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"butternut" poems
For any time the urge to wring an autumn gourd, this one's the thing Smashing pumpkins, not so nice but Butternut Squash, an honest vice Long and beige, hard and smooth you'd never guess it's power to sooth that underneath the toughest skin is meat like pumpkin, seeds within A steamy bisque for autumn's chill, peel and chop them as you will Dump them into four cups broth* add apple, pear, or applesauce a cup or two will do just fine and while you stand there, have some wine! sautee onions, a cup and a half dump them in and cry or laugh and now to add your seasoning stuff cumin, curry, nutmeg, Fluff hold the Fluff, that ain't the truth best to pull that old sweet tooth Bisque is savory, better than sweet warms the cockles, heart to feet save your sweets for pumpkin pie the after-apple of your eye Back to seasonings, see above a quarter teaspoon, more with love I add pepper and take a gander some folks call for coriander heat the whole thing to a boil for me, my crock pot's always loyal crock at high, about four hours or low for six, and bring some flowers! And now I'll play a little game change my words to mean the same if cook is butter and ****** is squash then butter dat ****** and ****** dat gnosh when you're hungry, under the wudder ain't nuttin' better 'en butternut chudder add some cream and squash your mash mash your squash and whip your pash I used a blender to make it creamy cooked it down, so thick and steamy add some butter, parsley's fine butternut bisque with bread and wine! Ahhhh!!!!! *chicken broth
0
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
igclair
Steaming Butternut Squash Soup or Bisque
For any time the urge to wring an autumn gourd, this one's the thing Smashing pumpkins, not so nice but Butternut Squash, an honest vice Long and beige, hard and smooth you'd never guess it's power to sooth that underneath the toughest skin is meat like pumpkin, seeds within A steamy bisque for autumn's chill, peel and chop them as you will Dump them into four cups broth* add apple, pear, or applesauce a cup or two will do just fine and while you stand there, have some wine! sautee onions, a cup and a half dump them in and cry or laugh and now to add your seasoning stuff cumin, curry, nutmeg, Fluff hold the Fluff, that ain't the truth best to pull that old sweet tooth Bisque is savory, better than sweet warms the cockles, heart to feet save your sweets for pumpkin pie the after-apple of your eye Back to seasonings, see above a quarter teaspoon, more with love I add pepper and take a gander some folks call for coriander heat the whole thing to a boil for me, my crock pot's always loyal crock at high, about four hours or low for six, and bring some flowers! And now I'll play a little game change my words to mean the same if cook is butter and ****** is squash then butter dat ****** and ****** dat gnosh when you're hungry, under the wudder ain't nuttin' better 'en butternut chudder add some cream and squash your mash mash your squash and whip your pash I used a blender to make it creamy cooked it down, so thick and steamy add some butter, parsley's fine butternut bisque with bread and wine! Ahhhh!!!!! *chicken broth
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46
I do not shriek at bedtime, when the bad cacciatore twitches in my belly, and the mushrooms knock a fearful tattoo at my throat. Instead, I glide through the vestibule of shadows that lies between the bedroom door and the mattress past the closet's maw - a crypt from which I have exhumed many a princess whose sweet caresses last only long enough to cuff my trust into terror; their butternut breath on my smooth cheek scratching valleys down which my tears may flow into my open mouth where the salt tingles on my tongue as I cloak my doom with the incantation of the innocent: "If I should die before I wake...."
0
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 7:49 AM UTC
ron-hurlbut
Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep
I do not shriek at bedtime, when the bad cacciatore twitches in my belly, and the mushrooms knock a fearful tattoo at my throat. Instead, I glide through the vestibule of shadows that lies between the bedroom door and the mattress past the closet's maw - a crypt from which I have exhumed many a princess whose sweet caresses last only long enough to cuff my trust into terror; their butternut breath on my smooth cheek scratching valleys down which my tears may flow into my open mouth where the salt tingles on my tongue as I cloak my doom with the incantation of the innocent: "If I should die before I wake...."
