"quinoa" poems
big sweaters, ghibli, acrylic paint, cafes, knit blankets and unplanned afternoon naps on the couch, gardens, bananas, vanilla almond milk, soft yarn to crochet into ****** scarves, candles after midnight, the big trees with bulky roots, patio furniture, pianos in random buildings, the internet, manatees, the boundless colours of nail polish, peanut butter & honey, rubber boots, pens that write well, fresh new notebooks, skylights, american netflix, mothers that understand, tête à têtes, one glass of sweet white wine, awkward eye contact that turns into comfortable kissing, airplanes, fresh air, baseball caps, the female collective, the really good dark chocolate, flowers, pumpkin spice lattes and ***** chai lattes, candid laughter, yoga, oceans, high waisted shorts, striped t-shirts, docile cats, playful pups, french presses, integrity, sunscreen, meerkats, penguins, chameleons, autumn leaves, fall fashion, ruby woo mac lipstick, osho, dynamic meditation, compassion, siblings, scrambled eggs, smart phones, garageband, metronomes, hot glue guns, quinoa, ferry boats, soft hands, bicycles, real people, fat snowflakes in ample, graceful ********** backpacks that don't hurt your shoulders, hair conditioner, multi-vitamins, soft sand under bare feet, people that own up to lies, clarity, samsara, satori, samasati, visions, echinacea, lavender oil and frankincense, ambrosia apples and ripe avocados, authenticity, Morgan Freeman's voice, good kissers, ******* iced tea on a hot day, curtains, the smell of beeswax, art galleries, hand massages and foot massages, reiki, plums, mild thunderstorms, soccer ***** good surprises, when birds don't **** on your head.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
I'm a Tree Huggin', Soy Chuggin',
I won't eat no meat
I'm a vegan of convenience,
Still, there's leather on my feet
I don't believe in lots of things
I'll protest and attack
But you won't find me out in front
'Cause I'll be in the back
I give money to my causes
Save the whales, electric cars
But I'm not one to lead the fight
"Cause I don't like the scars
Bricks get thrown alot you see
And those things ****** hurt
And I'm not a happy camper
When there's blood upon my shirt
I won't eat seeds of any sort
They get stuck in my teeth
My clothes are all from LL Bean
Except what's underneath
Way back in the sixties
I lived communaly
We ate only what the earth gave up
We didn't watch tv
As years passed by, our voices died
Our causes became much rarer
We sounded more like Manilow
Than Phil Ochs or Tom Lehrer
I choose fine wine over wheatgrass juice
I like leather and wear silk
I no longer go and get the goat
So we can have fresh milk
I'm a Tree Huggin', Soy Chuggin',
I won't eat no meat
I'm a vegan of convenience,
Still, there's leather on my feet
I don't believe in lots of things
I'll protest and attack
But you won't find me out in front
'Cause I'll be in the back
I've changed lots since the sixties
I'm a capitalist blood hound
If I said I'm a true vegan
My board would see me drowned
I used to wear just cotton
Hemp and caftans and blue jeans
Leather shoes and belts and jackets
Were just not part of my scene
My friends, well, they grew up
And others stayed in touch
The ones with money see me
The others not so much
I used to go out jogging
Through the park in puma shoes
Now I workout in a private gym
Wearing nikes and with my crew
You see I'm still a vegan
When it suits me, don't you see
My new girlfriend likes organic
And she's only twenty three
There's forty years between us
Though I've done it all before
When my girlfriend is not with me
I am a carnivore
I support all of her causes
Though most things I don't attend
I'll be a vegan of convenience
Until our courtship ends
Who knows, what then will happen
Will I eat Tofu or some chops
I know which way I'm leaning
We'll see how that one drops
Like I said when we first started
I am a vegan, so I am
But instead of eating quinoa
I'll stick to eggs and ham.
I'm a Tree Huggin', Soy Chuggin',
I won't eat no meat
I'm a vegan of convenience,
Still, there's leather on my feet
I don't believe in lots of things
I'll protest and attack
But you won't find me out in front
'Cause I'll be in the back
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 2:46 PM UTC
no dead birds in the oven
no innards in the stuffing
nor fatty drippings to be scraped and poured
the smell of roasted veggies
wafts through the wintry air
pumpkin and sweet potatoes
marshmallows green beans lentils
turnips & collard greens
hashed browns & black-eyed peas
quinoa sorghum cuscus hummus
carrots leak broccoli Romanescu
gumbo in southern regions
wild rice dishes in the north
tastily spiced with turmeric
cumin and baked paprika
Indian curry soy sauce chipotle
as well as with the usual suspects
of garlic salt and pepper
and whatever fits the taste of hosts
in short
a venerable feast to demonstrate
how nature feeds us a large cornucopia
of plants for our delight and sustenance
in short
no need to **** a bird
* * *
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
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-Burn all your socks and mail us the ashes.
-Write to your state representative and senator.
-Make an artesian spaghetti sandwich using whole grain golden moon grown quinoa bread and cage free angel hair pasta noodles cooked al dente in a curry sauce with a whisper of coconut oil on each piece of bread and leave said sandwich out by your front door over night.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
I tried to tickle my vegan fancy
With bushels of quinoa and kale,
I was told no meat or dairy
Was the healthy Holy Grail.
But I was sad and hungry
With every burger I declined,
See me toss away my salad bowl,
I’m in a sirloin state of mind.
I filled my fridge with veggies,
Bean sprouts and legumes,
But I dreamt of pancetta
And links of sausage to consume.
Breakfast was plain yogurt
Lunch was collard greens,
Snacks were roasted edamame,
**** they’re just soy beans.
I was getting much too skinny,
My ribs were protruding,
I became short-tempered,
And was dark and brooding.
I covered all the mirrors,
I looked so pale and pasty,
All day I would salivate,
Craving something hot and tasty.
My vegan days are over
Enjoying pork chops, ham and bacon
I thought veggies were the answer,
But it seems I was mistaken.
Feel free to live off plants,
If you are so inclined,
But I’m firing up the grill,
I’m in a sirloin state of mind.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
over the shoulder squeals
giggles atop great grandma's quilt
from under the tree
that we have all hit our heads on
way up in the field
screaming up in to the sky
NO POCKET KITE
WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!
diving a dipping
then crashing
youre no trick kite!
nothing but a dollar store impulse buy
ill *** you up and stuff you back
into the belt-clippable makeshift container
the one you shamefully came in
curse you and your inadequately short string
maybe she'll have you
return you to your designers glory
not i
oh but you
i see you
soaring
string waaaay to far out
dangling above the trees
and power lines to boot
aloft at least 100 meters up
today you soared
mathew perry shoot
thats what im going to call you
parachute in a bag
to heights i could never achieve
standing in the sand
waves crashing against phalanges
in those years
over a decade back now
and you
and your potential joy provided
collected dust
in that same place that i left you
all those years ago
but i had to call the dog back up
"TESS DOG, HEEL!"
and i had to wipe the quinoa of my hands
and roll up your string
she had to stop smiling at some point
your stewardess or should i say flight attendant
smiling, no loving.
or staying.
kissing.
oh lets stay here!
in the field
atop the blossoms of berries
yet ripened
smiling
"pulling and running!!!"
under the shade tree
on a blanket
holding hands
give me thirty days though
i have some things to work out
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
It’s not about the money
it’s not unusual
it’s not over
it’s not a tumour
it’s not easy
it’s not easy being green
it’s not easy being me
it’s not enough
neverwinter
never let me go
never say never
never back down
fix dead pixel
fix drywall
fix design
fix dripping faucet
find me spot
find me
find me guilty
find me love
why are flamingos pink
why are people gay
why are flatworms flat
why are we here
why is the sky blue
why stop now
why am I so tired
why do cats purr
then I got high
then I learned French
then I saw her face
then I got bronchitis
what is quinoa
what is love
what is the fiscal cliff
what is dubstep
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
The miraculous Quinoa has been exported out of the local market.
The westerner deems this as their super deed.
The idea that the Inca finally died at the grocery shop
grew root,
furnished beneath the serving glare of the exceptional crocheted beards.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
I feel bomb
My body is happy
My mind is clear
My skin tingles with warmth
and Vibration
I saunter through the valley of toxic filth
The sludge slaps my thighs and sprays my soul
I dissolve it in oils
The warmth allows it to penetrate deep
And with conscious care, I cleanse my Self and Soul
I float high on
Carrots and mushrooms and quinoa and beans and seeds
And more fruits
And more roots
And more veggies
And fats
Raw with love and earth
And meat, raised as Children of the Earth
Not children of the industry
And my sweet mistress of stimulated desire
Cacao.
Stimulates my clearing mind
Free of pineal poison (from water and paste)
I saunter through the valley of toxic filth
I hold her close and kiss her
My body is saturated. There is no escaping environment.
So I work from the inside out.
I sweep my temple daily.
I breath in chaos,
And breath out harmony.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
we need only rocks and butternut squash
daylight mellowtime
cold wind change snap brisk
fog mouth.
The cities ******* cling to the shoreline
lake of ontario.
share tea , share kiss
peace yum day break activity
meditation on stillness
stones stacked seamless .
Before a powerful night , of music sung with joy in note,
friend snuggles -
smoke lips - crying - mercy
vision ascension.
Body pulsating in your hand.
Pancake quinoa breakfast , maple syrup hotchocolate .
Later to lentil soup with french bread and brie cheese , grapes
Reading park time medicine cards
Shaman training , initiating 46 yr old lady to her first joint under the swell of almost full moon gleam.
i dance the whirling dervish round the baseball pitch , extend my legs in ballet-tai-chi whirl. Find my footing in
the lightning flash sky
nestle and snuggle more with friends.
To midnight snack of orange , ginger zest cookies with sunshine and peace printed on , peppermint tea and
a slight fondling shower.
New music runabout
talkin bout american deeds ,our own self , our progression and human dissociation from animal instinct
Be love.
POWER in HEARTBEATS.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 12:37 AM UTC
i was retching
my ***** looked like potpourri
clusters of tiny pink bits
must have been the beets and quinoa
**** i'm fancy.
i'm not even crying.
all around me i hear sobbing but
i have nothing left to cry for.
let us count the arguments, the fights,
the number of times i wanted to stab
my own heart just to
stop myself from feeling.
how could the person i care the most about
think of me so poorly?
i used to think that i was a good person
a good girlfriend.
someone with love and patience and honesty
and oodles and oodles of forgiveness.
my mom always said i was just like Goalie,
our labrador retriever,
never upset for more than a night,
overflowing with pure, untainted, never-ending love.
the love is still there
i think it's no longer my strength, but my weakness.
you forgive and forget,
you move on,
fights three weeks ago seem a distant memory.
you breathe a sigh of relief, oh,
i think we can make it.
i think we can make it through this time.
i think we've grown.
then it starts again.
it's never-ending.
do you believe in people?
i did. i do.
but i guess when two people combine it's
a different story.
we were not meant to be,
i knew it three months in,
but his faith was strong.
why didn't i trust my gut,
why did i keep trying.
i drove him to the brink of insanity
led myself into depression's cold embrace
i thought we could do it
but we couldn't overcome each other
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
My feelings are unprocessed quinoa being **** out in whole chunks.
I stare at them in my toilet bowl of a brain.
"huh, you look exactly the same... maybe a little ********
They say those words back to me.
Savage little beasts.
They tell me my body was supposed to take them in, absorb them, and be healthier.
Well, I was always taught to try , try, again!
So I valiantly scoop my handful of **** from the toilet and scarf down my quinoa emotions... they taste even worse the second time around.
I cross my fingers as I gag down the last bit.
Will swallowing my emotions clog me up?
Maybe this time I'll be emotionally constipated, again, for weeks!
Until my insides internally combust and paint these frustrating yellow walls around me **** brown,
To match the matte nails I got last Wednesday.
Or maybe it'll induce explosive diarrhea!
And I'll **** out every thing lining my insides until I can't even feel my metaphorical *** hole, while word vomiting my secrets to people I will later deeply regret.
Or maybe, just maybe,
My body will do what it's supposed to do,
And my enzymes will ferociously come to my rescue!
Maybe I'll feel it all being broken down inside me,
And released.
Released.
I'm so sick of eating ****
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
I’d been reading about boy insemination in the Sambia, Papau New Guinea. As a ritual rite of passage in this war-torn enclave, boys aged 8 to 10 were taken from their mothers to become men. This ritual included things a Westerner couldn’t fathom doing to a child - shoving sugar cane up their noses until they poured blood, forcing them to **** flutes to mimic ******** and ultimately, swallowing “male milk,” their sponsors’ ********* which according to tradition will rid them of their evil mothers’ poison and make them warriors.
Heavy ****
You know the response that happens in your body when you experience the luxury of your food begin too hot? You kind of breath in and out, rapidly, mouth open, until the food cools down? Sitting in the cafeteria, eating a bowl of vegetables and quinoa created in a vegan space certifying no cross-contamination, I found myself making this face. This stupid, ***** “oh no my mouth may feel weird for a day or two” reflex that immediately made me sick.
I decided to close my mouth. To lean into the fleeting, no-more-than-inconvenient pain instead of running from it.
I think it may have changed my life.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
I made a bowl of soup for myself tonight.
Red bean, kale, and quinoa.
I toasted two slices of bread,
buttered them,
let them cool.
I planned on dunking them
in the soup
to sop up leftover broth.
While the canned food heated
in the red saucepan
on the first burner
to the right,
I did simple tasks.
Recycled bottles from days before,
put away the dishes in the drying rack,
fed the cat.
I paced back and forth,
in my purple socks,
from my bedroom
to the kitchen,
listening to an old record
that sounds like nostalgia.
I did simple tasks.
Small, achievable things.
Self care comes
in many forms.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
as of late
i have been maintaining sanity
organizing my addictions
compartmental-izingly
where you seem to fit
perfectly among my other
bad habits
i take you out
when i'm at my weakest
ridden with guilt and entitlement
i must admit
you are by far my worst habit
but to tell you the truth
you're getting a bit long in the tooth
so I'm gonna inhale a large bag
of gluten free quinoa brown rice
multi-grain tortilla chips
mix up a special batch
of sriracha and hummus
spicy avocado dip
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
they seem to think I can heal you
they seem to think I can heal you,
but the truth is I can only be there
and when there are cracks in the ceiling
and the mountains are frozen or gently
rolling over mustard seeds, I will hold
fast to the one Mainstay and encourage
you to do so too--because I can't walk
with your legs or talk with your words
nor can I delve inside your dark waters
and know how to navigate your thoughts
that so often I won't understand--
and I won't change you because we will
be a team, a single cog rotating in a royal
body, bearing the heat and blows so that
when you are away and toiling, or burning
the sheets with newfound anger, I will
stand by and let your battles rage until
we meet on middle ground and grasp
each other's forearms in the dust, heaving.
with you, this will not be a game. You will not
be a piece, a checker, a player. I will not move
you or take mallets to your foundation because
it will be mine too--I will not hate you because
that would be hating myself and I will not hate
myself because that would be hating you--
I will not question your love for me like I have
questioned the masses, because this love will
not be antiquated but fresh and ripe each
morning, anew with our combined inquiries
and issues of heart, barrels of quinoa to sink
our fingers into and count ceremoniously
each grain a celebration, a victory poured
over quiet nights shared between whispers
and hushed prayers
and though your initial compliments and flattery
fade away, when our first meeting has worn off--
no lit suppers but bowls of hot oatmeal on the
couch, when our voices have failed to address
the day and time has only built between our hips,
I will quietly say that I have missed you
because though we are one there will still be
wedges---doorstops, rocks and boulders and
great things that drop and slide between us
that find their way into fissures in our flawed
surface
but
I will love you through that.
I will love you through each fight and missed
opportunity to apologize, every door closed a
little too hard, each cold dinner or syllable too
harshly spoken, when I send you
to the supermarket and you arrive with only
half of the groceries, when the world is splitting
in two and we are fleeing from city to city and I
can hardly recognize you through the grit and grime
I will love you.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
no dead birds in the oven
no innards in the stuffing
nor fatty drippings to be scraped and poured
the smell of roasted veggies
wafts through the wintry air
pumpkin and sweet potatoes
marshmallows green beans lentils
turnips & collard greens
hashed browns & black-eyed peas
quinoa sorghum cuscus hummus
carrots leak broccoli Romanescu
gumbo in southern regions
wild rice dishes in the north
tastily spiced with turmeric
cumin and baked paprika
Indian curry soy sauce chipotle
as well as with the usual suspects
of garlic salt and pepper
and whatever fits the taste of hosts
in short
a venerable feast to demonstrate
how nature feeds us a large cornucopia
of plants for our delight and sustenance
in short
no need to **** a bird
* * * *
Nov 24, 2020
Nov 24, 2020 at 10:46 AM UTC
*** yir ******* skids outta
m'ah 'uckin feece!
god i love that place,
glasgow is like birmingham
of the north...
a rotten scow to nowhere,
unless it be a place that
spoke: deep-fried mars bar
for breakfast -
you scurvy worth of
the tangled sailor! ****
gods took to the twallop,
and i takes me to the
rool ups!
got a bargain with a shrimp
you belfast *****
my **** you 'av!
next time they sing: sweet dover,
i'll have you marrying the *****
cult of: shard!
ye storm ah heed!
**** me an' timber twice:
V fooking eye of ye, hire-crane!
******** twice,
three times removed
the drunk... huh?!
it's all plus minus with me by
now...
ha ha!
had a cousin, didn't say why,
cursed & numbed the cuss words
like a nun ought to know why...
so i says me:
lingua the leash - earn the ir -
softspot for the tucker-jacks
and the irish lepers: shauns they
called them...
he he...
look at me:
all smug and waiting
for brussel sprouts out the paan tree...
what's with these wallaby terms?
panchree? panna quinoa, panna cotta?
******* as clingy as those pepsoowongs,
or wangs or pepsoos.
as the english queers say
F F Θ, but then pull out a churchill -
and vey v girman vey such & such...
they and way become indistinguishable -
churchie and the welsh abbey become
one and the same with either V
as "peace", or the V and the welsh
longbowmen **** you...
v'eh point... wayward: too soon...
vuck!
wook?
wookie?
va va voom!
woonder-brum, brimming,
bra bra bra... ha ha ha...
dried it all off with the giggles...
then it became apparent:
the man settled for the dozen,
whether it was a dozen of ostriches,
hyenas,
bunches of lychee,
leaks,
bulgarian strippers -
or worse...
a dozen of english rhetoricians,
notably gay;
**** what a gamble.
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 10:38 PM UTC
Portobello mushrooms, I use them all the time
No matter how topped they always taste just fine
From cream cheese and crab to chicken fajita
No matter what you just want to eat ‘em
Philly beef cheesesteak, they’ve also been topped
So many possibilities, I’ll never stop
Bleu cheese and steak makes a hell of a filling
Portobello themed restaurant, I’d make a killing
Chicken Alfredo, or coconut shrimp
How about spinach artichoke dip
Turkey and dressing or how about pulled pork
You’d want to eat those with your fingers or fork
Taco, or nacho, or enchilada
How it gets better, I got zip, zilch, and nada
Or I don’t know how about spinach frittata
You could go Greek, lamb, feta, and Kalamata
Mediterranean, flavored quinoa or couscous
So many options, man just turn me loose
Lemon pepper, scallops, or Oyster Rockefeller
Or Chicken Rice saffron, it would be yeller
At this point, I feel like Bubba from Forrest Gump
Going on about toppings, oh well over the ****
Buffalo Chicken or Asparagus turkey parm
Just about anything you can get at the farm
Goes great on a mushroom I think you can see
Most people wouldn’t, but, hey they’re just not me
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
And the light on her face
And did you ever know
What I would do for her?
It slapped my flesh one morning as I rolled out of bed and collided with the cold linoleum floor.
That any moment spent in the direction of her honest gaze
Is honey to my spirit.
Her every breath declares,
I am still here.
But does your breath speak like hers?
Warm autumnal breezes catch the air in her throat
And I know, my darling, I know what you are thinking.
But time does not exist in space anymore -
The earth has circled the sun nearly thrice.
And that night -
Do you remember?
A plastic bowl filled with steaming quinoa and black beans
Stood on your desk for hours, slowly growing cool
When our glassy eyes shattered and burst forth a flood to break the drought that the thousand trees of our suffering had long endured.
I wasn’t there, almost three years ago now
And every atom comprising molecular compounds comprising cells comprising specialized tissues and organs and this thing we call “ourselves” –
Every atom howls in despair that I did not know you, three years ago.
Three years –
Enough time for a blue moon to disappear and slowly rise once more.
But I so desperately hope it is not as solemn and shadowed as the last.
Three years –
Enough time for a soul to be conceived, gestated, born, and begin to open itself to the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to
But also the joys
The unprecedented bliss
And the beauty of a life unfolding exactly as it will be.
If even one tenth of this burden you carry, my dear,
I could lighten with the ultimate sacrifice –
In just one moment
I would.
Your hair is the thick, tangled stuff on moonlight flowing down vertebrae built of pure grace.
You watch as crisp grey snow
Floats gently
Through thick air;
Rides each supple breeze to its fullest extent,
Eventually resting on your strands of liberation
You breath deeply
And you welcome it.
But like the journey of this crisp, gray ash, nestled lightly atop your crown,
I shall become boundless
I shall transcend all natural limits
So that you may find your peace.
Every single part of me
Promises every single part of you
That we will break these shackles
And you shall know freedom entirely.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
I took my body off the floor
I've never been this way before
I fold my heart into a cricket-shaped tattered paper plane
And my pumpkin spice quinoa
brings me back to life
in a world with orange monsters
in a world that wants me dead
And the sweet satisfying warmth
that I choose to feel instead
I took my body off the floor
I took your words out of my head
Maybe the smallest life is the greatest life
that you could ever have
I took my body off the floor
I've never been this way before
I never turned around
And put the ground back
underneath my feet
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
Don't ask me about the future-
I just let go of the past-
I'm floating in melted gun-metal
I'm firing nails into the sky
Alone on this planet of red and she-devil
I'm emerging as a butterfly-
Piano keys of ivory and emerald,
Finished in exotic leather.
Dripping in pearls and ostrich feather-
I play on and on, to the die
That's been cast on a hand-drawn tabletop map
Lined with seafood bibs
I laugh as my lungs turn to dust
And wonder if this is all there ever was-
I'm floating in aluminum, above the skyline
Peering down on this world I create,
The tin-foil stars around me, oh how they shine
But it's not enough to sate.
Goodbye my quinoa islands,
Beaches of grain where my toes sink,
I'm dreaming of better editorials that ran-
While my thoughts brought me over the brink.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 9:57 PM UTC
I don’t want to watch the wallpaper yellow.
The floral patterns cause vertigo,
while the hallways whisper
gospel sounds
and talk of gelatin for dessert.
I’m afraid that when I fall for another man,
he will have a shearling wheelchair.
Or,
he will be a caregiver
raising the crooked footrest.
There won’t be quinoa substitute
or aperitif.
My meals will likely be
a glass of sulfur water and
mixed vegetables dressed in gravy.
Derived from a cheap grocery list
where my name is written
In between “milk” and “flour”
Because I was not remembered.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 10:41 PM UTC