"asparagus" poems
spring planting, spring harvesting, spring garlic
One of the great joys of having a job in agriculture
is to think days, weeks, even months ahead,
One of the great joys of having a job in poetry,
like a fireman, a patient planter of love,
you wait to be called,
then becoming by being,
part of an all consuming burning
come spring, take advantage of the cool, wet weather of spring
to put in multiple crops of peas and lettuce, also a great time
to get your perennial vegetables,
like asparagus and rhubarb, started
the planting cycle is not an either/or,
come harvest thy labored fruits,
nine crops to harvest come March,
kale, pick leaves as needed,
leeks, best left in the ground
and harvested as needed,
parsnips, purple sprouting broccoli,
rhubarb, spring cabbage, spring cauliflower,
and of course, my personal fav,
Spring Garlic
Garlic, like like love, is generally planted in the fall,
before the frost and harvested the following late summer.
But from March to May,
once the ground has truly thawed,
the young lover plants, spring garlic or green garlic,
can be harvested.
it’s a long bus ride to Western Canada
where the garlic spring has come,
ain’t complaining lots of time to write foolishness
and plant a few good bus poems in northern ontario
and even michigan,
the window slides, and the seeds scattered,
but at every bus poet stop,
those that need it,
planted many inches deep
April 2 naught how I wish I was nineteen again
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC
your hair appears darker
when wet.
black, corded,
thick as puzzlegrass.
a companion in contrast
to frosted
cupcake blue eyes and
incense burning
in the ashtray.
memories thrown
in the laundry pile
with the wet towel
swirling upon
your head.
your smile
bitter as asparagus,
staining my *****
for the next two days.
your frame
soft and slender
as balsa wood.
I’d eat your air
freshly oxygenated
and bend you into
an arc.
the waves would split
on your bow
and shower my face
wet
dark
corded
thick as puzzlegrass.
then
from your finger
the standard of a
dove leaving
olive branch in
mouth
into the frosted
cupcake blue
sky.
a miracle in
the eye of the
waning storm.
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 2:38 PM UTC
Five minute street artists
and insomnia mongers.
****** drunk blondes
and finger snapping phat booties.
Street geniuses
bred by Machiavellian philosophies
cypher dreams over tokes
of marijuana smoke.
Color worshipping narcotic traffickers,
and bread winners
parole corners
sporting fitted caps and twisting fingers.
Senile war veterans
beg for change in cardboard boxes
from the American dreams
they afforded.
Hard workers with every ethnicity
molded into each pore of their face,
rub shoulders with tourists at traffic stops
barely escaping tires crushing their feet.
Sartorial geniuses with no pants
switch hips in knock-off stellos heels,
selling the origin of the world on avenues
next to Arab Halal food.
Cooperate ties and blue collars chafe ***** on subways.
nodding in and out of Daily News articles
while oxygen blessed by asparagus ****
pump through their noses.
Summa *** laude number runners dictate economies
From sky-crapper offices,
And powered rain swallows their concrete each winter,
With no apologies.
Jun 2, 2011
Jun 2, 2011 at 11:01 PM UTC
There's spring and there's summer, there's all that's in between
no listless skies of anodyne; now nature flaunts and preens
What beauty fills the hungry eye 'neath a sky of blue, serene
verdant vales soaked in sun, awash in palettes of green
There are pastels that awaken and deep shades that passion brews
created hues that trickle...sprinkled with 'chartreuse'
There's the green of 'asparagus' and that of 'artichokes'
Of 'forest', 'ferns' , of 'moss', a brush of different strokes
Fragrant plants of 'mint', then 'myrtle' and 'green tea'
'Emerald', 'jade' or 'harlequin' and 'malachites' that be
Off creamy shells, just 'pistachio', 'green apples', then of 'pines'
It lies too in 'sap' and 'teal', in 'avocados' and tangy 'lime'
There's green of the 'mantis', in 'jungle', 'hunters' and 'shamrock'
The lithe 'parakeet' fluttering and the lazy sanguine 'croc'
In blessed 'basil', ' pickle', in 'pear', 'olives' in 'bottle green'
'Gourds' and 'peas' that farmers grow in cultivars pristine
'Tis there in 'aqua' and 'seaweed', in the ripple of 'sea green' waves
In 'turtles', 'sea foam', 'anemone' and a 'tropical glistening lake'
From 'laurel green' to an 'army green' , in 'sage' ( a shade of grey )
The color of 'grass' , the murky 'swamp' , hues in array
There's 'neon' and an 'Indian green', a 'Persian' one to mystify
A 'midnight green' to bright 'fluorescent', oh, for green rainbows in the eye
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
Get a big **** of butter
throw it in the pan
get your Asparagus out
cut them fresh, not from a can
Simmer them gently
use a little pepper
the more seasoning
makes it taste much better
Then put it on a plate
just for you and me
and see's who's first
to run to the bathroom for a ***
I watch from across the table
is that a tear in your eye
or is it a Asparagus stick
between your thighs
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC
In the garden, a soft-bodied plant thrives,
through sun, wind and rain, it survives,
among asparagus ferns, it proudly lives,
contrasting its purple triangular leaves
against greens...its lightest of pink blossoms
waltz with the wind, in their fragile freedom,
almost white to blurry eyes
wavering...but, they never hide
raised high above the grass
like ladies proudly poised, with so much class...