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17
11-11-11- past 11a.m. I missed it. I wanted for me what happened to my friend in Australia She was walking down the street and at 11-11-11- 11a.m. almost everyone around her took a bow to such powerful numbers 11-11-11-11a.m. (Perhaps we shall be saved she said) Today, my 11-11-11, I was shopping for my lovers feast; Hummus and crispy organic veggies Fresh beets and pure ****** olive oil Local goat cheese to die for My phone alarm rang letting me know it was 11:10 (I did not hear it) as I was talking to Max my grocer About: Just picked Arugula and sweet Irish butter (To mound a top San Francisco sour dough) He hinted to me not to miss out On: Butternut squash and meaty pomegranates "A lucky omen" he said, "on a day like today." “What do you mean A day like today?” I said “Well it’s 11-11-11” he smiled “Oh my goodness” I faintly cried (almost too loud), “I missed it!” (I saw the time on the wall where I was shopping) “Missed what?” he said "Missed out on experiencing 11-11-11-11.a.m." “Oh my dear you missed nothing”, he said as he reached toward me with A huge ripe pomegranate. I felt flush from wanting something that now seemed so gone. “No”, Max pointed out, “you have more than feeling a set of numbers In the movement of the day”, “You were here planning a feast for a loved one (yes I told him it was a lovers dinner) What could be more in acknowledging the power of life Than love?” I said nothing as I beamed and took that pomegranate and Ohhhh I felt so good. Linaji 2011 (an almost true story)
0
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 6:05 PM UTC
linaji
Past ~11-11-11-11 a.m.
11-11-11- past 11a.m. I missed it. I wanted for me what happened to my friend in Australia She was walking down the street and at 11-11-11- 11a.m. almost everyone around her took a bow to such powerful numbers 11-11-11-11a.m. (Perhaps we shall be saved she said) Today, my 11-11-11, I was shopping for my lovers feast; Hummus and crispy organic veggies Fresh beets and pure ****** olive oil Local goat cheese to die for My phone alarm rang letting me know it was 11:10 (I did not hear it) as I was talking to Max my grocer About: Just picked Arugula and sweet Irish butter (To mound a top San Francisco sour dough) He hinted to me not to miss out On: Butternut squash and meaty pomegranates "A lucky omen" he said, "on a day like today." “What do you mean A day like today?” I said “Well it’s 11-11-11” he smiled “Oh my goodness” I faintly cried (almost too loud), “I missed it!” (I saw the time on the wall where I was shopping) “Missed what?” he said "Missed out on experiencing 11-11-11-11.a.m." “Oh my dear you missed nothing”, he said as he reached toward me with A huge ripe pomegranate. I felt flush from wanting something that now seemed so gone. “No”, Max pointed out, “you have more than feeling a set of numbers In the movement of the day”, “You were here planning a feast for a loved one (yes I told him it was a lovers dinner) What could be more in acknowledging the power of life Than love?” I said nothing as I beamed and took that pomegranate and Ohhhh I felt so good. Linaji 2011 (an almost true story)
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43
Oh won't you butter my squash? Clean my seeds Like the sins of my past The baked passion inside The oven racks Racks Racks Stack the inner radiance And peal me The smooth orange paste Will feel really zesty Stay here on my cutting board Send knives of kisses Be merciless inside the sink Blinking boiling stink And watch as I eat your intestines
0
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
gertrude-levonte
butternut squash
Oh won't you butter my squash? Clean my seeds Like the sins of my past The baked passion inside The oven racks Racks Racks Stack the inner radiance And peal me The smooth orange paste Will feel really zesty Stay here on my cutting board Send knives of kisses Be merciless inside the sink Blinking boiling stink And watch as I eat your intestines
Continue reading...
16
In a tiny allotment right next to the zoo A miniature jungle was planted and grew The flora was dense and the air became hot But confined to a tidy rectangular plot An unthinkable duo of creatures converged And it's said that a spanking new species emerged For a curious beast was reportedly seen Roaming and munching on anything green Make haste! Away! It's the Buffagorilla! A shredder of lettuce and cereal killer With hooves at the front and hands at the rear The Buffagorilla is near! It shambles about at the darkest of hours On hedges it crunches and bunches of flowers On daffolil bulbs and petunia petals With hearty aplomb on a cluster of nettles Covertly perusing with maximum hush It can wander through gardens disguised as a bush No carrot or parsnip is safe in its bed And the marrows are quaking in vegetable dread Depart! Retreat! It's the Buffagorilla! The broccoli butcher and vegetable killer With ape like features and horns of a steer The Buffagorilla is near! So if you hear a mention of butternut theft Or notice a garden, all bare and bereft Insure your potatoes for damage and loss Give the salad a purely precautionary toss For a creature is roaming the byway and track With its legs at the front and its arms at the back And it might be your gooseberries or chervil he spies So I beg you take heed as I once more advise Be gone! Take flight! It's the Buffagorilla! The strawberry napper and cucumber killer Just hide in your cellar and steer well clear The Buffagorilla is near!
