"peppercorns" poems
Step into to her world, a world where she lives -
Of colors a plenty and flavors many,
A flick of a hand, in measures she gives,
Spices that tantalize, worth every penny.
Red chillies an ounce, turmeric a pound,
Spices scarlet, earthy, exotic,
Peppercorns, cardamoms, whole or ground
Brown bay leaves, cinnamon, aromatic.
Wonders for the body that soothe and heal,
Nurturing from nature, a stoic promise,
From the choicest gardens, as senses reel,
Fragrance of flavors in sensual bliss.
Within her world, another world entices...
Her voice in sweet whispers has tales to tell,
Magic in dark eyes, the mistress of spices,
With a flick of her hand she'll cast her spell.
( inspired by the title of the book with the same name. )
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 7:08 AM UTC
artful creations
colors, charcoals
paints
stone and clay
wood and paper
bringing life
from
lifeless
form
from
formless
can the artist choose?
~~~
garden creations
shades of green
jade
artichoke
asparagus
fern, forest
and
jungle
mint, moss
and
pine
shamrock
tea, olive
mixed
with
a multitude
of blooming
hues
can the gardener decide on one?
~~~
kitchen creations
sweets and treats
savories and piquants
cakes and pies
meats, stews
casseroles
butter, garlic
lemon
rosemary
and
thyme
parsley
and
saffron
onions caramelized
to sweet
peppercorns
and
cardamon
tamarind, turmeric
nutmeg
combined in
precision
joy and
love
can the chef say which is best?
~~~
and thus
I challenge any poet
can you choose your favorite "child"?
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 5:56 PM UTC
The smell of oolong still speaks your name. In the tea and spice shop I drift among leaves and peppercorns, petals and sugar, I want to fade into the muted tones of flavorful hulls, curl into the scent of cinnamon and cardamom. Pulling down the iron goddess of mercy, I realize the veneer of curled baroque leaves rest on a sandbag. Shadowed abundance, a pretty lie, hollow, futile. Too much like us. The Cheshire glimmers of what we could have been. What I always wanted you to be, and what you sometimes were. A small edge, tiny supply to fill my cup, flavor fading too quickly. Replacing the jar, I realize there must have been a last day I named you mine. The last time I called you boyfriend, partner—by our last talk, it was already finished, the last note in a fading song, off tune. I cannot recall the shape of my lips, the weight of your name, the tenor of my voice, the bend of my tongue, much less the listener. I still hear you, through the broken measures of a desperate song. You say you still love me, but perhaps I never told you, dear, I prefer coffee to tea.
Sep 1, 2021
Sep 1, 2021 at 9:58 AM UTC
architectural mollusks
are falloping through
my brain
squeezing past the
instincts that
have kept me down
My instincts,
once brittle sea stars
that splintered
into cracked
peppercorns,
are now mixed with
the breathy liquid
of squid,
lubrication for
the spiny paths ahead
They blow their ink
between my
inverted vertebrae
injecting Jello into bone
busting through
fiber and tissue like
fresh-skimmed
lavacream
and all my muck
rises to the top
in a neon rawness
that I find beautiful
Soon
my burning crevices
will be cooled
fossils will turn to flesh
and, as sure as knowledge
springs into action
I will make
for the shoreline
like a cephalopod rocket
silky smooth
my fins spun into wings
touching magic
as they glide
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
They say it depends where you're from
as long as you don't miss the meat,
(sometimes I prefer pork)
soy sauce and vinegar,
garlic (as much as you can peel)
bay leaves (a couple, maybe) and
peppercorns.
They like to tell me where I'm from
as long as they smell the added sugar,
the occasional potatoes, the mix of
chicken and pork. And through my teeth,
I tell them that there is nothing that different
about me.
Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 10:33 AM UTC
A gentle pungence of the nutmeg
Burns the hands that dwell in its ashes
Sprinkle generously, lest you want the
concoction, to turn out bland.
Yet, how would bland be? A curry.
Dressed in an assortment of spices,
As, Cardamoms and Peppercorns and
Cinnamons and Aniseeed_ Do add a
bay leaf as you temper the potion
to a base.
It is joy, manifold_ flavours not just in
conclusion but odyssey of the process.
It is joy, unbound, creation nienté
could bring about such happiness !
Joy of the 'Kitchen Wizard' is
in his pots and potions found !
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 2:54 PM UTC
Step into to her world, a world where she lives,
Of colours a plenty and flavours many,
A flick of a hand, in measures she gives,
Spices that tantalise, worth every penny.
Red chillies an ounce, turmeric a pound,
Spices scarlet, yellow, in hues exotic,
Peppercorns, cardamoms, whole or ground,
Brown bay leaves, cinnamon, aromatic.
Wonders for the body that soothe and heal,
Nurturing from nature, a stoic promise,
From the choicest gardens, as senses reel,
Fragrance of flavours in sensual bliss.
Within her world, another world entices,
Her voice in sweet whispers has tales to tell,
Magic in dark eyes, the mistress of spices,
With a flick of her hand, she’ll cast a spell.
Written in 2013
( inspired by the title of the book by Chitra Divakaruni)
Dec 1, 2023
Dec 1, 2023 at 6:37 AM UTC
When they had all they had to eat of
peppercorns and roasted meat,
they decided in extravagance
to strip quite naked and to dance.
I blame the barley wine, for that
get together of a time
but they denied it was to blame
and said
it's only high jinks and a game
then invited me to join in,
I declined quite rapidly and
trotted home to have my tea.
It was a normal day in Whitehall.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
When understanding the fact
there may no longer
be future days
it's the little things
which burn with the ugliest truth.
Like not knowing what cabinet
the olive oil
and peppercorns are in
or how much laundry detergent is left.
Gasping yourself awake
at the sound of barking dogs
still haunting edges of every doorjamb.
Mar 21, 2021
Mar 21, 2021 at 11:36 PM UTC
when i miss you
the longing makes a home under my skin.
drives pickaxes into my bones
and reminds the marrow
that i’ll never see you again
my skin crawls and my fingers grow cold
knowing i’ll never feel
the crepe-y skin
that felt like family
my nostrils burn
knowing they’ll never smell your scent
j’adore mixed with a little bit of menthol
your presence promised me a home
as long as the stove was burning
and there were people to gather around
the table at dinner
loneliness takes shelter
and wraps its spidery hands
around my vocal cords
insecurity whispers
into my ears
that it won’t be the same without you
that i’ll never feel okay without you
that i’ll never feel whole without you
as if going to church everyday and thinking of your steady voice and fervent Hail Marys weren’t enough to break me.
as if hearing the crack of peppercorns before dinner time wasn’t enough to bring me to my knees.
as if shards of ice don’t stab my heart when i hear the jingle of gold bangles on thing wrists
as if jealousy and rage doesn’t consume me everytime i see an old woman knowing that it’ll never be my Nana on the other side.
i see the farmer’s market and i hear you asking when the next time we’re going grocery shopping is.
i see a tablecloth and i see bright eyes alive with the thought of throwing a party.
i see a word search and i see the stains you left on the comforter when you forgot to cap your highlighter.
the worst part is,
is that i can still feel you
i can still feel the warmth of your hugs
i can still feel the mark you left on my heart
there’s no emptiness.
just constraint.
everything is just too much
knowing that
it’ll be a long time
before i can come home to you.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 7:11 AM UTC