a small white butterfly suddenly blends in,
deceivingly perched upon the pinks
but the sound of the camera's clicking
sends it immediately fleeing...
to and fro, the blossoms are swaying
reeling from the wind....wailing
over the sudden flight of their lover
waiting, for a new winged creature
on their purple bodies, to perch, to hover
alas,
....life is short...........never fair...
....and so are some...love affairs....
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 15, 2019
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
A satisfied appetite is a simply joy
Overlooked and simplified
Like a growing urge, a salivating need
That is entrancing and glorified.
Everlasting for moments we call meals
Forgotten in time, lingering above
But the taste, the lonesome lover pushed aside
Gazes afar and near wanting to be enjoyed again
The young lady with a tongue of raspberry delight
And the matured widow with darkened cacao lips
Ripening nectar of a sliced peach center
Halved and topped with mascarpone crème
The man with a skin of caramel glaze
Caressing and savoring
With a fragrance and scent
Of hazelnut coffee indulgence and sin
In the pursuit of a brief love affair
What oral sensation did my taste buds want?
My odyssey of gustatory endeavors await
Through the seas of lined people and waiting staff
Generous portions and humble pies
Decadent desserts so rich you’ll die
Vine cherry tomatoes sliced and sauté
Over al dente rigatoni in a roasted cashew sauce
A robust aroma and savory appeal
Basil leaves with garlic strips
Olive oil to top the surreal
Hubristic meatball aborigine
Elysian cuisine or many dreams
Teasing the senses, warming the pit
Of flowing pleasures
And tingling fingertips
Without moral measures
And succulent wines
Rotisserie lamb falling of the bone
Seasoned with Sicilian herbs
And paired with broiled asparagus
Drizzled with lemon juice
And a glass of Merlot
Spices I hardly know
Lachrymose apologies beside a bottle of faded sorrows
With love there is pain, passion endured through the names
Thin soups, flavorless and dull, feeding street-thrown bums
Breathing hard against the delicatessen glass
Hickory smoked hams, pepper-seasoned pastrami
Vinegar cultured pickles and hard dried salami
Unpleasured, without measure, at one's leisure.
Forever my endeavor
Blackcurrant tea laced with slivers of gooping honey
Layers of cinnamon hair atop olive skin
red-painted doors with cedar trim
crushed almonds mixed with hazelnut butter cream spread
devilish rounds of crumbling rum-swirl bread
Smells and wonders, tastes so ...
oh god
Divine and sublime.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
I'm Spartacus
Well I'm asparagus according to predictive text
The leader of the Christian slaves a vegetable?
Don't you love technology
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
artful creations
colors, charcoals
paints
stone and clay
wood and paper
bringing life
from
lifeless
form
from
formless
can the artist choose?
~~~
garden creations
shades of green
jade
artichoke
asparagus
fern, forest
and
jungle
mint, moss
and
pine
shamrock
tea, olive
mixed
with
a multitude
of blooming
hues
can the gardener decide on one?
~~~
kitchen creations
sweets and treats
savories and piquants
cakes and pies
meats, stews
casseroles
butter, garlic
lemon
rosemary
and
thyme
parsley
and
saffron
onions caramelized
to sweet
peppercorns
and
cardamon
tamarind, turmeric
nutmeg
combined in
precision
joy and
love
can the chef say which is best?
~~~
and thus
I challenge any poet
can you choose your favorite "child"?
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 5:56 PM UTC
Leave if You Can II
I live in the house of poetry.
I ascend her stairs slowly
and leap back down.
I sit in the chair of poetry,
sleep in her bed, eat from her plate.
Poetry has windows
through which mornings and afternoons
fall, and how well she suspends a teardrop
how well she blows until I tumble / With this
I mean to say that
one basket brings
both wounds and bandages.
I love poetry so much that sometimes I think
I don’t love her / She looks at me,
inclines her head and keeps knitting
poetry.
As always, I’ll be the bigger person.
But how to say it / How to tell her
I want to leave / honestly I want to
fry my asparagus…
I see her coming near
with her bottle of oil
and crazed skillet.
