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Wayne Wysocki Jul 2020
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.
Copyright © 2020 Wayne Wysocki
There are colors yet unknown in my finite view of Earth , artistic wonders undiscovered , to this day quite alone .. Geometric shapes where Sweetgum trees silhouette the majestic Dawn .. Enchantment with every turn go I , to study my religion by day , collect my thoughts and observations by night .. To interplay among life undiscovered  , to revel someday in its happenstance ... The weathered profiles of a million botanicals unknown or forgotten . An ocean whose riddles remain unsolved , seventy percent of our precious world where exploration has barely scratched the surface .. Dark , rainy afternoons reconfigured with burst of light , the surface of oceans ever mysterious , highlighted by the Moon on hazy nights .. I flew over Moccasin Creek to sample fresh water and take in mountain greenery ..Walked the treetops of the Oconee Forest to witness the floor of the woodlands as a squirrel , crow or eagle ..Slithered along the Georgia clay like a Black Racer , cautiously studied each image before me with the curiosity of a Red fox .. Enthralled with the Savannah Dancers of Tybee Island , precious gulls , blue ***** and brown pelicans .. Welcome every change of season , Dark pine thickets tell of death and renewal ...

                                                          II­
Jagged , blue grass approaches , green straw tops , quiet
cinnamon needle oceans connected by silver streak spider webbing ..
Warm winds divide earthen cover , lifeless termite ridden forefathers lay in testament to bitter destruction ... Our Noon star nourishes bold , sylvan seedlings , beneath her languishing February predicament however ... Grassy field roads lay locked in period of service , daylight path corrections , marble land buoy sentries within thistle , dandelion and Sawgrass .. Gold , knee high cover caresses , reaching skyward beside the field road , lying forgotten , left to the mercy of kudzu , marble and granite .. Scrags reclaim rusted encroachments , tin in battle with the tepid wail of afternoon wind as stick pines mimic the Appalachians , gently roll toward the awaiting lavender blue horizon ... As pasture returns to woodlands , blanketed in hues of brown with forest echoes , carry whispered voices into tomorrow ... Lively crows live to tell their wintry tale , resting among scuttled pulp wood entanglements , to be born again , covered in the pity of lingering broom sage ...                                                              ­                                                  

                                                        III    ­                                                                 ­Across the edge of twilight where soft lavender hues lay at
rest atop her riparian horizon .. Dandelion blooms pepper the
red clay embankments , lone bucks survey brown fields of harvested
corn ..Mourning doves cry for the end of day , wild hogs lay tracks at the rivers edge . Toms sing of their loneliness  , persimmons lay bitter along country lanes , the meat of Chestnut not harvested , the final years of tall , stately Pecans go shamefully unnoticed .. Barbed wire divisions etch Winter burned pasture , Morgans and Appaloosas graze the fertile , ambrosial green narrows .. Manmade pools dot the Crescent lady , cattle ditches appear along creeks and rivers holding Rock bass , Shell ******* , Yellowbellies and Bluegills ferociously hunting the waters surface , Alligator Snappers and Mudcats work the turbulent bottoms ... Hayfields , peach and muscadine arbors flourish , boiled peanuts and sorghum syrup , collards and sweet potatoes ...Blackberry , grape , watermelon and okra ..Water oaks have taken command of the front yard ,  moss and honeysuckle line fence rows , flowing patches of wild grass and snake berry , rocks from Cotton Indian Creeks line hand built flower beds and walkways .. Rhode Island Reds , Buff Orpington's and White Leghorns work these plantations . Sassafras and dewberry , wild plum and rabbit tobaccos . Gardenia , Crape Myrtle , Magnolia , Pine and Chestnut trees  flourish to this day .. The Old Bridge behind Millers Mill still visible , what stories this elder pass could tell before the confluence of the Indian Creeks .. Crayfish , Bream , Largemouth bass , Crappie , Yellow perch and Flathead catfish ! The tale of the Crescent lady lives forever and ever ..
Copyright February 29 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Louis Brown Sep 2011
I like a bowl of collards
You like brussel sprouts
You have a taste for cognac
Jim Beam just knocks me out
You went to that big college
I flunked the seventh grade
We ain't got much in common
Till we pull down the shades


