Gesundes Essen ist eine Sache, aber finden und zu halten frische Bio-Olivenöl sowie Essig ist etwas ganz anderes. Verwaltung unserer Gewicht braucht nicht durch weltlichen Ernährungsgewohnheiten durchgeführt werden. Cabl wissen, frische Blattsalate können helfen. And so Essig und Öl baseball hat sich zu einem Grundnahrungsmittel für zahlreiche von uns. Italienisches Essen, Balsamico-Vinaigrette, sowie sogar fabelhafte Brot Eintauchen Rezepten müssen das beste Öl und Essig für guten Geschmack. Thus, nachdem cabl hochwertige Gewürze, wie wir halten sie frisch noch richtig auf der Tabelle dargestellt? Dishing out Essig sowie Öl auf dem Tisch baseball hat on home Jahren mühsam. Etliche verschiedene Arten von crucis haben nur für diese eine Notwendigkeit gemacht. Die richtige Lagerung von Olivenöl ist notwendig, dass cease to live Qualität und der Geschmack uncontaminated zu bleiben sowie die ernährungsphysiologischen Vorteile intakt bleiben. I am Laufe der Jahrhunderte, Öl und Essig crucis wurden aus zahlreichen Materialien hergestellt worden. Cabl wissen jetzt, kick the bucket besten Behälter für pass on Speicherung von Olivenöl sowie Essig sind Glas, Keramik, oder Porzellan. Realmente es ist wichtig zu wissen, Kunststoffbehälter sind nicht fantastic für beiden Würze. Other frischen Geschmack länger zu halten, sollte Olivenöl sowie Essig Shifts a good einem kühlen Ort ohne direkte Sonneneinstrahlung gelagert werden. Das Most effective wäre with einem Glasbehälter ist. Öl oder Essig sollte nicht in einem Kunststoffbehälter gelagert, weil sie das Wooden aus dem Kunststoff absorbiert werden kann. Glas Essig sowie Öl crucis sind außergewöhnliche Geschenkartikel. Sie fungieren wie the best, um ordnungsgemäß zu lagern Ihre Olivenöl sowie Essig, sowie werden immer beliebter. Heute Gourmet-Küchenutensilien sowie Produkte werden nach dem für die-off Praktikabilität und Neuheit gesucht Günstige Samsung Galaxy S5. Ein Gourmet-Geschenk ist when it comes to der Regel einer der Wert und Qualität, wobei diese für depart this life perfekte Geschenkidee wesentlich. Messkännchen bietet mundgeblasenem Glas crucis von Europa, das Glas with Glasbehältern haben. Ein Innengefäß hält bedroom Essig und der äußere Behälter speichert das Olivenöl Samsung galaxy s6 edge+. Jedes Glas Menage head wear zwei Ausgießer auf dems gleichen Öl und Essig Spender. Cease to live mundgeblasene Glasbehälter sind tasteful eingerichtet und bieten ein anspruchsvoller Weg, other Öl sowie Essig auf dem Tisch bieten, aus dems gleichen Dekanter.

The Grapes Cruet, depart this life eine Give durchgebrannt Glas Traube Behälter kennzeichnet, when it comes to einem Glas zylindrischen Körper, ist sehr populär für Gourmet-Küchen. Cease to live Traube cruet etwa dems Durchmesser einer Flasche Wein sowie ist leicht durch einer Give verwendet. Sie werden sie mehr sowie mehr auf feine Esstischen von einigen der besten Gourmetrestaurants Amerikas zu sehen. Essig und Öl throughout der Traube cruet gespeichert sind, wird eine lange Zeit zu halten. Das Olivenöl wird mehr wie ein Jahr, for that reason lange eng anliegende Korken verwendet werden, zu halten. Trying to keep sowohl Essig und Öl luftdicht ist entscheidend für kick the bucket Halte Geschmack. The actual Grape Cruet verfügt über ein beeindruckendes Develop, das vergrößert wird, wenn das Olivenöl i'm Glas gefüllt. Die-off Glaskunst ist geschmackvoll sowie gibt eine elegante Erklärung auf jedem Esstisch. Das perfekte Geschenk für pass away Feiertage, perish Trauben Cruet Eigenschaften: Hitzebeständige technisch europäischen Glas Schön einzigartige mundgeblasene Glas-Design Samsung galaxy s6 edge+ 32GB. Zwei Funktionsgläser when it comes to Glasgefäßen, um Ihren Essig sowie Öl zu trennen. Hergestellt dauerhafte Abgabe Olivenöl und Balsamico-Essig i am Modify zu sein. Hermetic individuelle bartop Korken für beide Ausläufe. europäische Handwerkskunst sowie Qualität.