0
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
ben-jones
The Buffagorilla
In a tiny allotment right next to the zoo A miniature jungle was planted and grew The flora was dense and the air became hot But confined to a tidy rectangular plot An unthinkable duo of creatures converged And it's said that a spanking new species emerged For a curious beast was reportedly seen Roaming and munching on anything green Make haste! Away! It's the Buffagorilla! A shredder of lettuce and cereal killer With hooves at the front and hands at the rear The Buffagorilla is near! It shambles about at the darkest of hours On hedges it crunches and bunches of flowers On daffolil bulbs and petunia petals With hearty aplomb on a cluster of nettles Covertly perusing with maximum hush It can wander through gardens disguised as a bush No carrot or parsnip is safe in its bed And the marrows are quaking in vegetable dread Depart! Retreat! It's the Buffagorilla! The broccoli butcher and vegetable killer With ape like features and horns of a steer The Buffagorilla is near! So if you hear a mention of butternut theft Or notice a garden, all bare and bereft Insure your potatoes for damage and loss Give the salad a purely precautionary toss For a creature is roaming the byway and track With its legs at the front and its arms at the back And it might be your gooseberries or chervil he spies So I beg you take heed as I once more advise Be gone! Take flight! It's the Buffagorilla! The strawberry napper and cucumber killer Just hide in your cellar and steer well clear The Buffagorilla is near!
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36
I often find myself chasing gold these days. Whether it is burning my fingers raw as I dig under sand or by starring zealously at the sun. Yellow and Orange have turned into my favourite colours of joy and pain. It’s tones hiding secrets I wish to understand behind my own skin. They are forcing me to fast through bananas and naartjies; discipline myself with lemons and butternut.
0
Oct 23, 2022
Oct 23, 2022 at 5:32 PM UTC
QueenMother
Rust
I often find myself chasing gold these days. Whether it is burning my fingers raw as I dig under sand or by starring zealously at the sun. Yellow and Orange have turned into my favourite colours of joy and pain. It’s tones hiding secrets I wish to understand behind my own skin. They are forcing me to fast through bananas and naartjies; discipline myself with lemons and butternut.
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5
Epiphany from the Berry Fields You would not come with me through constellations of Jack-in-the-Pulpit, your reasons shrouded in obscurity. I went there once to pray --- Did I tell you? --- I spied a grey squirrel gnawing a cherished butternut in a fury of drunken hunger; forgot at once my prayers. You went instead, alone, to the Kingdom of the Mushroom. I sealed my mouth afraid to enter there. You saw violent phosphorous rivers and vivid galloping colors, that were of mystical internal origin. We might have eaten vine-ripe strawberries and drunk cold mountain water, that gushed from the mouth of the cave under the cliff. Perhaps, like me you were afraid, terrified by florid fields and familiar female. How sad --- Sometimes I am so dense --- I should have told you, *I went there in the distance as a girl.*        Coincidental Drift Through the airport window pane, isolated, I watched the jet traverse the field in silent shimmering motion. My vagrant gaze remained fixed upon the infinite horizon long after the shadowy plane had passed from view. This seemed to me to parallel my motionless furtive feelings, as after one I've loved has migrated in another season. It was not long after this that she re-entered the room, bathed in the murmur of alluring fragrance which quickly drew my mind from the solitude of thought to a sensual appreciation of her perfume. How easily she drew my mind astray from pleasant thought of you and yesterday. I recalled how earlier this morning, as she lay neither asleep, nor awake, but somewhere in between, I had tried to touch her outstretched hand, yet, uncannily she had withdrawn it. The smoke that wafted above our bed then was the only pervading reality and not the Mona Lisa smile on her face, nor the emptiness of my longing hand. She's said, *She's ready --- --- that her bags are packed --- and shouldn't we be going?* Yes, Yes I suppose it's time. And a wind howling in my brain recalled, I'd either been here once before or seen it etched upon an empty sky.
0
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
brian-oarr
Ruminations on How We Grew Apart
Epiphany from the Berry Fields You would not come with me through constellations of Jack-in-the-Pulpit, your reasons shrouded in obscurity. I went there once to pray --- Did I tell you? --- I spied a grey squirrel gnawing a cherished butternut in a fury of drunken hunger; forgot at once my prayers. You went instead, alone, to the Kingdom of the Mushroom. I sealed my mouth afraid to enter there. You saw violent phosphorous rivers and vivid galloping colors, that were of mystical internal origin. We might have eaten vine-ripe strawberries and drunk cold mountain water, that gushed from the mouth of the cave under the cliff. Perhaps, like me you were afraid, terrified by florid fields and familiar female. How sad --- Sometimes I am so dense --- I should have told you, *I went there in the distance as a girl.*        Coincidental Drift Through the airport window pane, isolated, I watched the jet traverse the field in silent shimmering motion. My vagrant gaze remained fixed upon the infinite horizon long after the shadowy plane had passed from view. This seemed to me to parallel my motionless furtive feelings, as after one I've loved has migrated in another season. It was not long after this that she re-entered the room, bathed in the murmur of alluring fragrance which quickly drew my mind from the solitude of thought to a sensual appreciation of her perfume. How easily she drew my mind astray from pleasant thought of you and yesterday. I recalled how earlier this morning, as she lay neither asleep, nor awake, but somewhere in between, I had tried to touch her outstretched hand, yet, uncannily she had withdrawn it. The smoke that wafted above our bed then was the only pervading reality and not the Mona Lisa smile on her face, nor the emptiness of my longing hand. She's said, *She's ready --- --- that her bags are packed --- and shouldn't we be going?* Yes, Yes I suppose it's time. And a wind howling in my brain recalled, I'd either been here once before or seen it etched upon an empty sky.
