Tag: Poetry

The Sinister Morning Glory

I see the clouds on the horizon and the sun setting lies below and its rays reach out to touch down on the earth one last time.

The morning glories are all that are prospering in my garden and they weave their web, laying out tendrils that threaten to devour and choke out all that is around them.

The garden is hopeless. It is nothing more than a bed of morning glories. A metaphor.

It will end up at the end of the season, laid over in a nasty wet, slimy black web that has stunted its growth and hindered anything else from growing.

It is only poison now that is the anecdote. I cannot plant anything new. It will rapidly be taken over. The morning glory is a sinister plant.

It reproduces prolifically and displays the most delicate of flowers that bloom in the early morning sun and sleep in the afternoon.

They shine as a soil stabilizer and erosion prevention but oh! the wickedness they birth.

It lies waiting in the cold wet earth all winter; it needs no sun to flourish and the more you break it and pull it, the more it grows.

When you till, it only groans in joy and ecstasy knowing that it will grow from the tiniest broken shred.

It cannot reach to heights except on the backs of others and everything in its path must lie prostrate or support its upward thrusts.

One has no choice. I feel its oppression even from the warm sheets of my bed; at night they even grow. The fragmented stems are growing, even in the wheelbarrow beneath my window.

I may stay for hours on my knees in front of them and pull at them if I wish.

I may rip them from the stems of all of my plants but they mock me from the far reaches of the garden. I will never be able to touch them with my scratched and bleeding fingers.

My hands are stained and torn from trying to grab at them and they twist and turn in one one another in a warp and weft and ropes of vines just under the surface of the soil.

They are peeking out through the garden wall. They hiss and twirl in their hideous dance.

I want to give them a surprise party and then shock them in their joyous glee and spray them in the nose, eyes and mouth with something toxic.

2003 April 20

A Wilted Bloom

How very short the years are,

along this “famished road”.

We feel the crushing weight of time,

Within our hearts and bones.

 

To dust we’re quickly rushing,

We haven’t that much time.

Colliding with the moon and stars,

Our thoughts do upwards climb.

 

We hold each precious moment,

As if it’s all that’s real.

The price we pay for living,

Upon this earthly wheel.

 

It’s here our souls are tethered,

By trouble and defeat.

The salt of life rubbed in our wounds,

Our reprieve will be to sleep.

 

What wisdom or folly does a monster bear?

A monster came to see me today,

He stopped for a chat then went on his way.

His conversation went right over my head,

So with a headache, I went straight up to bed.

 

At first, I tried to get every word,

But I thought I misunderstood what I heard.

I’ll busy myself with my work as it were,

And not bother my soul, nor my heart give a stir.

 

I’ll try to forget those things that he said,

I won’t let it go to frustrate my head.

Don’t bother me now, just leave it alone,

I’ll let myself be without turning that stone.

 

 

Dee and Tamale Pie

Related imageThe moon always shows its same face to the earth… most of the time, it is never truly full because there is always a bit in our shadow.

Last night, I was driving straight east on Division St. with the moon directly in my sight but way north of the horizon. It looked full to me, as there was a filmy garment of clouds softening its glow… I followed it as if it were my guide, but as I seemed to be drawing nearer, which, of course,  was only an illusion, the clouds cleared and I could see that at about 7:00 if the moon was a clock, a dim shadow lay across its face. It wasn’t full but it was Dee’s birthday and she was turning 70 years of age.

Tomorrow we will see the Full Worm Moon, as it is sometimes called… or it has other names like Crow Moon, Crust Moon, and Sap Moon. But tonight it is Dee’s moon.

I turned sharply to climb the hill at 202nd. St. and wound around the cul de sac filled neighborhood to arrive at Steve and Dee’s doorstep. A party was in full swing. Four of their eight children were there with their children and grandchildren and Dee’s longtime friend Terri and her longtime partner David.

The tables were laden with food and the air was filled with an ever increasing crescendo of voices. Smokers were in the garage or just outside the kitchen door on the patio as darkness fell. The smell of sweet tobacco and marijuana wafted throughout the garden and snuck through the cracks in the doors and windows.

Steve was putting the finishing touches to the turkey gravy and carving on breast and thigh. I added my tamale pie to the myriad of dishes filling the tables. Meatballs, special mashed potatoes with all kinds of cream and cheeses, cakes and pies and bottles of wine, green bean casserole, platters of fresh vegetables and dips and chips make up a short list of temptations.

Dee’s party, it was. She has been a part of our family since I was in my 20s when she and her three boys joined the contiguous family of Steve and his three children. There are two others who have never been a presence in the family, except in our hearts, Steve’s first two sons, so there be eight. So, Dee has been around for a good, long time and has been mother to the many through thick and thin, through feast and famine.

Death is imminent, I am reminded with each birthday that comes and goes. It is certain for all of us, but that awareness may be more so if you are 70. I don’t mean to say that Dee is any closer to the end of her life than anyone because no one knows from day to day how long we have on this earth.

But 70 years of age she is, with all of the joys and sorrows, that were her lot, written in her smile lines and her scars. She has no time or energy for meaningless drivel and drama anymore. You can see the “devil may care” in her eyes; that look makes her more beautiful and charming but occasionally more hurtful to the young.

So, I wrote her a poem to honor her life on this day, her birthday under an almost full moon, and to wish her many more years to be mom, grandma, wife, sister, and friend.

And I offer to you, my friends, my recipe for tamale pie. You’ll love it.

Some kind of Poetry… if you will

My sister, my friend, but 70 years have passed.

Your life has never been more than a grain of sand falling through the narrow passage of the hourglass.

Just now, still in your infancy,
Your body, not more than particles of stardust, expands to merge with the unknowable,
Yet, your heart still persists, reaching for the beyond knowing.

My sister, my friend,
Your time of repose has come; that which you seek stands at your door.
There is nothing more for which to strive.
You have nothing more to do.
It is your time of being, of dancing and singing.

Karen’s Tamale PieImage result for tamale pie

 

Ingredients

3 can of beans (I use pinto and black, and of course you can make your own from dry)
1 can of hot green chilies
1 large can of fire roasted, diced tomatoes (not drained)
1 can of corn (drained)
1 onion
1 green pepper (any color would do)
1 bunch cilantro
3-5 cloves garlic
1 jalapeño
1 tsp. chili powder
1 tsp. cumin
1 tsp. salt ( or to taste)
1 tsp. cocoa powder
1 tsp. cinnamon

1 tbs. honey (you could also use date or coconut sugar, maple syrup, agave syrup, etc.)
1 roll of polenta (or make your own; it’s very easy).
1 pkg. of Daiya grated, spicy jack cheese

Method
In a food processor throw in all the fresh vegetables. Use an amount of jalapeño and cilantro to your taste. Pulse to a chunky consistency.

Saute in a dutch oven in water or oil until onions are translucent.

Drain and rinse the beans, then add to the pot with the vegetables. Add tomatoes, chilies, corn and seasonings. Let simmer for 30 minutes or longer for deeper flavor. Let cool slightly. I like to make my chili hours or even the night before I assemble the pie, but it’s not necessary.

Slice polenta roll into rounds. Sprinkle most of the cheese on your prepared chili, then place the polenta rounds on top of the chili. Sprinkle the rest of the cheese over the polenta.

Heat oven to 350°. Place the pie in the oven and bake uncovered for 30 minutes. Cover and continue cooking for 15 minutes more. Check and if the chili is bubbling and the cheese has melted, it’s time to enjoy.

You can top this with any of your favorite toppings, but really, it’s creamy and spicy just like it is