CHORUS:
THE ATTRACTION OVERCOMES THE WALLS BETWEEN US
TO UNDERSTAND OUR BOND WON'T TAKE A GENIUS
OUR LIVES ARE CONTRADICTIONS
BUT THE FUN OUTWEIGHS THE FRICTION
THE ATTRACTION OVERCOMES THE WALLS BETWEEN US


In our healthy love-hate thang
Sometimes hell breaks loose
But when the big moon rises
We wave a flag of truce
Our fussing's just a pastime
Between the mountain peaks
But by evening time we  tangle
And the making up is sweet


CHORUS


BRIDGE:  It's natural to differ
                  But the difference ain't too big
                  We meet right in the middle
                  When it's time to build a bridge


CHORUS
Waverly Feb 2012
Cotton is everywhere,
it's on the ground;
in the ditches,
all brown and soggy like
wet hairballs; in the wheel wells,
the rotor tiller;
the SNAPPER'
the squash;
your wife's *******,
tingling her constantly;
the speedometer,
the pulled pork,
collards,
mashed potatoes
and most definitely
the gravy;
it's in the eyes,
makes them red
and explosive,
it's in the dark loam
and gloam; the unwashed streetlights,
the blue dark
and even bluer
lampposts in the middle
of fields black as oil;
the pink sun,
white clapboards
and redwood siding
of that burned-out homestead;
the cotton is everywhere;
thrown up by the slaves;
a ceiling made just for
February lovelessness
as I pull on my Marlboro
and crook my arm
like the cornices of a power station.
Geno Cattouse Jan 2014
Puffing profoundly on an old bone pipe.sat the old woman on rickety stool. A white tendril seeking altitude from schorching embers.
A wafting spirit casting errant admonishment.

Dusty footpath of a million footfalls all on missions of redemption lovelorn weeping allotments of anguish,pain and hope.FULLSTOP.
At sunbeaten,rainbleached risers three in number.
Splitpea fragrance wafting to greet.
Maybe collards too.

"What can I do for ?" But having asked,she already.knew.
To.walk.out to.the.shack.was.a.profound procession.
Made by many,owned by.few
Seeking solace from.the.witches brew.
"You need.a.poultace ?
Cast a spell for.you. ?

Fix it so.she.never leave you ?

Aint nothin.much.that.I.cant do.
Gonna fix.it.for.you.

Ramshackle rundown house of dreams,nightmares and stalking horses.
Beads and potions.come back lotions. Love notions out the window.like startled ratbats.

The little shack of sorrows.
Old time mystic.sitting on a stool.
Jingle pennies in pockets.

Yonder comes nother fool
Justus May 2019
After a satisfying fried catfish
dinner with collards and a sweet potato
I went for a stroll in the nearby plaza
I entered the Publix with a sweet treat
on my mind
And there I saw the watermelon woman
that made my mouth water instead
She was cutting up samples to be
passed out while wearing a sliced
watermelon costume
Long black hair rested on one of her shoulders
A small scar on the side of her mouth
was noticeable, but it was completely
overshadowed by her gaze
Our eyes met, and I was locked in
I smiled softly in reaction to the silliness
of the dichotomy between the woman
and the watermelon
A pineapple would've suited her much better
She responded to me by giving her own
slightly nervous smile
She offered me a sample, which I took
then she began to speak to me with her
chin pointed down towards the table
Her eyes never broke contact with mine
"They're two for one today. Really good too.
You should buy some."
"Have you tried it?"
"No, but I can tell. I can smell it."
How I'd love to try her out
Her body language said that she
was self-conscious, insecure
Yet her eyes told me that she was a lioness
ready to be dominated
I left the store empty handed
A missed opportunity on my part
It's been a while since I've done any farm work
but if I see the watermelon woman again
I'll plant seeds
helps protect against
free radical injury
those dark green collards
Dark Ink Mar 2016
They say that times were tough then