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66
For any time the urge to wring an autumn gourd, this one's the thing Smashing pumpkins, not so nice but Butternut Squash, an honest vice Long and beige, hard and smooth you'd never guess it's power to sooth that underneath the toughest skin is meat like pumpkin, seeds within A steamy bisque for autumn's chill, peel and chop them as you will Dump them into four cups broth* add apple, pear, or applesauce a cup or two will do just fine and while you stand there, have some wine! sautee onions, a cup and a half dump them in and cry or laugh and now to add your seasoning stuff cumin, curry, nutmeg, Fluff hold the Fluff, that ain't the truth best to pull that old sweet tooth Bisque is savory, better than sweet warms the cockles, heart to feet save your sweets for pumpkin pie the after-apple of your eye Back to seasonings, see above a quarter teaspoon, more with love I add pepper and take a gander some folks call for coriander heat the whole thing to a boil for me, my crock pot's always loyal crock at high, about four hours or low for six, and bring some flowers! And now I'll play a little game change my words to mean the same if cook is butter and ****** is squash then butter dat ****** and ****** dat gnosh when you're hungry, under the wudder ain't nuttin' better 'en butternut chudder add some cream and squash your mash mash your squash and whip your pash I used a blender to make it creamy cooked it down, so thick and steamy add some butter, parsley's fine butternut bisque with bread and wine! Ahhhh!!!!! *chicken broth
0
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
igclair
Steaming Butternut Squash Bisque
For any time the urge to wring an autumn gourd, this one's the thing Smashing pumpkins, not so nice but Butternut Squash, an honest vice Long and beige, hard and smooth you'd never guess it's power to sooth that underneath the toughest skin is meat like pumpkin, seeds within A steamy bisque for autumn's chill, peel and chop them as you will Dump them into four cups broth* add apple, pear, or applesauce a cup or two will do just fine and while you stand there, have some wine! sautee onions, a cup and a half dump them in and cry or laugh and now to add your seasoning stuff cumin, curry, nutmeg, Fluff hold the Fluff, that ain't the truth best to pull that old sweet tooth Bisque is savory, better than sweet warms the cockles, heart to feet save your sweets for pumpkin pie the after-apple of your eye Back to seasonings, see above a quarter teaspoon, more with love I add pepper and take a gander some folks call for coriander heat the whole thing to a boil for me, my crock pot's always loyal crock at high, about four hours or low for six, and bring some flowers! And now I'll play a little game change my words to mean the same if cook is butter and ****** is squash then butter dat ****** and ****** dat gnosh when you're hungry, under the wudder ain't nuttin' better 'en butternut chudder add some cream and squash your mash mash your squash and whip your pash I used a blender to make it creamy cooked it down, so thick and steamy add some butter, parsley's fine butternut bisque with bread and wine! Ahhhh!!!!! *chicken broth
Continue reading...
46
we need only rocks and butternut squash daylight mellowtime cold wind change snap brisk   fog mouth.    The cities ******* cling to the shoreline lake of ontario.       share tea , share kiss peace yum day break activity meditation on stillness stones stacked seamless .         Before a powerful night , of music sung with joy in note, friend snuggles -       smoke lips -       crying - mercy vision ascension.                 Body pulsating in your hand.    Pancake quinoa breakfast , maple syrup hotchocolate . Later to lentil soup with french bread and brie cheese , grapes   Reading park time medicine cards       Shaman training , initiating 46 yr old lady to her first joint under the swell of almost full moon gleam. i dance the whirling dervish round the baseball pitch , extend my legs in ballet-tai-chi whirl. Find my footing in the lightning flash sky    nestle and snuggle more with friends. To midnight snack of orange , ginger zest cookies with sunshine and peace printed on , peppermint tea and a slight fondling shower.      New music runabout talkin bout american deeds ,our own self , our progression and human dissociation from animal instinct      Be love. POWER in HEARTBEATS.