All the Grape Essig sowie Öl Menage ist eines der innovativsten und funktionsDekanTern werden Sie zum Essen zu finden. Seine bemerkenswerte Entwurf ist sicher, das Auge der alle Ihre Gäste zu fangen, während Sie eine geschmackvolle sowie elegante Erklärung auf Ihrem Esstisch. ein Gourmet-Geschenk-Set, das eine Trauben Menage mit importierten Olivenöl sowie Balsamessig aus Modena ist ein ideales Geschenk für jeden Anlass einschließlich Housewarmings und Feiertage. And also, realmente es ist ein interessantes Gespräch Stück, das zu immer geredet wird.
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I recently had the great privilege of editing Mike Essig's latest poetry collection, THE BIOLOGY OF STRANGENESS, and I'm honoured to have been entrusted with such fantastic material. Putting together a book like this is every poetry geek's dream.

It's a beautifully textured assortment of poems, earthy yet lyrical, narrated by a voice that's uniquely grained with experience. There are pieces that will make you smile, think, wince; there are pieces that hit you in the gut out of nowhere; there are pieces that welcome you into them like old, worn-in shoes; there are pieces you will remember late some night when you're by yourself, and remembering them will make you feel less alone.

This collection of poetry makes you look at the banal and the everyday afresh; it finds magic and mystery in the mundane, and even Hawaiian shirts are poem-worthy when Mike Essig's writing about them.

The Kindle version is already available through Amazon.

A paperback edition is due out next month, and I can't wait to have a copy of this book on my shelf as well as on my e-reader.

Mike's previous poetry books, Never Forgotten and Huck Finn Is Dead are also available through Amazon and are excellent.  

From his author profile on B Star Kitty Press:

"Mike Essig is a veteran of Vietnam and a retired English teacher. He’s also been recruited by the muse as a poet, like he hadn’t already been through enough."

Sample poems, links to sales pages and more info can be found at the B Star Kitty Press website.  www(dot)bstarkittypress(dot)com.

Please do support this very talented indie author.

"What is that noise?”
                      The wind under the door.
“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”
                      Nothing again nothing.*

A blustery day. The wind drives
its chill through the cracks
in this old, groaning house.
It is the voice of the world
screeching: Let me in!
The same world I have struggled
so long to keep at a distance.
Both wind and world persist like poverty.
Seeking safety from everything outward,
I have tried to build castle walls
against a foreign, hostile world
in a little, shabby apartment.
Respite. Anonymity. Shelter from the storm.
Safe from the charms of money and women.
All effort in vain. It just can't be done.
No walls are thick enough
to quell the horrible screams
of this slowly collapsing century,
the sadly frigid remains of the dying day.
The undead bang on the shutters.
No cat fierce enough to fend off tomorrow.
A mind too weak to live in solitude.
A body that can't say no to desire.
Like a ghost of the future,
I am trapped by the tyranny of now,
listening to the wind beneath my door.

Tomorrow the baseball Hall of Fame will announce the newest members selected to join her hallowed hall.  Ken Griffey Jr.  will surely be selected.

I wish Hello Poetry had a Hall Of Fame. There are so many poets and good friends worthy of.  

In absence of, I wish to nominate the following poets for the first class when and if it is ever created. My criteria for selection to this Hello Poetry Hall of Fame are:

                    A feeling heart
                    loves  poetry
                    is a friend to others in the community

A Triple Crown.

