Shades of bitter and brittle
Frozen through
In deepening shades of blue
Where away from the powder you see very little
Then at once the melting of frustration
Getting ready for the allium invasion

The pale minty expanse
As blades are sprung
In what has begun
The rays and the petals slowly dance
Then comes the warming of inspiration
Getting ready for the allium invasion

The lavender and lilac beckons
As star stained skies spin
To the blossoming world we are in
Mornings first rays will reckon
Then the joyous of infestations
The dandelions are tourists watching the allium invasion

The cold flames shall fall
Upon once green lands
Soon to be choked by winter’s strong hands
Then we can fondly recall
How we long for the perennial celebration
Dreaming of the next allium invasion.

Adoring you is uncomplicated. The way in which, refreshment comes with your ravishment is treasured spectacle, and though your fans are many, this one broods. Pining for glimpses into your tortured terrine, stories of unplumbed eternity, depths of you, titillate. How more curious you become as onion peels, layers on layers. A sweet onion I might add. Yet still, one that brings tears. Tears, joyous tears, cliche of cliche, reconcile charm with burden of unknowing how an allium could come into a world, stinking, but make gourmet a dish.

If I could be the perfect me
I’d be a perfect poet.
My hair would be long and blue
And I wouldn’t need anyone. Not even you.
I’d be a little too skinny
With long, lanky legs.
And freckles. Oh, the freckles i’d have
If I was a perfect me.
My eyes would resemble spring
Clean cut grass.
Eye lashes like the stem of an Allium
And shoulders like a mountain;
cut and pale.
I wouldn’t have you in my veins
And nothing would mean anything.
I wouldn’t need your permission to breathe

Or to just be me.

*(r.e.)

i've a plundering urge
to whom it is absurd,
                     the black teeth
                     the blood scribes
                     the woe, the whither,
                                               the word
i felt seen   from afar
telescoped warmth  cups my right shoulder
and i expand from shrivel   in your forgiving light
are you my soilmate ?

for you i prepare scents   beading from my most sweaty regions
       a moist sporing    emits in nifty allium spritzes
i stammer to a standing position
                          and exercise my full height

sporting,
           i swing and tap an annihilated aluminum bat
              sounding out my specific code of fidelations
                   resonation through the ground
                     and suddenly you are near
                    receiving the humming
                  up the souls of your doughy bare feet
                         you shiver

i prance wildly and perfect kilter in my hips
i offer to preen you
i present you with a pyramid of spittle balloons
i **** myself a little
i sink my teeth into your side    (it's not 'your jam'
    but we recover the mood)
i give chase to you for you to be chased
and it's a wild kind of keen fun
         and you are a madcap display of laughter and wide smiles
and   within     i feel a gordian nest  
         of some lust manoeuvre 
(maybe we can copulate face-to-face ?)

pondering scars     wounds that were much deserved
the white meat    the bright stars    delivered

who is rude to the rule       of what is ours ?  
i knew you
magnesium burn    and unwholesomely dauntless
  bold   your portfolio always within an easy reach
your passionate simmering might    you branded my eye
and now we're similar    mites in a feather
simian partners surveying territory needs

and then you’re gone again
        vanished

       and we are distant minds that strike the hour together
                                like before
between our signals I am met with cross chatter
my hemispheres bicker
and retorting memories barrage
        refunding the past
    and taking you away from me

i am a mating dunce once more
             i shrivel

so you do know what leeks are of the same genus (root)
                as an onion? odd, isn't it:
they're like over-sized spring-onions -
                                              but **** me: so appetising.

beyond that? sparrows, or i just call them jitters,
because are, jerky *******...
                they fly for a bit, and then fall, then flap there wings
some more...
             no wonder the germans took the crow as
their emblem... the consistency with which crows fly:
          rigid, mercedes-benz rigid.... the suffix benz being
of course relatable to benzine:
                                 it's stating the too ****** obvious,
you could also have: volkswagen-benz...
                     but you go: so, what?! the people need
  to tow... oh right! i get it now... people on wheels, wagons...
which brings me to the joke of folklore...
      the acronym b.m.w.          what do you think
some people equate that as?  hmm?    black man's wagon.
back sparrows...
                   tiny cute jitters, fidgety little buggers,
can fly like crows, can fly like pigeons...
         but can they walk like either? nope...
   they must be some obscure cousins of kangaroos...
              they just hop... and their general body movement
is, really akin to the insect quick-snap of motion.
        anyway, the title in question, last night i had the most,
i guess, "ingenious" idea?
                      it really was a recipe for disaster, i really wonder
how it would go down with a sober person,
as an adamant drinker, i thought it tasted pretty good...
   i just don't remember whether i used raw leeks or
ones that were poached for a while to reveal the sweet:
                while discarding the allium akin to garlic / onion -
the harshness i mean; so...

       leek
              plum sauce
                 chicken
                              snow peas (mangetout)
              crème fraîche

                                                                  and for the rice?

   a pinch of cinnamon
                         a pinch of kashmiri chili powder
      (which, by the way, is much milder than traditional chili powder)
      1/2 tsp turmeric (poor man's saffron)

             well... perhaps some coriander to boot as a garnish.

thing is... i have absolutely no idea how this conception would
taste like sober...         but it really did, taste ****** good drunk.

and why would i on earth write something like this?
   a memory of a flatmate at edinburgh university,
a really gay oddity... the poor ****** cooked himself
     spaghetti and "garnished" it with salt... and that was it...
wouldn't you feel ****** sorry for someone who just ate
    spaghetti with salt sprinkled over it? because he forgot to
   put salt into the *** so the spaghetti could soak it up,
   and then at least added as little, as basil pesto with some
                                                         parmigiano-reggiano?

It is pungent, adds flavour,
it is a disinfectant, it heals.

Allicin Wonderdrug will
cure Coronavirus but this
is not common knowledge.

from Latin allium ‘garlic’ + -in1.

did you spot the comma error
or were you busy yesterday with
work and snow?

our storm is passed, the house
stopped creaking, the curtains
still

a while

we are making changes, only
slight
yet each thing makes a difference

as you know

did my voice startle you as it does
me sometimes

the garden debris is cleared so

when it is warmer and now the
******* bags are empty i shall
continue
fiddling

i bought some yellow allium
yesterday

James

i like it when you talk of flowers
at the edge