Skip to main content

Community Supported Agriculture

It was Sunday when
I was kidnapped by bees
and taken into the soil,
told to contemplate my cuticle...

Contemplate your cubicle
and tell us what's fair,
Loving the myth of the millionaire
of loving the truth in the air?

Bow down and be low, be among,
be within, be with us,
be in the Earth and love the soil.
Know your food and celebrate.

Celebrate the simple.

Damn the fool. Damn the Chief.
Damn the cool. Damn the thief.
Sieze the power of your palate
savor the taste of your ballot.

Celebrate what is ample
make yourself an example
Love the whole and the real.
Let your neighbor grow your meal.

Comments

  1. Nothing like real, local food. I love summer for that! Great poem, Pat.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Almost Invisible

No outstanding warrants on me I need to commit a crime Because no one knows me Somebody has always done worse Dad never missed knowing I could have done better Five friends at his funeral Never heard of me.  I was the smoke in the censer Shook over his casket Every morning shower, I make plans To change the course of history Every evening home,  I’m shattered Seeking the glue of vodka I can’t sow peace in my garden Without killing seedlings And mutating every myth of life Somewhere between skin and muscle Is the malignant cancer of a lie Somewhere between eye and sole Is the expanse of hope. 

Holiday Tables

Ours is a song of holiday tables. Clattering chatter of our dining room, Wedding china, and shared fables. This is the history of the baby boom. Clattering chatter of our dining room “Remember?” “No, not him, he’s dead.” “Oh, yeah, too bad. Cancer, I assume.” Auntie Vera remembered a good book she’d read. Remembered? Better remembered than be dead. Uncle Jack’s scotch needs more ice. He has to drive.  His face is looking red. John offers his best Republican advice. Uncle Jack’s scotch needs more ice. Good buddy Bain helps clear the dishes. Pat’s telling a story. We’ve all heard it (at least twice). Jesus! Is it Easter or is it Christmas? Good buddy Bain helps clear the dishes Oh God! Who can eat cake? We’re too full. Around here, it’s like the loaves and the fishes. Cathy knitted that scarf, real New Zealand wool. No way. Can’t do it. Can’t eat, too full. “Yes, Sinatra was great but Elvis was better.” “But      "My real name is Mister Earl”, in the lull.   ...

Love

Unbroken smooth between before after bruises bashes and shatters Beyond humid shocking kisses rather a cool lasting that matters. You are the one safe place I know. Fingertip gravity cheeks to lips Returning coming going and home Never leaving steadfast praying grips the exploding expanse of a poem. You are what I will never give up. Arlington to Golgotha, offices to factories Shoulder in, eyes forward, chin up Quiet unspoken shared stories lingering lost ring of a coffee cup. You are my favorite ghost. (written for One Single Impression) http://onesingleimpression.blogspot.com/