Time and space are the only reason I have not listed all poets here at Hello Poetry:

Vicki  (My Queen, a love child of Whitman and Dickinson)
Christi Michaels MoonFlower
mark cleavenger
Musfiq us shaleheen
brandon cory nagley
The Masked Pimpernel
rebecca askew
Sjr1000
Pradip Chattopadhyay
elsa angelica
Eddie Starr Poetry
ryn
Weeping willow
KetomaRose
Steven Langhorst
Mike Essig
Willard Wells
Woody
Elizabeth Squires
SoulSurvivor
Pax
Grace
Dave Kavanagh
Sumina Thapaliya
FJ Davis
SE Reimer
Sally A Bayan
solEmn oaSis
Melissa S
Arcassin B
..... and to those I failed to mention I apologize. I am thinking of you, also, but time and space are the only limitations to my list of nominees.

HelloPoetry Blessed us all , no matter where we live.
I am truly Blessed by each and everyone alike here.
There are so many here on this here site that I am thankful for.
Sally Bayan, Mike Hauser, Iamdaisie, Olivia Kent, Wendy Ronshausen,Brandon Nagley, Earl Jane, Rachel Sia Jane Lloyd, Lydia Monet,Neil Aranda, Mark Cleavenger, Ann Marie Johnson, Melanie Wilson-Herring, Mike Essig,  **** Paz Its Gonna Make Sense.
PrttyBrd, Vicki Bashor, Kripi Mehra, Willyam Pax, Poetess Bhumi, Kelly Rose.
Elizabeth Burnettge, Toni Pugh, Paul Champman, David Lewis Paget.
Ryn, Sean Scibbles, Aurelia, Kim Johanna Baker,Yasaman Johari.
Lady RF,Crazy Diamond Kristy, Weeping Willow, Alyssa Underwood.
MydstopiA,adhi das, South by southwest, Petal, soulsurvivor.
reformdancerecover,Ashly Kocher, Mack, Travler, Randolph Wilson.
Plus many more whom are very special indeed whom did not make this poem love you all in Christ.

It contains
many volumes.
Women show up,
check them out,
but never
return them.
I keep hoping
one will
come back
and say,
do you have
anything else
by this author?
She will be
the reader
of my heart.
  - mce

Written by Arlo Guthrie and Pete Seeger; adapted by Mike Essig.


Halfway around the world tonight
In a strange and foreign land
A soldier packs his memories
As he leaves Afghanistan

And back home, they don't know too much
There was just no way to tell
You know* you had to be there
To know that war was hell

And there won't be any victory parades
For those that's coming back
They'll fly them in at midnight
And unload the body sacks

And the living will be walking down
A long and lonely road
Because nobody seems to care these days
When a soldier makes it home

Somewhere in America tonight
In this strange and foreign land
A soldier unpacks memories
That he saved from Vietnam

They said it wasn't easy
Just another job, well done
Then the government in Saigon fell
To the sounds of rebel guns

And the faces of the comrades
Who were blown out of the sky
Leaves you bitter and disgusted
That they didn't have to die

The old men who planned that war
You know they all died safe in bed
With none of their rich and privileged sons
Ending up torn or dead

Back home they didn't know too much
There was just no way to tell
You know you had to be there
to know that war was hell

And there wasn't any big parades
For those that made it back
They flew them home in secret
and told them to make tracks

And the living were left walking down
A long and lonely road
Because nobody seemed to care back then
When a soldier made it home

The night is coming quickly
And the stars are on their way
As I stare into the evening
Looking for the words to say

That I saw the lonely soldier
Just a boy that's far from home
And I saw that I was just like him
While upon this earth I roam

And there may not be any big parades
If I ever make it back
As I come home under cover
To a world that can't keep track

Of the heroes who have fallen
Let alone the ones who roam
Guess that's why nobody seems to care
When a soldier makes it home

To the many readers, I ******* with my poem about Bukowski.

I don't loathe Bukowski. My point is that he is a cult writer. His cult seems to be made up of people who are ignorant of other much better writers of his time. If they read the Beats (in particular Gary Snyder) or others like Richard Brautigan, Jim Harrison, Wendell Berry and many others, they would see how poorly his writing stands up to comparison.

Bukowski's persona is what seems to attract people. He knew that and cultivated it. It was his meal ticket. The poor, drunken, uncouth, outsider, loser who was scorned by the literati of his time. In truth, he was a writer of pulp poetry. What he needed was a good editor. You could take all of his books of poems, cut out the rambling, self-serving, tedious, self-glorifying *******, and cut them down to maybe two books of decent poetry. His prose is better, but not that much.

Young people, lacking better poetry for comparison, are mainly attracted by this cult of personality. Young people are attracted to rebels, even bogus ones. He himself said he didn't write, he just typed. Some hero.

He portrays himself as a big, tough *** willing to fight the whole world. Actually, he was a fat drunk barely six feet tall. That's why I laughed at him when he threatened me. I was 20, just three weeks back from Vietnam. The thought of fighting an old drunk seemed pathetic to me. I could have easily killed him. Who goes to a poetry reading for that?

There was also his attitude toward women. I believe he really hated women. He saw them as receptacles for his *****, nothing more. He used his fame to **** a good many young admirers. He's not alone in having done that, but he was obsessive about it. Women were a perk, nothing more.

In the end, his cult status will remain, but he will never be taken seriously as a writer, because - by his own admission - he wasn't. There is much excellent poetry out there by better writers of his time. Do yourself a favor, read them, educate yourself. If you only read mediocre poetry, you'll only ever be a mediocre poet.

Even at his most unheroic, he is the hero of his stories and poems, always demanding the reader’s covert approval. That is why he is so easy to love, especially for novice readers with little experience of the genuine challenges of poetry; and why, for more demanding readers, he remains so hard to admire.

Please: Join in. Tell me why I am wrong or right.

Mike Essig

Every morning I try to unlearn the universe.
It is like a yoga exercise to escape the irons of knowledge.
In 63 years your head fills with so much *******.
There must be a method for purging the excess.
So far I have not been able to discover it.
I will keep trying because I want to see things fresh.
I want to hear babies cry and Mozart exhalt for the first time.
I want to enter a woman anew like a baffled 15-year-old
discovering a pleasure from which he will never want to escape.
I want to forget my over-remembered  life.
I want to rediscover the salty taste of women.
I have been everywhere and am out of destinations.
I ache for the pain of a question lacking an answer.
I want to go to war again and relearn a sense of terror.
I want to experience the baffled euphoria of first love.
I want to reclaim my sense of wonder from jaded life.
Imagine the utter joy of hearing again birds for the first time.
Unlearning is so much harder than learning.
I fear not enough years remain to unknow this burden.
But I must keep at it with a vigor no longer possessed.
It is morning again in the heart of Mike Essig.
And every morning I try to unlearn the universe
simply so I might know the bliss of learning it again.

******, PLEASE, LEARN, TO, PUNCTUATE - there's a reason why i wrote it as: keffíyéh ėáhírā - look how many punctuation marks you can find in those two words! -

as much as it bids me a tear to abandon history, oh so suddenly, i grow historically apparent, in a congregational form to appease the past, and embrace the present... for we are staged in a revision of medieval history... the old titans clash, the old arithmetic ensues, the scimitar enters the ageing feminine republic... the old farts are ******* their underwear, heaving the depressed lusts of the already infamous youths of their trodden masses... readied the females, for the eased fate into the oil-rich fickles of the poochy-poochy-poo'h-ahs of tomorrow.

you could find subtler forms
of censorship,
than the ones you already know,
how
the brotherhood of ****
germany: die neblig bergkalt...
avaricious i...
           only yesterday i walked
with a thrill of a supermarket spree,
a bag of salt & vinegar chips,
and what of today?
    two rolls of hoisin sauce duck...
and the rain: as if clapping,
soaking my hoodie...
come next sun, and with it:
the next moon,
               i will be there:
with my next
goodmorning &, goodnight.