#vegetables
My father says
the peppers need more sun.
This is somehow
about my mother.
The balcony smelled like soil and cigarettes.
He kept looking at the plants
instead of me.
Men from our part of the world
treat eye contact
like a border crossing.
Later, at home,
I cut red peppers slowly
for a salad I wasn’t hungry for.
Outside, rain.
Of course.
Everything important in my family
eventually becomes weather.
I suddenly remembered my mother
standing barefoot in the kitchen
telling me not to refrigerate tomatoes.
As if love could survive
through small correct instructions.
The knife,
the cutting board,
the quiet apartment.
I understood my father completely then.
Not verbally.
Worse.
May 3
May 3, 2026 at 7:44 AM UTC
A vegetable sufficiently boiled
And buttered and salted and oiled
Can taste just like meat
Off a parakeet
Or platypus flambéed then broiled.
Apr 11, 2024
Apr 11, 2024 at 2:50 PM UTC
“I write blurt by blurt, edit once, then post and send it out like a puppy”
that is learning to walk, impossible to walk straightly,
thank gawd for walls and laundry baskets and single sneakers
that obstacle us into trouble, opportunities always a near
but never fatal crashing,
and our whisking swishing tail is an ever
countervailing, counterbalancing
waving gesture of
“oops,
there we one goes from nearly, nearer, almost another
nearest disaster
*that is the style of substance of how I write
headlong smashing, bouncing off walls,
regrouping spindly words into a balletic
clown show,
startling off in a new and unforeseen direction,
scrambling energy like three sunny side up eggs,
whistling and crackling and popping,
god, this writing stuff is **** tiring,
so much easier to respose,
chew there upon,
selectfully taste and spit~select
a single word,
picking the appropriate apropos,
taking a nap in between,
then
recommencing
blurting
blurts
of escapading words
that tumble out,
falling all around,
requiring reassembly like
an impossible-to-put-together
new toy,
anyway,
here for you to play with
for your sensory pleasure
is my latest greatest
blurt,
which rhymes with
dessert,
which I will imbibe
after eating all my*
vegetables.
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 4:47 PM UTC
The shadow of a man shivers
As Time clasps its withering hand,
Becoming the shadow of a denizen land,
Knocking on Death's door,
Between the separate strands.
Resurrection abundance;
Find us in the shadow lands,
Among the writhing smokestacks
And the vegetable sand.
Dec 22, 2023
Dec 22, 2023 at 7:32 PM UTC
my freezer is full
of vegetables and meat
i wonder what to eat
Mar 30, 2022
Mar 30, 2022 at 9:59 PM UTC
The colour pops.
I love the contrast with the dark flecks
and the extended black seams.
The drape of the paler tails adds
to the sense of elongated stature.
And the weight feels just right in my hand.
Let's see if the next carrot is just as good.
Sep 29, 2021
Sep 29, 2021 at 4:21 AM UTC
The lake is little different
chlorella puts a green coat on her
when the wind comes
thick ripples appear
remnants of lotus and withered reeds
some pierce up the sky
some bow to the water
the branches of willow on the shore
still they keep the same demeanor
they like touching the tip of your nose
sometimes you bump into their arms
little surprises await in the cold
of wind and drizzle
you walk slowly on the periphery
in the fine rain of the morning
vivid knotweed guarding the mound
lettuce offers four-petal florets
radish flowers are not in full bloom yet
though the rain of last night
is still hanging around the corner of your eye
the lively vegetable farm by
the lake doesn't lie
little cabbages aren't afraid
when we lean forward we see
it is a fun-sized garden.
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 8:19 AM UTC
Brown Brown brown
A majestic salute
Of this **** on bone
Into my mouth
Irreverent despise
This effigious moment
Of makes my surmise
Of this meat from this plate
Surety tu sate
It's Satan's will
In deep do I swill
Of all the kingdom's fawn
Fauna's adorn
Adorn ornate
From the midth of my plate
Into my bellies belie
Belittle my sweet tooth
From tooth suit sooth
The feel of my carnivorous desire
And it's encroach
To ****** from the animal kingdom
A bane or benign male
Or of femality
A skinned creature or scaled
Once skinned then scaled
To the nth of my teeth
From it's evolutionary course
To my 'mmms' whence eat
"I farm therefore I am"
My requite
My requiem
It's internment within my duodenum
If we as homosapien
We're a little lower
Of the evolutionary ladder
A little closer
To the whipchuk and adder
Perhaps this incongruity
Would seem of insurmount
That we would not take from the platter
Of that skitter skatter
Of paws and of hoof
Of feather and of scale
For it not our right
To interrupt the plight
Of species cultural agare
And of universal development
Of ******** disposition
And it's extant
Perhaps we'd be more likely
To drop a tear
Than a longe long of langue
A salivating spittle
Like the whistle and the sizzle
Of that press upon the plate
Of heated black iron
The steam and the vapour
Testament to the savour
To the saviour of the meal
As any connoisseur can tell you
Unless they alien to meat
The saviour of the meal
That muscular tender form
That reared from the twinkle
To the wink
The seed met it's drink
The phoetus
To the expressed
******** delight
This formling's fledgling plight
As it's eyes burn to new light
Of its heart and marrow and sinew
All fodder to our ensue
Of it's marriage to this world
Now married to our plate
Its existence to sate
Our sensory intuition
And if questioned
The lesser the tuition
Of salt and fat to the sate
Of blood and metal to the taste
Of bone and cartilage the waste
Unless hungry enough to chew
And **** it's marrow clean
And this meal
As if adieou
Of all memory
Of that beast's sense
Of this reality
And this brown brown brown
The king and capital of plate
And our position upon the evolutionary ladder
A little less seemingly madder
Of this culture of interrupting culture
For the satisfaction of our tongue
And of this insanity
Most seemingly insane
Shall affirm of our humane
As our cultural attest
To the other species detest
That the brown brown brown
Be a salute
From fork to mute
Of our common humanity
For whose going to stop us
The birds or the bees
And this brown brown brown
Be the flag of the humanity we wear
From infamy of mind
To the pork and the pear
Laid bare
Upon our shirt or lapel
Surely if we are to grapple
With ideas of genocide's justification
It's after picking the brown fibre
Of a pig's won't to pork
Upon your new shirt
With a clean silver fork
Or after dessert
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 5:19 AM UTC
I'm eating kale to slim my waist
Lord knows it's not because of taste
It took some while to appreciate
The leafy green I love to hate
The fibrous queen of super foods
Can satisfy nutrition prudes,
And comes in leafy shapes galore:
Curly, Tuscan, dinosaur
For variation I can gnaw
This crucifer sautéed or raw,
Just as is, or baked as chips,
A smoothie blend to please my lips
But having said all that, I'll add
Too much of anything is bad,
And I've been craving, as of late,
A change of greens to grace my plate
I now peruse the produce aisle
To find the foods that make me smile
It's time to choose my next big thing
Like watercress or collards green
I'll greet my new nutrition trend
And say goodbye to you, old friend
Kale, we've had a lovely run,
But now my time with you is done.
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 4:16 PM UTC
my freezer is full
of vegetables and meat
I wonder what to eat
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 4:11 AM UTC
On the first day when I lost my mind to the cosmos.
I found myself in the body of a pig. With other happy fat hairy pigs around me.
Being naked felt natural. I did not feel the need to clothe myself.
I layed in the mud all day long, letting it harden on my skin; god did it feel good, like a spa treatment except I didn't need to pay a penny. I would come out of my mud hole during meal time, when food was dumped into the feeder. I did not care what it was, hell, it didn't smell that good, but I ate it all up anyway. It could have been **** for all I know. I was content with this simple life, until the farmer threw a rope around my neck, pulling me into a freaky looking house with sharp objects hanging from the ceiling.
He tied me to a pole, making me feel nice a comfortable, treating me like a family member, only then to shoot me by surprise. To him I was just a big fat sack of meat.
I awoke from my life as a pig and found myself sitting on a couch. I was drenched in sweat, mouth gaping like an open ******* from what I saw.
My friend tried to talk to me, but I did not understand nor know how to speak the language of humans anymore. All I could do was squeal and oink.
I stripped naked, got down on all fours and started rolling around in the garden's soil just outside my house.
I ate the flowers that stemmed out of the soil, as well as the weeds growing around them.
The neighbors reported me for public ****** so I was sent to a mental institute, where I was taught how to speak like a human again and act like one too.
I gained a new perspective that day.
I vowed to all the animals that I would never eat them again,
and begun my journey into only eating plant based foods.
Vegan food makes my poo hard!
It is so good for me!
This is the benefit of living a plant based life.
If only you wanted your poo to be hard too.
On the second day when I lost my mind to the cosmos.
I was a carrot, and I had a family of carrots.
We were all buried underground, we never saw eachother, but we felt eachother, they were all around me.
I didn't need to breathe, I didn't need to move, I just needed to sit there, absorbing the solar rays that shone upon my green leaves protruding from the earth's crust. All I saw was darkness, but all I felt was warmth. I spent a thousand happy years as a carrot, but that changed when the havesters came.
They plucked us from our homes, tore us from our families and siezed the children!
They then proceeded to chop us up into bite sized pieces and boiled us in sizziling hot water, causing our skins to peal. We would then be served to the hungry mouths of the harvester’s wife and children, crying out for mercy, but our pleas were not heard, for they only heard with their ears, not with their feelings, like us carrots.
I awoke and found myself sitting on the couch again. Suddenly I was choking. I put my hands around my neck. I had forgotten how to breathe. Spending a thousand years as a carrot would do that to you, because you don't need to breathe as a carrot. My friend rushed into the room, and showed me how to breathe again, showing me how to **** in and blow out, which I did.
I had also forgotten how to talk, and needed to go to school once again to learn, because apparently talking with feelings is not a language.
I gained a new perspective that day,
I pledged to all my carrot brethern that I would never eat another vegetable again.
From now on I would stave myself so I could return to the earth,
feeding all the plants and animals.
My body is their salvation.
By cutting that carrot you are cutting yourself.
By eating that pig you are eating yourself.
You may not look the same,
but what you all feel is the same.
---
To you this is ****** but to me this is salvation.
In order to survive, I must feed.
The life that is strongest feeds on the weakest to survive, it is how we stay alive.
Nobody says a snake is a murderer when it swallows up a mouse.
Nobody says a venus fly trap is a murderer when it devourers a fly.
So why am I labelled a murderer when I eat meat and plant life?
Life needs to eat life,
It is how we stay alive.
Life needs to eat life,
It is how we survive.
---
I passed through the knot in the infinite line of things. I passed through the biological mapping of the knot, escaping my limitations, becoming limitless.
It was here where I saw myself in the carrot and in the pig. I saw myself in everything, and I saw everything in myself.
Apr 17, 2019
Apr 17, 2019 at 6:33 PM UTC
My family What's app group
Is homemade soup.
It keeps me calm,
Soothes me like a balm,
Reduces tension of the day,
Appeases my appetite for what is happening in some way.
Family relationship is savoury broth,
Holds a strong bond and growth.
Photos and videos,
Not to forget audios,
Are seasonings which enhance the taste,
Just some, only the best.
Gossips,jokes and sayings need time to simmer,
To reach full flavour.
Family moans and groans,
Are birthdays, death,sickness and new borns,
Raining with condolences and wishes,
Tangy, no preservatives.
Family members are garnish,
Quite a relish,
With active members as crusty croutons,
That promote sociability and traditions.
Passive members are fresh herbs,
Rarely a comment,only few words,
But,are there to bring out the lovely aroma.
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 3:29 PM UTC
have you ever thought about
how great the fruits and veggies are?
they sacrifice their soul and body
so their seeds can be carried over the earth.
they let the animals mutilate them,
and bear unbearable pain.
in their mind is only their offspring
that will one day grow up healthy.
they let their children enter an animal's stomach,
at the risk of being digested.
but only through this harshness they know
can their seeds learn the world's cruelty.
oh praise the fruits! oh praise the veggies,
for they are the greatest parents,
their tough love and their sacrifices
made me wish mine were vegetables too.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
Kale greens. Beets grow fat and wine-dark.
Carrots spin sun into fibrous orange.
Someone carried soil up these stairs.
Onions open long fingers into the morning fog.
Small herbs and winter squash keep quiet company
here on the rooftop while sirens pass below.
In the afternoon one or two leave their e-mail
and ascend to this improbable place.
“Put your hands into the dirt,” a doctor advised,
and you’ll feel better.” There is a time to plant
and a time to reap. A time when nature, nearly
spent, needs tending in small places.
Boat-weary immigrants lay bok choy along
the sidewalk’s edge. Geraniums bloom
in window boxes. Here and there
insistent chilis dangle on a bush in a half-
barrel. A rooftop is world enough for now.
You don’t need forty acres or a mule.
A few square yards, drip line, a couple
of spades and willing hands suffice.
The rest is blessing.
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 11:21 AM UTC
This cabbage,
Just an average roundness,
When turning greener then the savage forests,
Ruined my marriage at this early stage.
And now it's in a beige paper bag.
This peach,
My lover of all trinkets,
Became a gluten-tree fork,
With its ***** like a beach ball,
Came to me in a dream-like trance.
This onion,
The only window to my decomposing soul,
Unraveled its layers of tears to me in all
It's subtlety. It jumped on a subway train
Looking for fresher markets of prosperity.
Desperately, still.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
Small and full of taste
Something I advise that you not waste
They come in many colours
Green, red, black, brown, white, yellow
There's a type for any guy or fellow
Some taste better and some are better for you
Some are bigger and some are small
Genetics is not fair after all
It isn't about making them all the same
But to appreciate each as they came
Mix with vegetables or eat them plain
Just savour them at a pace that is slow
Because they take a while to grow
Don't ya know
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 3:56 AM UTC
They talk, don't listen
Don't listen, for what they say isn't true
Their heartlessness can't break us
It's not your fault
They don't see
What I see in you
Set petty judgments aside
Your value is insurpassable,
Undeniable.
Your tenderness against my tongue
Tender, but never too sweet,
Almost bitter.
No sugar coated lies
Just fresh and raw.
Honest and genuine,
You provide what I need.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
We know you, and your little dark colors too. A picture book in your purse penned in mustaches on the full faces of your fare. We call you from bed, 8 o' clock in the morning, dog-light you slow wander the Peruvian darkness making jellyfish tentacles with your hands while you feel your way through Salem. We're colder than night and we wake thrice the bits of your day gig. You collapse in a green field of dandelion where thrushes drown you in Brown. We gorge ourselves on mango slivers, pineapple yolks, a half of grapefruit. We know you are close to your end.
On the tops of the cities you call to your lycan friends, the half-sick and muted bray allures them to you, from Bratislava and Mimon, the thoroughfare through the suq. We wait. The foregone untold, the beep beep jug jug swoop sound of the nightingale, in all her dun glory, we wait. Then, as if descending through the moor-lounging silver smoke, the cool stickiness to your fingertips; the fog.
We are there when the blue-less and smoky screen surrounds you, when you shank the auburn Scot hair of the sly fox that stalks, say, a cigarette from your lips. When you take the corners swiftly, gadding the streets. The prize king of vulpicide. You rub its matte fur against your bristly gray beard. And while you lay in your lumps of twelve carat flesh you bleat and you nag. One day you will never come home.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
He weeps his heart, and hangs his head,
He doubles back, and follows her back to bed,
She says, " Some homes are towns and lives, while others wear their homes inside." And he keeps up though he's kept out, the volatile, the sudden frown.
She makes up the cupcakes but they're never vegan are they? No they're never vegan are they?
He makes a gift, and wrings his thumbs, the bubble bath, the tepid tub,
Outside where the rains have gone long, something gives him something strong,
And he picks up where he had left off, the trouble is he doesn't know when to back off, and the cupcakes aren't vegan, sweet and such spectacular, but they really aren't eaten, now that they've been made with eggs. No the cupcakes aren't vegan, though they are quite delicious. And he loves her forever, though he never eats again. No he never eats again. No he never eats again.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC