"legume" poems
It takes some courage to eat a legume's fruit
knowing what is known of each poisonous part
of the locust (although the flowers may be frittered).
What's pushing up through the leaf litter
before the canopy is out, past the stone fence?
Wild lily-of-the-valley is my guess.
Of 140,000 soldiers, less than 1% have considered
the fruit of the desert surprisingly good and varied.
They have stayed and married women who are crows
and will, circumstances dictating, fight for you.
We have waited and waited for this election
and now we're divided into just two factions.
If everyone votes and every vote's counted there will be
nothing for either faction to crow about. All will be
well with the republic and in the world what will be will be.
What responsibility does a citizen bear
for participating in a war, blowing the roofs
off houses, exposing the beds and clean-swept floors?
Warriors at the gate, you will not run,
you will not bargain. Dig in deep, feet
overhanging the abyss, protect your children.
I poured water into the dry vase of garden cultivars -
snapdragon, phlox, bigonia, bluebell, mint -
and have they not rewarded me with their collective scent?
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
Expect the foliage
Establish a sense for the centless.
These, and other low-sodium snacks
will be cast upon by lukewarm multitudes
As harbingers of a legume reckoning
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 12:10 AM UTC
a busy little thing, buzzing down the estuary,
then back again, up and back, practising.
in order to acquire, improve or maintain proficiency in it.
“I need to practise my French”
no clouds to cover . it was a gentle day
of gardens, les cloche and legume given freely.
the pronounciation was not at all as it should be,
the company all welcome.
later the v22, toy osprey. delight.
sbm.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
found in wetland zones
Uruguay's national bloom
a legume, ceibo
Dec 9, 2022
Dec 9, 2022 at 7:57 PM UTC
Flowers share their golden bloom
I know everything'll be okay
And they'll get rid of all my gloom
I sing songs inside of my tomb
"You have to stay in there," they say
Flowers share their golden bloom
I already know about my certain doom
The skies turn a brilliant gray
And they'll get rid of all my gloom
I can't sleep in this bedroom
I think thoughtfully about today
Flowers share their golden bloom
Soldiers share a final legume
Bombs fly in a beautiful array
And they'll get rid of all my gloom
Blood splatters, a red abloom
This would be further known as D-Day
Flowers share their golden bloom
And they'll get rid of all my gloom
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 6:46 PM UTC
One day I went to the river
where it rolls through the land like a steam engine.
Summer breezes blew through
the open meadows tossing my hair.
I walked barefoot to the water shouldering a backpack,
hands in my pockets.
I took a full breath.
Then another.
I went there each day to connect with the earth.
It was my heaven
and the path was lined
with wildflowers.
There was Lupine, who was purple-petaled and geometrically pleasing, and whose fruit's a legume in the fall.
There was Ceanothus, a shiny-leafed-shrub
with sweet smelling pastel-blue inflorescences.
Then there was the most majestic of all, Yarrow.
Achilea milefolium, to the botanist.
A perennial herb in the sunflower family
that grew nearly everywhere.
Stalky clusters of tiny white flowers
rested atop a firm stem
growing delicate fern-like leaves.
It's floral aroma so fresh it made my mouth salivate.
At the time all I could've said about it was that it was white and smelled nice.
I was no herbalist, but I had an open heart.
My mind knew that there were healing properties of some plants and poison in others.
I was raised here among the rock and snow.
I knew that it was never the same water
but the same river that swirled by.
My skin was used to being bruised,
splintered, or scraped up,
being a recreational explorer.
I stopped carrying a first aid kit everywhere.
I would heal.
It was a usual day.
Gone to the river for a dip.
I swiftly dove off the rock into the turquoise
current.
My frustration and confusion washed away.
I got out with all the usual symptoms of a glacial swim:
heaving lungs, elevated heart rate, shivering, and crystal- clear vision.
But this day an unusual symptom of fresh blood dripped
from my pointer finger.
I looked around in each direction,
I was near a thicket of willow and poplar,
patches of brown grasses, and blossoming yarrow.
Instinct took over. I went for the flower.
I ripped off a leaf and chewed it up, it was bright and bitter.
I spit it out and applied to my cut with pressure.
It didn't sting like rubbing alcohol.
It just stopped the bleeding within seconds.
I let the poultice stay on as long as possible.
This one was a friendly plant.
Yarrow waved at me
"You're welcome, it's time we met."
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 2:15 PM UTC
Where behavior is deemed detrimental
The impact appears incremental
But anger infuses
As loathing reduces
Your soul to the size of a lentil
Aug 21, 2024
Aug 21, 2024 at 1:27 PM UTC