I see her,
her little bundle of asparagus
slipping out her sleeve.
Ah her freshness / her chaotic glint
and the way she approaches with relentless meter.
I surrender / I surrender always because I live
in the house of poetry / because I ascend
the stairs of poetry
and also because
I come back down.
— Translated by Lisa Allen Ortiz & Sara Daniele Rivera
Jun 10, 2023
Jun 10, 2023 at 9:02 AM UTC
I sip my beer, the relief of foam
the last remnant of civilisation
like a porcupine shawl
alcohol is the spine slice
beneath the skin
welcoming me in.
Electric lights shining bright
eels wriggling in a pool of light
like Frankenstein reborn
the monster within
the feathers of a passing dove give flight.
Sometimes I feel like grilled asparagus
the breathlessness of sentiments
wrapped in tin foil
the coil of perfection at gas mark 7.
Sitting in my bathtub and a 3 piece suit
electric toaster bubble and squeak
and fidgety machete at the ready
the voice in my head says, 'hey man, steady!'
the institute transmutes its underplay
I opt to not execute on this occasion
instead soak up the libation of liberation.
Safe in the knowledge;
tomorrow is another day.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
hetero aliens
is there god in asparagus
is there god in a stump
we build bridges and
world
wide webs, spider webs?
dolphins can love too.
Mar 28, 2011
Mar 28, 2011 at 6:40 PM UTC
As I walk down the road all I see
are Asparagus lanes and Asparagus trees
what is this thing about Asparagus and me
when will these stalks of green set me free
I see Asparagus in the morning
I dream of Asparagus at night
I eat it till it comes out of my ears
with a belly so very tight
My best friend just knocked for me
and blow me do a Asparagus I see
oh pity me
and my Asparagus plea
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
There once was a fight on my plate
In front of my face while I ate
The Broccoli on the left picked up its Spear
And stabbed the Corn on the right, right in the Ear
The Avocado Artichoked the Zucchini
Before the Pepper rang the Bell on that meanie
The Onion went to Bed on the Lettuce and cried
Afraid that the Beets on the side were all Red cause they died
The Okra came in and slimed the whole affair
While the Yams slammed and Squashed the Cauliflower
The Peas ended up with Black Eyes
Next to the Potatoes that were mashed up and fried
The Cabbage brought it all to a head
Which Steamed the Asparagus with all that was said
There once was a fight on my plate
In front of my face while I ate
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
I'm a hung dumpster! Alcohol flask bucket
Sacked into the trash can of grocery store monopoly the end of all produce and of production
Collapse
Coronary killer vegetables
Rotting in the stomach
Begotten sons of Aspergers eating asparagus
the symptoms of collectivism and social surplus. colliding and,
The end of evolve.
The cities you see are the collecting cells pooling to cesspit trudging on tracheing breath.
Collapsing lungs with no space left
The cornucopia is over. It fell down with its mortar and grout lain to crust into soil. Traipsed through toil torture and insolence.
The Crimea fell next comes bombs next comes Obamba. Capitulation with motor skills
Feigning docility and anti-hostility mortar round bills.
Mountains from Jerusalem cricket ant hills
I am your friend though we owe the same blood
I am no different yet I give nothing up
I claim all the land just as you do
You take and you take and I lose and lose
Corruption and solitude
Killing people only gets you less friends
We are mirror yet very mad at it
.
My time will be up only but once.
This is the one time I'm not scared of death
But the glimmer in her eyes laughs me through it.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
I have been letting people
dig in deep and take out
chunks of me for their
bookshelves for far too long
now. I cannot make
them stop. So I always
love more
I always love
I always
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
You see I didn't know
What an asparagus plant
Looked like
Until today
And the fact that you
Would understand
My horror
When faced with
That ignorance
Is one of the most
Liberating things
In the world
And even if
All the meaning
We derived
From the other night
Was drug enduced
And maybe mistaken
I still can't wait
To show you
That asparagus plant
And watch your eyes
As they watch me
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
I recite your scent to my every acquaintance
as if I have spent a lifetime living in fields of it, canopies of
you atop a jungle. Truly, it has only been a mass of airplane rides –
maybe two or three or four or five with one stop – that I
have sifted you through my candy-and-smoke air
and that makes my stomach turn over like soil and earth.
There is no distance and stretch in time that’ll give
me a stuffy nose: we have had bike-baskets filled to the brim with
tropical rainstorm waters, and we have never caught a cold.
Nothing’s bitten me hard enough
to uncurl my toes, swinging above you on monkey bars.
I smell your scalp although it is not visible, I have your shampoo
memorized by ingredient and chemical property
to play scientist when the park closes.
All I need are cinnamon roots long as asparagus. The
morning dew climbs the tree I am in, this is a room I can never
escape. This is you materialized – buds still in growth.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
Ooo how to describe the feeling
The feeling that I get
The feeling that I get
When I'm with you
We've been to the Garden of Eden
And seen God
Seen the snake that played Eve
And came back
With roses and flowers
Plants that smelled like blue berries, asparagus and mushrooms
That was our Ezekiel,
Better yet our Genesis
.
.
.
We’ve been to the coast were they still Harlem shake
Except they shake their whole bodies like if they caught seizures
We laughed at their moves
But skilled one had to be to shake like that
As if they had 100 grams of sugar in their system
They went at it for two or three, on what felt like days
We were almost left behind
How can we forget we almost missed that plane
Since we barely slept
.
.
.
Let's take a trip far from memory lane
One that can only be remembered by the pictures we take
I found this new place
Is supposed to be great
They say is the second best thing next to heaven and we both been near that
Is like one step forward and two step back
Let's take a trip
I promise it'll be first class
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
When the curtain draws closed on my mind
And leaves my body alone.
Think of the times we were together,
The times we talked on the phone.
———————————
Remember the times we would walk on the beach.
Hand in hand always in reach.
The moments we shared - together each day.
The love we shared in every way.
Though the hours get long that make up a day.
While you are sitting with me in your caring way.
Remember the times we would take a long walk.
We would get an ice cream, just sit and talk.
Remember. Remember for me.
——————————–
Remember the seasons of flowers in bloom.
We’d walk through the meadow, nature’s room.
We’d hunt down asparagus along a fence row.
Bring home a bunch and fix it just so.
Remember at Christmas the lights on the tree.
The gifts for the children from you and me.
The smells of the season that filled the air.
The laughter and joy of people who care.
Remember. Remember for me.
———————————–
Remember the moments our thoughts would blend.
No spoken word between us would send.
The thoughts of love and things to be.
Would cross the distance ‘tween you and me.
Tell me over and over again,
Of the things we use to do and when,
Times of laughter and times of fun
We had together, under the sun.
Remember. Remember for me.
—————————–
When the curtain draws closed on my mind.
And leaves my body alone.
Think of the times we were together,
The times we talked on the phone.
As yesterday’s memories caress your soul.
Close your eyes, imagine us whole.
Where some day we will be together again
Where memories won’t fade, we will again begin.
Remember. Remember for me.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 6:05 PM UTC
I don’t know what it would be like but a man can dream,
I want to go grocery shopping with Jeandar, you know like a team.
She could drive and I would ride,
Backseat buckled bags by my side.
Where do you want to go?
Natural Pantry? Fred Meyer? Costco?
Ok well we’re gonna go get some healthy food,
Now taste this codliver oil come on don’t be rude.
Here take this bottle of oregano,
It’ll make your skin glow, dontcha know?
Can you go get the milk,
and I mean soy and it better be silk.
I’ll be in the vegetable section,
checking some asparagus for defection.
We’re not gonna get bread here,
We’re going to great harvest for real stuff dear.
Before we go grab a thing of cashews,
oh yeah and some vitamin-D too.
Have you been taking your vitamins?
Hey call Ivory and ask if she wants some treats,
We can find her some healthy snacks to eats.
Have you eaten dinner yet?
a place at the table we can still set
Make sure you wash your hands now,
That’s something I won’t disallow.
Goodnight, drive safe, call me when you get there,
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 12:15 AM UTC
There's trouble growing in the garden
As the carrots make fun of those that are green
The potatoes are keeping their eyes out
Staring down those bleeding heart beets
Leaves of spinach are flexing their muscles
And of course the corn are all ears
Broccoli is green with envy
With the onions always in tears
The rhubarb has a thing for the strawberries
Can't seem to get along with anyone else
New to the winter garden which has the vegies talking
Not sure this frost will ever melt
The asparagus has been here forever
And the pole beans are always vaulting the fence
The lima's are out searching for the wisdom of the succotash
As the lettuce wonders where its head went
Yes there's trouble growing in the garden
Like we haven't all seen this before
The only time they get along is flash frozen and packaged
Chilling behind the grocer's freezer door
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 8:41 AM UTC
The other marjoram and the clothes
Are chimes inverted for her story,
What if we had chives, asparagus?
And what, asparagus, if we had chives?
Why did all that rain fall
All day in the grounds
And on the bird feeders,
And through the clearing?
The neatest patrons are back,
Their statue tortured by your autumn sweater.
Then there is the storm of receipts.
The salad bowel needs sanding, but not this
Fall. Scatter the remaining marjoram like dust.
Sweet peas from melancholy gardens
Sautéed over her faux tofu.
Fruit flies like a banana.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 11:36 PM UTC