0
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 12:37 AM UTC
Fah
SNAPSHOT OF DAY 13/4/14
we need only rocks and butternut squash daylight mellowtime cold wind change snap brisk   fog mouth.    The cities ******* cling to the shoreline lake of ontario.       share tea , share kiss peace yum day break activity meditation on stillness stones stacked seamless .         Before a powerful night , of music sung with joy in note, friend snuggles -       smoke lips -       crying - mercy vision ascension.                 Body pulsating in your hand.    Pancake quinoa breakfast , maple syrup hotchocolate . Later to lentil soup with french bread and brie cheese , grapes   Reading park time medicine cards       Shaman training , initiating 46 yr old lady to her first joint under the swell of almost full moon gleam. i dance the whirling dervish round the baseball pitch , extend my legs in ballet-tai-chi whirl. Find my footing in the lightning flash sky    nestle and snuggle more with friends. To midnight snack of orange , ginger zest cookies with sunshine and peace printed on , peppermint tea and a slight fondling shower.      New music runabout talkin bout american deeds ,our own self , our progression and human dissociation from animal instinct      Be love. POWER in HEARTBEATS.
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28
the daydream electric she glows in daylight like neon ice cream **** on the tongue like wry smiles but creamy smooth on the fingertips like a peanut butter chocolate chip pie lick her eyelids to try and see whats on her pretty little mind shes a butternut job and fingerlicking fun
0
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
mark-john-junor-1
chew on that
the daydream electric she glows in daylight like neon ice cream **** on the tongue like wry smiles but creamy smooth on the fingertips like a peanut butter chocolate chip pie lick her eyelids to try and see whats on her pretty little mind shes a butternut job and fingerlicking fun
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11
(Poet’s Note : This poem is the first of two poems on The Nature of Truth) Truth came from the purest of pure smell of pine between toes endure from crystal streams where trout shimmer like rainbow dreams from seagulls on wing, willow whisper then sing deep down Poseidon takes his blue cue anew She came from violet centres floating in a bowl she enters new-borns **** her milk rippling down sunburnt throats never forlorn, sailing a boat Truth swoops her eagles over the Globe travelling cyberways to hold her laughter floating from Galactic Sun Radiant across every gradient smiling warmest sweet, tiny perfect teeth gleaming in a tweet ! She came to stroke, sprinkle justice with joy, transform lies with tears, lifting hearts from holes with bells on her toes out of dirt, up the stairs eating mushrooms with dare breathe in human hair, listening to rolling drums with care, ******* sweet nectar She senses through many lenses Truth comes to give Grace, sweetbreads shout-outs, petals, stardust, eggs across ages and aeons from Mercury Venus and Mars to give answers in glasses between shells from lagoons Her breath smells of grass newly cut exuberant nasturtium and lily in hug conflicts melt away Truth in a barn where couples lie butternut soup on a winter’s table where fathers laugh with a terrier in good health, Siamese purring on a persian rug Truth completes a circle, opens up channels joyously ¥
0
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 6:21 AM UTC
GDPresence
Nature of Truth : Part 1
(Poet’s Note : This poem is the first of two poems on The Nature of Truth) Truth came from the purest of pure smell of pine between toes endure from crystal streams where trout shimmer like rainbow dreams from seagulls on wing, willow whisper then sing deep down Poseidon takes his blue cue anew She came from violet centres floating in a bowl she enters new-borns **** her milk rippling down sunburnt throats never forlorn, sailing a boat Truth swoops her eagles over the Globe travelling cyberways to hold her laughter floating from Galactic Sun Radiant across every gradient smiling warmest sweet, tiny perfect teeth gleaming in a tweet ! She came to stroke, sprinkle justice with joy, transform lies with tears, lifting hearts from holes with bells on her toes out of dirt, up the stairs eating mushrooms with dare breathe in human hair, listening to rolling drums with care, ******* sweet nectar She senses through many lenses Truth comes to give Grace, sweetbreads shout-outs, petals, stardust, eggs across ages and aeons from Mercury Venus and Mars to give answers in glasses between shells from lagoons Her breath smells of grass newly cut exuberant nasturtium and lily in hug conflicts melt away Truth in a barn where couples lie butternut soup on a winter’s table where fathers laugh with a terrier in good health, Siamese purring on a persian rug Truth completes a circle, opens up channels joyously ¥
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42
My cohort is shattered, the regiment reels, from the lead of the merciless foe. I'm wearing the blue, Fredericksburg,62'. I''m a conscript from County Tyrone. Saint Mary's Heights is a most fearful sight: ****** acres of men who won't fight again, Our wounded are dying alone. The devout say a prayer, others blaspheme and swear. I just wish I was back in Tyrone. Up on that hill wearing Butternut grey are Irish like me from back home. Sure they gave out a cheer when Meagher first appeared, with our banner of green, on his Roan. What mortal flesh can, we did in the end Some died just in sight of the wall. In the cold dark of night we survivors take flight; Rappahannock, protect us I pray. I'll never forget the screams of that night or the butcher's bill we had to pay.