That money was very tight

But I remember my childhood

And I know that can't be right


Mom would cook our dinner

Dad came home at five
We were all sitting at the table

Waiting for him to arrive


We wouldn't eat from a microwave

Or a restaurant down the street

We all ate Mom's home cooking

And boy that can't be beat


We didn't eat in front of the TV

Or with a phone in our hand

We weren't plugged into a stereo
bopping to the latest band


We would all sit at the table

Everyone in their place

There were never any surprises

We recognized every face

Brothers to the left of me
Sisters to the right

That's the way we ate dinner

Every single night


We laughed we joked we talked we ate

We were a family don't you see

Though some may have been raised poor

You can see it wasn't me


We ate collards we ate biscuits

We ate fatback and blackeyed peas

We said yes sir we said no sir

We said thank you ma'am and please


So when you talk of family life

Or how it used to be

Though many had more money

None were as rich as me
Farm house windows have been boarded up , dilapidated outbuildings , abandoned water well , farm tractor , implements rusted over . Kudzu has blanketed the garden spot , farm bell lies on the ground , silo in need of paint , repairs ..Clover dominates a fertile pasture , once home for many abundant harvest ! Corn , soy bean and sorghum , sweet potato and collards .. Oak trees , well over a hundred years old with twenty years of unchecked leaf debris beneath them . Apple , pear and peach trees are barren .. A once sturdy white picket fence now unkempt  , frail with rusted barbed wire and nails .. The afternoon train still comes through each afternoon . I can imagine that very train taking the harvest produced by this old farm to market . Macon , Augusta or Albany ? A planter is taking a break beneath a Pecan tree with a bucket of cold well water and a ladle , plug of tobacco , and a daydream or two ! The afternoon train delivers the news of the world , a Farmers almanac , Sears and Roebuck catalogue , corn cake for the rabbit dogs , hog feed from a mill in Columbus , thread and quilt patches for Mother . Off it goes , cloud of steam rising above the mighty engine  , the whistle echoing across cotton fields for many a mile ! The link between city and farm , before electricity , telegraph or telephone . The old Georgia my great grandparents knew . Fruitful Summer harvest , painfully cold Winters laboring , scratching out a meager living and at times barely surviving ! I can still hear the crack of leather , braying of mule , firewood being stacked , horses , cattle and the rooster breaking the silence of night , sunrise announcing the new day to a hard working family plus every hamlet along the way ! .
Copyright October 17 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Unwanted Sep 2014
They say that times were tough then
That money was very tight
But I remember my childhood
And I know that can't be right

Mom would cook our dinner
Dad came home at five
We were all sitting at the table
Waiting for him to arrive

We wouldn't eat from a microwave
Or a restaurant down the street
We all ate Mom's home cooking
And boy that can't be beat

We didn't eat in front of the TV
Or with a phone in our hand
We weren't plugged into a stereo
bopping to the latest band

We would all sit at the table
Everyone in their place
There were never any surprises
We recognized every face

Brothers to the left of me
Sisters to the right
That's the way we ate dinner
Every single night

We laughed we joked we talked we ate
We were a family don't you see
Though some may have been raised poor
You can see it wasn't me

We ate collards we ate biscuits
We ate fatback and blackeyed peas
We said yes sir we said no sir
We said thank you ma'am and please

So when you talk of family life
Or how it used to be
Though many had more money
None were as rich as me
wordvango Feb 2016
There was a  tower, cellular,  and a flea market but no Louvre,
people spoke in accent, the cuisine was Haute- collards
and black-eyed peas-  the cathedral was named
First Baptist Church, that day I was not in Paris.

Still, I felt like I had several attractions to tour.
The river , not grand as the Seine,
that is more a trickle has been rumored to hold fish.
That day I saw a troubador, that day I was not in Paris.

A man with a bicycle and a six string guitar, rested in the Church
parking lot, played and sung a song for an hour. He left pushing his
bike his guitar again on his back, going I presume
to someplace not Paris.

That day I saw an old woman go into Dollar General, she didn't come out for three hours. But, when she did she had two packages she carefully loaded into the trunk of her Lincoln. I imagined she purchased the latest fashion to parade that night down at the corner saloon. That was a day I was not in Paris.

I did not miss Paris. I missed nothing. I had a sunny day, and fresh air,
and a vision of not Paris, that day.
Ken Manuel Aug 2017
Chorus
Real Eyes,Realize,Real Lies!
Seein right thru your disguise,my eyez minimize in size!
Real Eyes,Realize,Real Lies!
Denial will try n’ dignify, but truth will magnify!
Real Eyes,Realize,Real Lies!
I will only simplify,what you try to mystify!
Verse 1:
Look out, my words bout’ to hit you, like some lyrical ninjitsu! Come on I’m bout’ to get you! I’ma Pegasus n’ your just a shitzu! It’s thru! What the ******* gonna do? All the ******* you runnin thru? Runnin from! Young dumb, Where the ******* comin’ from? Livin a life of denial, hidin behind a fake smile! Actin hard like a crocodile! But you’re a predator like a *******! So delusional you turned senial! Made ya slower than Gomer Pile! While I… learned the truth from a Higher Power! To me you’re just a coward… Chewin on you like green leafs n’ little collards… Holler! Your face looks like it’s getting’ sour! Cuz your ******* lies are getting devoured! Pridin’ yourself on how much you make an hour! ***** ***** the world was already ours!
Chorus
Real Eyes,Realize,Real Lies!
Seein right thru your disguise,my eyez minimize in size!
Real Eyes,Realize,Real Lies!
Denial will try n’ dignify, but truth will magnify!
Real Eyes,Realize,Real Lies!
I will only simplify,what you try to mystify!
Verse 2:
Flippin’ the script, Bout’ to kick flip the **** outcha lips with the way I double dip my tips! Bout ta be a hurricane of thunder n’ rain! Chaos n’ pain! Truth n’ disdain! So much to gain! What you thought was real, was the way you were programmed to feel! It’s like you were electronic, turnin’ you demonic! But the truth rings harmonic! You wanna hear it? I’ll get right on it! You started out with Love,innocence n’ bliss, Though you’re ignorant to this! Like I said denial gave you a fake smile!Seek & you’ll find, the truth is not in your mind, it will only blind! **** & confine! Look deep within your Spirit! Even if you don’t want to hear it! Don’t fear it,clear it! You might shake & shiver, I promise the truth will deliver! And the lies will start to quiver! You’ll become lost in reality, one big large fatality! You’re heart & soul will come to a mutuality! No longer living on technicalities!  
Chorus
Real Eyes,Realize,Real Lies!
Seein right thru your disguise,my eyez minimize in size!
Real Eyes,Realize,Real Lies!
Denial will try n’ dignify, but truth will magnify!
Real Eyes,Realize,Real Lies!
I will only simplify,what you try to mystify!
By: Ken Manuel aka <3 <3 <3 3ye Kvndy <3 <3 <3
dark loose leaf cabbage                              
are antioxidant rich                        
healthy collard greens
I


La fuite est verdâtre et rose

Des collines et des rampes,

Dans un demi-jour de lampes

Qui vient brouiller toute chose.


L'or sur les humbles abîmes,

Tout doucement s'ensanglante,

Des petits arbres sans cimes,

Où quelque oiseau faible chante.


Triste à peine tant s'effacent

Ces apparences d'automne.

Toutes mes langueurs rêvassent,

Que berce l'air monotone.


II


L'allée est sans fin

Sous le ciel, divin

D'être pâle ainsi !

Sais-tu qu'on serait

Bien sous le secret

De ces arbres-ci ?


Des messieurs bien mis,

Sans nul doute amis

Des Royers-Collards,

Vont vers le château.

J'estimerais beau

D'être ces vieillards.


Le château, tout blanc

Avec, à son flanc,

Le soleil couché,

Les champs à l'entour...

Oh ! que notre amour

N'est-il là niché !


Estaminet du Jeune Renard, août 1872.
John David Mar 2020
I go from house to house
With stained index cards
Detailing
My mother’s, mothers’ recipes in a plain wooden box.
With a Sunflower, my cousin pasted, on the front.
Fruits for all pantries and appetites.  
You don’t need to go to the store when I come to see you.
We’ll use whatcha got on hand.
And of course, if you invite the right folk, more with be provided-
the leftovers can sustain
Working folks for days.
I come when I please
I don’t call ahead.

This is first-century Church
The sawdust and pound cake.
This is what really got the Pharisees hot
For His head.
Walking on water, water to wine
These are all well and fine
But the High Crime
Is mixing with folks of all Misdemeanors  

And it’s still a radical act.
We ain’t FaceBook friends.
None of these dishes goin’ be on the Instagram.
There’s no MLM presentation at the end of night.
I’ll take Nanny’s pinewood box
Of chicken dumplings and cornpone
Cabbage and Collards
To the next tired lonely ‘ol house that will have me in
And we’ll practice resurrection again
Supper is on at 7:00.
Y’all wash up and come on in.

— The End —