"lettuces" poems
Among the market greens,
a bullet
from the ocean
depths,
a swimming
projectile,
I saw you,
dead.
All around you
were lettuces,
sea foam
of the earth,
carrots,
grapes,
but
of the ocean
truth,
of the unknown,
of the
unfathomable
shadow, the
depths
of the sea,
the abyss,
only you had survived,
a pitch-black, varnished
witness
to deepest night.
Only you, well-aimed
dark bullet
from the abyss,
mangled at one tip,
but constantly
reborn,
at anchor in the current,
winged fins
windmilling
in the swift
flight
of
the
marine
shadow,
a mourning arrow,
dart of the sea,
olive, oily fish.
I saw you dead,
a deceased king
of my own ocean,
green
assault, silver
submarine fir,
seed
of seaquakes,
now
only dead remains,
yet
in all the market
yours
was the only
purposeful form
amid
the bewildering rout
of nature;
amid the fragile greens
you were
a solitary ship,
armed
among the vegetables,
fin and prow black and oiled,
as if you were still
the vessel of the wind,
the one and only
pure
ocean
machine:
unflawed, navigating
the waters of death.
5.4k
Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swiftewd greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman's hallo',
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nurs'd with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confin'd,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.
Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance ev'ry night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.
His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw,
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.
On twigs of hawthorn he regal'd,
On pippins' russet peel;
And, when his juicy salads fail'd,
Slic'd carrot pleas'd him well.
A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he lov'd to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his **** around.
His frisking wa at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear;
But most before approaching show'rs,
Or when a storm drew near.
Eight years and five round rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out all his idle noons,
And ev'ry night at play.
I kept him for his humour's sake,
For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.
But now, beneath this walnut-shade
He finds his long, last home,
And waits inn snug concealment laid,
'Till gentler **** shall come.
He, still more aged, feels the shocks
From which no care can save,
And, partner once of Tiney's box,
Must soon partake his grave.
2.3k
Beams shoot, pierce, being.
Cross light, torch, hydrogen star seams.
The universe fabric'd slightly, by photon lattices,
Making salad, for ingestion purposes, of lettuces
Energy. Chlorophyll. Gathering.
Spectral blue/red (465 nm/665 nm) Smattering.
Frankenstein piece of art worn leather.
Earth is stitched lava, magma sewn together.
Forming the lawn face of all reality.
Reality is suburbia to the string.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC
Lottie lived in an old pebble-mashed cottage in the middle of nowhere, with a ***** muzzle tree in the garden. She always wore white glubbs on a Sunday, and going to mumble sales was her favourite pass-time.
All year round a lyre would smoulder in the gate, as the house was not connected to the lucidity grid, which Lottie considered the work of the davel. She liked to recite Shakespeare to her clogs but as she got older would mix up her worms and get her lettuces in the wrong order. At times I was the only one who could stand on her.
There was a lovely orchard out the back in which all kinds of baffles, tums, bears and cheeses grew. She made the best crum plumble you never tasted.
She loved her macaroni wireless, the old type powered by molluscs, although in latter times she accepted my gift of an up to date transittor with a built-in bat pack.
We would ***** away many an hour as she reminisced about her youth, when she had traveled far and wide in the grand old days of steam *****
Lottie kept all her marbles right up to the end in an old sweet jar, kindly leaving them to me when she passed. So now it's up to me to carry the mantelpiece. Dear old Lottie was unusual, but I liked her concentricity.
There's no one quite like Lottie
I'm sure you will agree
To some she didn't make much sense
But she always did to me
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
FROM EXCESS.
found material words and
scratched out sentences
remember to eat your greens and
clean behind your
lettuces and peas and broccoli and
ears
white static noise black static
noise
colourless noise buzzing scraping
screaming to be
heard
clean behind your ears
and hear the words
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
A crimson muddy ravine is marked on both sides by
massive cliffs towering over the precession below. A figure wrapped
in white muslin and rubbed with ash is propped up on a stone altar. Around the figure
tribesman and women dance hard, their eyes wild, their curled fingers wicked.
The figure is not touched by the dancers almost as if he is diseased. I realize
at this point that that is exactly what is going on. A plague has swept through this
tribe and killed many. They burn the bodies on these altars to appease the gods
and to beg mercy. The dripping fat and flesh pools in the mud below, making a small trickle of filth that led to near by water. Down river from this tribe is a whole different world. Here instead of being dark
skinned the people are very pale. All of their houses are remains from shipwrecks
put up into trees and connected by rope bridges, hammocks and twisting vines. Below the fields are
covered with water. Below the surface was their crops. Melons, lettuces, berries, peppers all kinds of
earth like flora but every species glowed softly with a pulsing beat. The pale tribe was very careful walking through the lines while harvesting. One rough handling could ruin the whole crop. A sense of fear was here all of the people smelled strongly of it. I could still hear the drum beat of the sick tribe. All work stopped and slowly everyone turned to look at me. Just then a loud crackling sound shot through the sky. A bolt of lightening struck close. Gasps could be heard all around. I looked quickly at my feet in the fields of water and didn't see the glow. The fields were black. The pale faces around me sunk in, gaunt and hungry. Their mouths worked but I could not hear them. My vision went blurry then black, fading away from their struggle.
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 11:53 AM UTC
We should be taught more often we are wrong.
A figure behind the chair leans over the scripts of younger hands
rocking as we edit blotched letters dangling figs.
Homeworks describing the Viking day to day now reveal
flat soles on hard mud and the clarity of those lettuces you admired in the LRB
economical by the lb and ‘freshly efficient’.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 8:22 AM UTC
Sanguine fluids course my veins,
Neurons, synapses, excite my brains,
Nectar of life in unfolding leaves,
Verdant runner-beans ascending weaves,
Roses deep purple with aromas sweet,
Lupins and lettuces, begonias 'n beet,
The sound of blackbirds in morning chorus,
The light of the sun in breaking auras,
The patter of rain quenching the deep,
Herds of cattle, flocks of black sheep,
Stretching wings soaring the skies,
Laughter and smiles, frowns and cries,
Wind and hail, sunshine and breeze,
Love is the essence of all these.
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 6:05 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
A Field Guide to Fields
Watermelons, sunflowers, field corn, sweet corn
Sweet potatoes, green peas, butterbeans, squash
Cabbages, purplehulls, lettuces in rows
And across the fence, red clover in glorious clouds
But the most glorious field is in midsummer hay
Green-dancing beneath the benevolent sun
Crosstracked by beagles, terrapins, foxes, and rabbits
And little boys off to the fishing hole
Those little paths across farm fields, you know
Lead to happy memories of the long-ago
Jan 20, 2023
Jan 20, 2023 at 10:33 PM UTC