0
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
john-f-mccullagh
Fredericksburg
My cohort is shattered, the regiment reels, from the lead of the merciless foe. I'm wearing the blue, Fredericksburg,62'. I''m a conscript from County Tyrone. Saint Mary's Heights is a most fearful sight: ****** acres of men who won't fight again, Our wounded are dying alone. The devout say a prayer, others blaspheme and swear. I just wish I was back in Tyrone. Up on that hill wearing Butternut grey are Irish like me from back home. Sure they gave out a cheer when Meagher first appeared, with our banner of green, on his Roan. What mortal flesh can, we did in the end Some died just in sight of the wall. In the cold dark of night we survivors take flight; Rappahannock, protect us I pray. I'll never forget the screams of that night or the butcher's bill we had to pay.
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19
My greengrocer choked on a peanut So I had to go to the farm I asked for some rice A packet of spice And half a butternut squash. He said sorry son, I haven’t got none The greengrocer sells them for me
0
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
josh-imber
Silly poem
My greengrocer choked on a peanut So I had to go to the farm I asked for some rice A packet of spice And half a butternut squash. He said sorry son, I haven’t got none The greengrocer sells them for me
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8
I'm in tuned with the moonlit dew drip when June splits the year in half I left the window cracked so the wind would have a clearer path Can you feel the draft? Can you feel the laughter being built up glasses being filled up after years of practicing the mastery of his craft the battery's not everlasting it's a balance act in fact to take the good with bad and have a meaningful impact Leading sheep to water Counting horses sleep at last Take a sip and pass And saddle in Cuz it's a blast See it's these demons I've been battlin' And up til now I've handled it But it seems as though I've had enough So it's batter up Lather up These buttercups And roast em with some butternut Squash these so-called wonder struck Losers.... their all runners up
0
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
MicahAndrewson
Cracked Window
I'm in tuned with the moonlit dew drip when June splits the year in half I left the window cracked so the wind would have a clearer path Can you feel the draft? Can you feel the laughter being built up glasses being filled up after years of practicing the mastery of his craft the battery's not everlasting it's a balance act in fact to take the good with bad and have a meaningful impact Leading sheep to water Counting horses sleep at last Take a sip and pass And saddle in Cuz it's a blast See it's these demons I've been battlin' And up til now I've handled it But it seems as though I've had enough So it's batter up Lather up These buttercups And roast em with some butternut Squash these so-called wonder struck Losers.... their all runners up
Continue reading...
34
Rhodora in winter, capsule like a claw, remains of the 5-part flower Emerson saw, gone to seed. Deciduous trees and shrubs have their own winter beauty and a power akin to the fittest's survival, self-same that brought me, musing, here. Large globose buds! (that dwarf the rose's but not the butternut's)   distinguish it from other Ericaceae that surround this inland wetland. The Lord all claim to worship is not better than thou. I'm passing through naming you, your parts, and the autumn elaeagnus who is your neighbor. Good a walk as it gets before edible understory herbs sprout.
0
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
robert-ronnow
Rhodora in Winter
Rhodora in winter, capsule like a claw, remains of the 5-part flower Emerson saw, gone to seed. Deciduous trees and shrubs have their own winter beauty and a power akin to the fittest's survival, self-same that brought me, musing, here. Large globose buds! (that dwarf the rose's but not the butternut's)   distinguish it from other Ericaceae that surround this inland wetland. The Lord all claim to worship is not better than thou. I'm passing through naming you, your parts, and the autumn elaeagnus who is your neighbor. Good a walk as it gets before edible understory herbs sprout.
Continue reading...
14
Through Summers ' heat and icy rain The stone faced guardians remain. They stand fast when the snow lies deep. They stand their guard where the heroes sleep. Long Summers past there was a war and boys in butternut charged gloriously. Then broke upon the blue clad wall as cliffs repel the storm tossed sea. Now of that host not one remains to sound the charge or scale a wall. The stone faced guardians remain long past the bugles' dying call.
0
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 7:16 PM UTC
john-f-mccullagh
The Guardians
Through Summers ' heat and icy rain The stone faced guardians remain. They stand fast when the snow lies deep. They stand their guard where the heroes sleep. Long Summers past there was a war and boys in butternut charged gloriously. Then broke upon the blue clad wall as cliffs repel the storm tossed sea. Now of that host not one remains to sound the charge or scale a wall. The stone faced guardians remain long past the bugles' dying call.
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25
The brisk air of dawn carries the chill of Autumn Burnt oranges, deep greens and earthy browns Linger in nature's peripheries Twilight casts away the warm remains of high noon As downtown city streets lay dormant The glow of incandescent light pouring from old windows The odd dog-walker out on an evening stroll The world abundant in olfactory pleasures Owner clad in scarf and light jacket That funny mid-way between hot and cold Never knowing whether to open your window Or savour the warmth radiating from the stove Autumn is soon returning Butternut squash, allspice and pumpkin Mittens, thick socks and morning breath in the air All those precious water-soaked leaves Lining the streets Calling you forward into the season of change
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Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
kathleen-rose
A Day In September
The brisk air of dawn carries the chill of Autumn Burnt oranges, deep greens and earthy browns Linger in nature's peripheries Twilight casts away the warm remains of high noon As downtown city streets lay dormant The glow of incandescent light pouring from old windows The odd dog-walker out on an evening stroll The world abundant in olfactory pleasures Owner clad in scarf and light jacket That funny mid-way between hot and cold Never knowing whether to open your window Or savour the warmth radiating from the stove Autumn is soon returning Butternut squash, allspice and pumpkin Mittens, thick socks and morning breath in the air All those precious water-soaked leaves Lining the streets Calling you forward into the season of change
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18
In the holy spot with the sitting rock, an oak. Out back shagbark hickory and maple. Ants climb the rock. August, birds celebrate flowering weeds, the seeds of autumn to come. I am here to name it and know it and help it to grow. These mountains are my grave. A good grave to go to. The crows have been in conference, again. A jay, blue, pokes a hole through reality. I find sumacs fruiting and the male *** organs of the Queen Anne’s lace. Juncos glean the lawn, an occasional nuthatch in the butternut. I hear a pileated woodpecker jackhammering and my neighbor’s skill saw chirring. Ants crawl on connecting interlacing instructions.
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Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
robert-ronnow
Undersky Sleeping, Bonekeeping
In the holy spot with the sitting rock, an oak. Out back shagbark hickory and maple. Ants climb the rock. August, birds celebrate flowering weeds, the seeds of autumn to come. I am here to name it and know it and help it to grow. These mountains are my grave. A good grave to go to. The crows have been in conference, again. A jay, blue, pokes a hole through reality. I find sumacs fruiting and the male *** organs of the Queen Anne’s lace. Juncos glean the lawn, an occasional nuthatch in the butternut. I hear a pileated woodpecker jackhammering and my neighbor’s skill saw chirring. Ants crawl on connecting interlacing instructions.
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30
the open field before us was a tall grass of a butternut yellow it swayed in the breeze liquid almost alive she lead me forward calling back to me over her shoulder with a broad smile the sun caught in her hair but her smile overwhelms the sunlight and she remained to me within sight as the rest of the world fell to the amusements of the stars the air full of a false summer she laughed at such an idea and told me it was but yet mid-winter and soon the snow will fly gentle on its own goodnight path of histories fallen and left obscured in a single torn photograph she leads me on casting glances and bittersweet smiles back at me this is your last road she calls out and she is the gentle soul come to bring me to rapture she is the love i never knew the one that fell by the wayside one terrible night so long ago its very fragments are nearly forgotten to me but those fragments cherished in a single time battered photograph her blue grey eyes haunting this is my last road she is heaven i am home
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Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
mark-john-junor-1
the love i never knew
the open field before us was a tall grass of a butternut yellow it swayed in the breeze liquid almost alive she lead me forward calling back to me over her shoulder with a broad smile the sun caught in her hair but her smile overwhelms the sunlight and she remained to me within sight as the rest of the world fell to the amusements of the stars the air full of a false summer she laughed at such an idea and told me it was but yet mid-winter and soon the snow will fly gentle on its own goodnight path of histories fallen and left obscured in a single torn photograph she leads me on casting glances and bittersweet smiles back at me this is your last road she calls out and she is the gentle soul come to bring me to rapture she is the love i never knew the one that fell by the wayside one terrible night so long ago its very fragments are nearly forgotten to me but those fragments cherished in a single time battered photograph her blue grey eyes haunting this is my last road she is heaven i am home
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30
The drive home--too soon--from the evening’s celebrations: scattered street lights, golden hues moving in epileptic waves the unconscious coast on the interstate for you, the half-drunken dance with raw chicken giblets which fell to a ***** floor, with a flying, broken peeler, skins of butternut squash, my confidence. Four hours pass, I stay on the couch with my wine, the cat, & fresh salt streams ‘til sleep arrives. You left me to be with a dead chicken. Lonesome Saturday eve.
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Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 6:35 PM UTC
melanie-r-holmes
Fall Break
The drive home--too soon--from the evening’s celebrations: scattered street lights, golden hues moving in epileptic waves the unconscious coast on the interstate for you, the half-drunken dance with raw chicken giblets which fell to a ***** floor, with a flying, broken peeler, skins of butternut squash, my confidence. Four hours pass, I stay on the couch with my wine, the cat, & fresh salt streams ‘til sleep arrives. You left me to be with a dead chicken. Lonesome Saturday eve.
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12
You would not come with me through constellations of Jack-in-the-Pulpit, your reasons shrouded in obscurity. I went there once to pray --- Did I tell you? --- I spied a grey squirrel gnawing a cherished butternut in a fury of drunken hunger; forgot at once my prayers. You went instead, alone to the Kingdom of the Mushroom. I sealed my mouth afraid to enter there. You saw violent phosphorous rivers and vivid galloping colors, that were of mystical internal origin. We might have eaten vine-ripe strawberries and drunk cold mountain water, that gushed from the mouth of the cave under the cliff. Perhaps, like me you were afraid, terrified by florid fields and familiar female. How sad --- Sometimes I am so dense --- I should have told you, *I went there in the distance as a girl.*
0
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
brian-oarr
Epiphany from the Berry Fields
You would not come with me through constellations of Jack-in-the-Pulpit, your reasons shrouded in obscurity. I went there once to pray --- Did I tell you? --- I spied a grey squirrel gnawing a cherished butternut in a fury of drunken hunger; forgot at once my prayers. You went instead, alone to the Kingdom of the Mushroom. I sealed my mouth afraid to enter there. You saw violent phosphorous rivers and vivid galloping colors, that were of mystical internal origin. We might have eaten vine-ripe strawberries and drunk cold mountain water, that gushed from the mouth of the cave under the cliff. Perhaps, like me you were afraid, terrified by florid fields and familiar female. How sad --- Sometimes I am so dense --- I should have told you, *I went there in the distance as a girl.*
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28
A steady gentle rain had fallen throughout the night before. Morning dawned , grey and dreary, like the butternut they wore. A.P. Hill was on the march, speeding towards the sound, the distant sounds of battle, as they marched through Frederick town. The rebel brain trust harbored hopes that Maryland might secede. That a hero’s welcome waited for Lee riding in the lead. But no, the streets were silent, most folks hid inside their homes. They cheered instead, the boys in blue and cheered for them alone. The rebels marched down Patrick Street as they sped through Frederick Town. Then General Hill spied the Stars and Stripes and ordered them struck down. It was Mary Quantrell who showed the flag, in defiance of the troops. (Whittier misidentified his heroine in hoops.) It was Mary, all defiant, who displayed our nation’s flag; a brave matron of thirty years, no ninety year old hag. “You may **** me if you must; my life is hardly charmed, But I will die before I see this banner come to harm.” Her warning gave the general pause, perhaps in part because. He had himself once sworn to protect that banner and that cause. He countermanded, then and there, the order that he gave. He pressed on to Antietam where the hard pressed Lee was saved. Mary has no monument, these days, in Frederick town; No mention on her grave stone how she faced a General down. There’s no honor in her hometown for this heroine with pluck. That Barbara Fritchie legend?- Just some poet run amuck.
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Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 8:52 PM UTC
john-f-mccullagh
Red White and True
A steady gentle rain had fallen throughout the night before. Morning dawned , grey and dreary, like the butternut they wore. A.P. Hill was on the march, speeding towards the sound, the distant sounds of battle, as they marched through Frederick town. The rebel brain trust harbored hopes that Maryland might secede. That a hero’s welcome waited for Lee riding in the lead. But no, the streets were silent, most folks hid inside their homes. They cheered instead, the boys in blue and cheered for them alone. The rebels marched down Patrick Street as they sped through Frederick Town. Then General Hill spied the Stars and Stripes and ordered them struck down. It was Mary Quantrell who showed the flag, in defiance of the troops. (Whittier misidentified his heroine in hoops.) It was Mary, all defiant, who displayed our nation’s flag; a brave matron of thirty years, no ninety year old hag. “You may **** me if you must; my life is hardly charmed, But I will die before I see this banner come to harm.” Her warning gave the general pause, perhaps in part because. He had himself once sworn to protect that banner and that cause. He countermanded, then and there, the order that he gave. He pressed on to Antietam where the hard pressed Lee was saved. Mary has no monument, these days, in Frederick town; No mention on her grave stone how she faced a General down. There’s no honor in her hometown for this heroine with pluck. That Barbara Fritchie legend?- Just some poet run amuck.
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24
Butternut squash roasting, the fresh garden scent after the rain, Cold wind on my face, I drift for a moment... Wonder where you are... what you're doing... what's your world like... If you think of me too... but I can only wonder and that's how I make memories of you.
0
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
Pappo
Making Memories
Butternut squash roasting, the fresh garden scent after the rain, Cold wind on my face, I drift for a moment... Wonder where you are... what you're doing... what's your world like... If you think of me too... but I can only wonder and that's how I make memories of you.
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12