwardly
got on the scales
holding herself
on her one leg
the stump
of the other
hanging there
best so far Anne
the nun said
told you Kid
you didn't
have a chance
guess not
I said
as she crutched herself
along side of me
not to worry
if I get the choco bar
I’ll give you
a quarter for being
a good friend
no other
in this **** hole
gets a look in
we went along
to our rooms
come in Kid
she said
I hesitated
come in
I want to
ask you something
I stood swaying
uncertain
what if
one of the nuns
comes along?
what if I don't give you
quarter of the choc bar?
she said
I followed her in
to the girls dorm
no one else
was there
just she and me
she closed the door
with her backside
right Kid
I want you
to do me
a favour
favour?
I said
sensing uncertainty
hit my gut
yes I want you
to sneak along
to the kitchen tonight
and liberate
some biscuits
liberate?
I said
biscuits?
yes you know
what biscuits are
don't you
those hard things
with cream in the middle
or chocolate
on one side
I know what biscuits are
I said
but what do you mean
liberate?
take some
from the big tin
they have
on the shelf
in larder
take?
I said
you mean steal?
steal
take
liberate
whatever word
you want
to use Kid
what if I get caught?
don't get caught
but what if I do?
Anne sighed
sat on the edge
of her bed
I thought you
were someone
I could rely on Kid
not some cowardly custard
yellow belly
I looked
at her leg stump
sticking out
the other leg
reached to the floor
if you're really good
I’ll let you touch
my stump
she said
no need
I said
I'll try tonight
sneak down
after lights out
good Kid
she said
she took my right hand
and lay it
on the stump
and held it there
it felt warm
and soft
she let my hand go
good huh?
wish the rest
was there
she said
off you go
and don't get caught
I nodded
and backed out
of the room
seeing her cover
the stump
with her dress
and smile
see you
I said
you bet
she said
I walked away
thinking
of the big steal
of biscuits
unthought through
by my 10 year old brain
as yet.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Let me know the sweetness of the canopy. The gentle cygnet garden you express in rows. I drift upon the aching embers of the bark of midnight's supper, its kingdom of darkness that I lay upon. Suspended in the air, rocking steadily on a distant plateau, tilling the granules of the earth in my map-lined hands; I pinch the rocks and sand kernels naming places as I snap my fingers. I go to the top of the city I know, a small yellow house in a crowd of tall aspens- and the Catholic church sends me soda and small biscuits, and the Hebrews help me be a better man.
I go to a place which has very small rooms. My legs are like a giant world-sized forklifts that carry the heirlooms of my parents in and out of this universe into another. I make a stride to catch a glimpse of you in passing. I tilt my eyes. I hope that I can see how beautiful you are, once more, if only I lift my head towards the way in which I know you, or the way in which I once had.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC