"eggplant" poems
3-2-2017 (unknown date of origin)
Something's wrong... you don't belong here.
I said, looking down at the pineapple on my pizza.
I said, looking down at the ketchup on my macaroni.
I said, looking down at the cream of mushroom soup on my meatloaf.
He said, looking down at me and my boyfriend, holding hands in public.
Like I'm a creep. I'm a ******
What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.
You see there's these things that we learn at the dinner table.
When we're kids we have certain items served to us on our plates.
Whatever doesn't end up there, isn't a part of the discussion.
After all, they say if you don't have a seat at the table, you are likely to be on the menu.
So, when ****** orientation and gender identity aren't seated at the table of childhood, they get served for the first time in unexpected places.
Like an avante garde celebrity chef's designer meal, prepared for critiques by the food bloggers.
They get served in college classroom debates or in dorm rooms with freshman roommates.
They're on the menu in in some movies but served with a side of stereotypes and silly trope toppings.
They get grinded into glitter dust sprinkled on the annual PRIDE Parades like an overly salty seasoning mix.
They're on the menu in workplace diversity trainings, but too little too late - they get lost in the marginalized buffet.
They get served at the oppression Olympics, or actually at the Olympics unwillingly by a journalist who only pretends to eat a well-balanced diet, but really has LGBT food allergies, if you know what I mean.
In reality, these should be staple dishes consumed by commoners, consumed by you and me, consumed by children along with their healthy daily dose of broccoli and cauliflower, squash and zucchini, even eggplant.
They should be in every ******* cookbook with pictures and all different kinds of recipes!
I want every child to have gay on their dinner plate, lesbian lunch, gender nonconforming on the brunch menu, and bisexual breakfast.
And everything in between in the queer spectrum served during snack breaks.
I want every child to look down at their plate and see pineapple pizza and say, gee that looks great!
I love all of the pizza toppings, no matter whether gay or nay.
... except for anchovies, of course.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
N. N is for neurologist.
What does the neurologist say?
“Nothing seems to be wrong.
Your net recall seems normal.
You seem to remember most nouns and the news.
Nothing serious,
No need to worry.”
I don’t quite remember driving here.
This is Bethesda, right?
And your name is…?
P. P is for psychologist.
The P. is silent.
So is the psychologist.
I talk and talk.
My energy level is high today,
even though I got no sleep last night.
I want to write a poem and run a partial marathon.
I love people.
People are so beautiful.
“Only connect,” said E.M. Forster.
Am I talking too much?
How does that make me feel?
Just great! Not like yesterday,
when I wanted to jump into the Potomac
from Key Bridge.
P is also for Potomac.
The psychologist speaks.
I need a new pill.
E. E is for endocrinologist.
What does the endocrinologist say?
“Eat. You’re an enigma.
You are losing weight.
We don’t know why.
We’ve checked everything
and can’t find evidence
of enemies in your endocrine system.
Enjoy some eclairs, eggplant, eggs benedict.
Life is short, endulge!
Hopefully not too short.
O. O is for oncologist.
Oh.
Oh oh.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:22 AM UTC
They've been working on this for years
Inside the government
To try a replace the brain of man
With that of a purple eggplant
This idea to me sounds genius
If you know what it is that I mean
People round here might start making sense
Pass the veggies if you please
They called all the top notched scientists
And vegetarians throughout the land
To see what would be the best variety
In this eggplant transplant experiment
They settled on the aubergine
Great Brittan's joy and pride
When it comes to the perfect eggplant
Those Limey's will not be denied
They were afraid if they went to the private sector
That person would surely be missed
So they grabbed someone unsuspecting
Inside of the government
They told the low level employee
A bit of truth mixed with a little white lie
They needed him for his vast understanding and knowledge
Plus they'd be serving cookies on the side
They added a little something to the cookie dough
That knocked the governmental genius to his knees
Plopped him down on the gurney
...Let the experiment proceed if you please
They cracked his skull wide open
Where upon they couldn't believe their eyes
Right there inside of his cranium
Already an eggplant did reside
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
I paint my pink plum flesh
With a smooth eggplant color.
you loved the way it brought out my eyes.
Today I use it...to ****** your way home.
You never come; just leaving me with stained lips.
I'll pucker up to coffee cups and mirrors.
Leaving you everywhere I kiss.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
Unforgiving heat
Cool drink
Giraffe,
Hippo,
Wildebeest,
Gazelle
Sip muddy water hole
Crouching low.
Unforgiving heat
Cool drink
Texans
Sip fridge-cooled Camelbacks
Crouching low.
Light breeze
Eggplant skies
Tall savannah grass
Sways
Masking movement.
Predators travel
Unseen.
Guns ready
trophies sighted
Giraffe
Hippo
Wildebeest
Gazelle
Bullet chambered
Trigger finger
trophies....
Running?
Cheetahs pouncing
Texans screaming
Law of Nature
End of Story.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
Purple looks like a mid-night sky
Purple sounds like a purple violin playing a melody
Purple smells like fresh, homemade eggplant out of the oven
Purple tastes like heart made eggplant in your mouth
Purple feels like Raven Queen dress from Ever After High
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Skinhead
super short
military hair
with a strong jawline
jutting out
I saw you
One random
blindingly hot afternoon
In a jeep
I tried to squeeze in
the small space so the two guys
could scoot over
You’re the guy to my right
Reluctant to pass to the driver
my exact change
You sat upright
Your right arm lifted, hand
closed on the security rail
I could only see your profile
Your jawline and Aviators
Mouth set in a deadpan line
Lean, quietly confident
Dressed casually and carefully
Odd eggplant-colored shirt over
whitewashed jeans
You turned slightly,
your nose strong
chin dignified
skin clean, with slight
blemishes of stress
Pretty eyes
That never landed on me
Your lips slightly curved
as if remembering something
You are beautiful
Arrogant-looking
Bored
Worldly
You’re not from here
Not from common places
Not from this wretched community I belong to
Then my eyes traveled to the back of your head,
An inscription was tattooed
at the back of your skull.
Your hair growing, beginning to cover up
the past?
A dangerous past?
New life?
A mere change of look?
Where are you going?
Where are you from?
Why are you taking this route
to and from common places?
What is your agenda
on this high afternoon?
Are you a rockstar?
Are you a poet
A gangster?
Then finally it’s my stop.
I got up and wished you
were following behind
That we have the same destination
Just so I could look at you
in full view
I stepped into
the sad, bright afternoon
Then I turned around
You’re not there
You sped away
To some place
Some life
With your Aviators
And your principles
And it hurt
That I never even
knew what
your tattoo meant
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
People making jokes about my birthday.
Banging teeth when kissing.
Eggplant.
Walking to school in the cold without a sweatshirt.
Being too cold and losing feeling in any body parts.
Kissing someone with ****** hair. It hurts.
Saggy knees.
Stretch lines.
Homophobia in any way, shape, or form whatsoever.
Boys whose hallway swag gets in the way of my getting to class on time.
Having to wait until he and I can be together.
Period cramps.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
The needle-tip,
a bee sting
giving rise to a hive.
A sickening delirium
coursing mercurial under eyelids,
tapeworms and tendrils
weaving wildly:
teeming, churning tides breaking over
greedy teeth (a needy mouth
flaying flesh ferociously,
a fevered wolverine
whipping through a petting zoo).
Each agonizing second
slowly sliding by,
tacky molasses on cloth
covering a table in an innocuous
American home
bruises on mother's face
fade (eggplant to jaundice
to the crimson of the setting sun
dying behind the horizon
line {chopped across a counter-top
like a broken promise...}).
All the lives we compromise
trying to cage a swarm.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
Chasing rainbows in the dark
Searching blindly
Hopeless night sky
Starless and lonely
Blinding reflections
On invisible water
Navy blue and eggplant planet
Sunless and smokey
Flailing wildly
Trying to grasp the unseen
Knowing it's there
Just out of reach
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 3:00 PM UTC
let's talk about his
peanut butter thighs
and his cashew eyes
his cloaked voice that
floods me when he
speaks, and his
big hands and thin
fingers. Let's talk about
all of his parts that make
him whole and makes
my eggplant legs go
bump bump
in the night.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
eggplant skies and zippers,
this collect call counted.
My buttons were tacky,
and you had the liberty to
push them;
you unraveled them instead,
as i was pushing the ones
of your house phone -
i spent quarters of my time
on you.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
The girl’s corneas expand over the small black abyss of pupil
Tides of blue and hazel rising over onyx isles
An unhinged eyelash balances precariously on its neighbor
It evaporates with her quick blink
Directly beneath her right eye
Below the mottled eggplant shadows
The corpse of a capillary drains among the freckles
Subterranean rivers of vein
Pulse under thin skin
Her nose is spherical
Etched by soft papery scars
Pores round and gazing
Culminating in a uniform valley
Lips are soft and pink and unkissed
A source for a small steady trickle of pride
Her mother’s lips
But behind the outer façade
The seamed surface is rough with nervous nibbles
Ribboned with scars of worries and troubles
She lacks fourteen teeth
Absent since the womb
Those she has are either sickly infants or filled with grainy mystery metallics
Some entirely fabricated with spatulas of amalgam
Yellowed and cracking
Rough and worn
Spongy inner marrow screaming with pain
She hides the stony incisors from view
The hair
Curling and waving
Kissing with reptilian tongues at her cheeks
Neck
Forehead
Framing her face in brambles and cowlicks
Indecisive of its true form
Fuzzy with moisture
Unwilling to obey
The strands of a gorgon
A monstrous tangle of personality
Instantly recognizable
Her hands attempt to soothe the undulating tendrils
But they anger
As stubborn as her
Refuse treatment
She gives up
Rinses her hands
And turns away from the mirror
Sighing
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:48 PM UTC
Castelfranco Radicchio
wilted slightly
maintaining backbone
Aubergine Du Burkina Faso Eggplant
grilled in olive oil
fresh ground peppercorn
and basil
gently laid onto a delicate bed
bright green and fresh
Cour Di Bue Cabbage
Molokia Purple Sweet Potatoes
julienne and drizzled
La Vecchia Dispensa Balsamic Vinegar
aged 100 years
mingled with the brightest yellow
Amarillo Carrot and thin
rounds of a Jaune Paille Des Vertus Onion
offsetting the purples and yellows
with gleaming white –
art presents itself
as poetry
via recipe
in the fattest nation
Earth has ever known –
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 11:47 AM UTC
(I)
So concretey, these jungles
but not like this
Glass shards shoot up 45 stories
only to have tarp covered markets
populated by shouters
Oh, Powerpuff Girls on backpacks
one green
one purple
one pink
And 10 dollar Gucci bags
these people have it made
Four blocks from the world stock exchange
these people have it made
(II)
You ain't had won ton noodle soup
Or chicken feet
Or shrimp stuffed eggplant
Or food from Chinese franchise Pizza Huts
which happens to be an escargot joint
What does that say about US?
hopefully not much
(III)
Red taxis between every other car
Double decker busses
more common than city pigeons
Still the city finds time for trees
whiskery ents rising out of
ancient volcanic soil
You would think it's a city full of sin
Seven million souls, what-
that's higher than I can count
It's not
Everyone here is cute and wrinkly
Confucian
except for the young
These people have it made
(IV)
In this city, you're expected to stay
home with mom and dad
As they get cute and wrinkly
you're to return the love
Confucian
these people have it made
11 seated dinners
these people have it made
(V)
Here in this ancient city
the gravestones dot the hills
coat the hills
And then the cremation jars bury the hills
(yes, they're dead)
cough
Here's how a Chinese name is structured:
[family name] [given name]
Confucianism
and then these names fade too
These people have it made
but it's alright.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
Poets, like doctors, know the anatomy of suffering... tearing the paper with rusty carving knives...
We see scarlet scratches and eggplant colored bruises on every square inch of foolscap... we open scars with words... stainless steel scalpels which we never sanitize...
We perform open heart surgery with blunt instruments... We cauterize the wounds with coals of Fire...
We are civil war sawbones, removing the gangrenous leg to save the body... Carrying out our task with whiskey bottle anaesthesia.
So have a care... The Doctor Is In.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/30/2016
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
Flood every grocery sack with opened up noodle boxes.
Ask the butcher for fresh chinook salmon.
Bother the pharmasists for a secret remedy until he sighs and gives in.
Give the lady yourcalifornia sunshine drivers license when she yawns and
Has to make sure you can buy a bottle. ( I imangined what happened after we danced.)
She moved my pulse like safeways selectice bold brazillian roast.
I believe her secret recipies for pickled seduction.
Every first isle Leaves me happily underneath the celings act three popcorn
Until I beg her to hold like fresh melting george forman grilled cheese (what I was looking for a long time from now)
The iron clad grill Whisperes"you have found her missing grocery list". Why has her bias condemmed possibilies canned tuna fish in oil. Theres nothing to see insider her locks of eggplant stems. i can find a alternative way to cash my sacronized invisible receit stamped with red words raincbeck. I couldnt afford you impulse items.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
One of the world's worst opening lines, ever
Darkness, three or four of them crossing the street to me
My eyes down, trying to ignore
Figures looming, coming closer
My hometown downtown
This doesn't happen here
Wanna get with me? Hey!
Other things: gross and ******
They're closer and he, who I don't look at
reaches out and tries to grab my thigh
Like he's tearing off a piece of bread
But I'm solid milk chocolate not fudge
His hand hits and grabs
It feels like a wrench as he grips
Digs for a hand hold,
But there is none, just bone and solid me
They walk past asking why I don't say hello
Yelling as I shut them out
And I remember when I was jumped
Carrying a pizza home in NYC at night
Pizza floated down in slow motion
steam in the air
A pile of eggplant and cheese
freezing in the winter cold
And the kid grabbed my jacket
held an exacto knife and demanded my wallet
As the rest stood around
like watching a demonstration
And I pulled free because a puffy jacket doesn't make a good hand hold
And ran away, kids do that, the guard at Barnard said
But this grip was different
Had it caught hold
Had they surrounded
I would have feared for my life
I walked away quickly, from them, from memory
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
would you like to take a walk
through my gardens now with me?
with the loveliest of flower
and the tiniest of pea?
yes?
good,
well come along my darling
now come along it's free,
an let's go to the gardens
to see what we can see
well,
I planted here some garlic
from the garlic bulbs I had
an the bok choy
well it bolted
and I lost it
that's too bad
but still
it had some flowers
though,
so really not so sad,
sigh,
smile now, ; )
see the tomatoes look so happy
lots to can, to cook an share
the cucumbers are plenty
see those guys are everywhere,
those here are purple eggplant
with soft delicate new flowers,
an the weather has been perfect
just so hot with scattered showers
the chocolate mint like poetry
WiLd and prolific
dead head all the marigolds
an boy they grow terrific,
in lovely burning oranges
and yellows
you can eat,
marigolds - nasturtiums
are really such a treat
and eating from my garden
well really can't be beat,
the kale is getting big,
and my peppers hot an mild
the pumpkins taking over
like an ivy envy wild
cosmos and green beans
were started from a seed,
radishes are too,
look-
I snuck 'em in between,
basil and cilantro
rosemary and sage,
I could go on and on
and write another page
but really you should visit
and come to see it now
but thanks for reading this
though vicarious somehow
I'm still happy for to share
my life
and love today
I hope you know I care
an are soon
here on your way
even in grey skies
for the growing I will pray,
and I will be here waiting
tending gardens
come what may.
Ma Cherie © 2017
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 1:03 PM UTC
Admired. Required to perform.
Feathers of turquoise and purple bruise my stage name.
Belladonna.
Blooming eggplant bright and dewy.
Eyes dance and twinkle only for you.
Indulge me my pet. Sharpen your knife.
I feel like blood tonight.
Tight smiles wreathed in crimson.
Waiting. Waiting for release.
Tear me open.
Burn me down.
Blow me away.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 9:00 PM UTC
~for Pamela Rae~
you cannot amend reality by passing a law.
if we could, then we should have one requiring society to
guarantee a happy childhood.
every **** time I propose to myself a resolution
that I am an ok poet, I stumble on to a poet here
of whom I was unaware, and you were, correctly aware,
that brings a good light into the world,
vowing to throw in the towel,
the I'm ok resolution never passes,
voted down 2 - 1;
Against: Myself, I
In Favor: Me
which necessitates try try again
Einstein's Insanity Theorem fool
proofed.
Exclaim! what a goodly word.
If we ex'd our claims (need, due, want) more,
walking in quiet contemplation,
we could climb on our roof (I can) and proclaim (silently)
glory glory hallelujah and it would not matter to
whom (which diety)
we are
addressing.
Outstanding! what a goodly word.
If I could satisfy the claims against me outstanding,
still unsatisfied, while I am yet among the living,
especially the one that are self-propelled,
that would be
outstanding.
I would rather the simple monetary motived corruption
of a dishonest businessman, than the cowardly silence
of the fools we elect to govern us, and gravely pretend
to know what is good for us. I call this,
My Theory of the Greater Corruption.
Word Salad: making crazy combinations of words,
i.e. eggplant smile, vegetable sunrise etc.
hell, I just can't make any up,
it is
cheap and lazy crafty no craftsmanship, craftwomanship
but very self/satisfying and tasty too, I'm sure,
and authentic 100% b.s.
The apocalypse is always nigh.
Ironically, very true.
Let's keep it that way.
neigh neigh neigh.
I write many more words than I speak;
by a very wide margin;
this pleases me,
by a very wide margin.
complexification
(yes, it is a real word) and
glorification
rhyme because they both end in
shunned.
In heaven, the following are outlawed:
yoga, exercise, dieting, crying; denying and lying.
the latter obviate the former.
glory glory hallelujah and hot ****
>•>
4/18/17 2:43am
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
faded,
stretch marks specking
skin, lines etched into thighs
and chest.
minuscule,
bijou ruby acne wounds;
concealed behind bangs,
not makeup.
hidden,
crescent fingernail indents
in palms, holding a fist
too tight.
unavoidable,
bumps on the backs
of legs, almost as if crinkled
paper *****
temporary,
blood red threading and
seams on waists, after
shrinking jeans.
saturated,
sangria and eggplant sunsets
ache to touch; swell slightly
before recovery.
these are my organic tattoos.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 4:20 AM UTC
to henry, love elana:
i miss you because i know the most action you’re getting these days is slipping an extra big tip into the delivery girl(who forgot the napkins again)’s hands, and i know her hands feel nothing like mine. so i’m sorry because we always had eggplant pizza together which everyone else thought was strange, because i miss you, because sometimes – i hint at you to our delivery girl so she’ll tell me how you’re doing (i hear you have the flu, drink some fluids other than dr. pepper, okay?).
To Elana, Love Henry:
I feel guilty for the time I asked our delivery girl if you were still ordering from our place. I miss you because I give her a bigger tip than usual now and sometimes I get pizza even if I’m not in the mood, just to hear from her that you had bags under your eyes tonight or your cousin got her acceptance letter from Barnard (Congratulations to her, by the way). The eggplant isn’t as satisfying as it used to be, so I turn the TV on. It helps drown out the quiet.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
I lean against a stucco building
that has a turquoise whale painted
on the sidewalk in front and pop in
a piece of Wrigley’s as vendors
unload eggplant and plump onions,
two women walk past, one isn’t
wearing a bra and the other
should be wearing two,
I see a neighbor listening as three
Jamaican bucket drummers argue over
cigars, my neighbor nods and flips his
Pall Mall into the street, a gal walking
a Lhasa Apso snuffs the cigarette with
her heel, the dog hikes on a crate of
cabbage sitting atop a guitar case;
bravo to you God, a better morning
I could not have lived.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC