is somewhere between
you can share my nachos
and your pillow
is my pillow–
Each time we examine
our status
I get excited
you are still
here
but
hands off my chocolate–
there are limits
(2015)
Author: Pleasant Street
Pleasant Street appears to be stuck in 1948, via a time-machine of her own design
French Dip Sandwich ~ Clandestine Family Traditions
If you are not reading Sister Madly’s stories, you are truly missing out. Please visit the original post to like and comment!
It was during Sister Madly’s Utopian Days that Midori- a recent transplant from Japan*- explained how, just before moving to the States, her Grandmother sat her down and lovingly outlined the ritual for something she called ‘jagaimo.’
* A culture of wise and beautiful people who recognize that life is much too short to be eating bread crust on a daily basis.
Also, they have pet otters.
Now Sister Madly hadn’t heard of this ‘jagaimo,’ but if she were to speculate, it is the custom of cutting the crust off all things sandwich- seriously, the Western World needs to adopt this tradition immediately. Many a school luncheon was ruined by her Mother neglecting to remove the crusts from her peanut butter and banana sandwiches. But fret not: having since learned how to properly handle a knife, Sister Madly is now able to remove the crusts on her own like…
View original post 580 more words
Caramelized onions
don’t add sugar
why
would you add
to what is already
the perfect confection
with its inner beauty
and warmth, and its
crisp peppery sweetness
were we fools?
Frigid
On this cold planet
exiled for loving too much
and too hard
presided by a moon
icy and unfeeling
I remember love
the thoughts
of warm hands
and
the heart of a champion
I recall a day
when I was made queen
of one man, one seeker
and it reminds me not to let go
of the tether
To be carried
through frigid space
to be sentenced
for always–
Come to me again
my love
with that fire
so red and angry–
it would send that moon
splashing
Monday Random: words, marvelous words
- It is NaNoWriMo time again
- For the uninitiated, National Novel Writing Month
- It may be splitting hairs, but shouldn’t that be ‘National Novel-Writing Month’?
- Today I learned what a gusset is. How did I go to nearly 60 without knowing that word?
- Over coffee this morning, hubby and I got to talking about words in the English language that look alike, and sound differently
- specifically, consonant blends that have 2 or more pronounciations.
Shelter
Escaping from the wicked stew
that is the world around me
making me crazy in circles
with all they expect
I am here in my hiding place
where I find light and warmth
and no one tears my hair out
fairies brushing it until it shines
growing in the hope that
when I re-enter the world
I will bring this light with me
Say you’ll never leave me
Peanut-butter and jelly on toast
and the end to all things
Lana del Rey crooning in a way
I have come to count upon–
Eggs boiling–keeping it simple
the room taking on
a balmy. sultry. foggy feeling
at the cusp of a mid-west winter.
Shall we dance? Let us
make the best of it, with our
dead leaves to be raked, and
our car rusting up from the bottom–-
With my sepia view of the yard, and
our birthdays looming, suddenly
less of a threat, and doing their best
to be more of a promise–-
There are not enough words
to draw you
there are too many words, and
the truth lies, somewhere
between layers of cake and dissidence
and your smile
that juts in, without
invitation
like sunshine
I have cut this life
into one long, curly strip
like an apple peel
terrified to break it
less and less I sculpt it
my heart jumps to preserve it
Yes
I loved
I was patient
I care(d)
but
I can’t fit that girl
you have an image of
that sedate, smouldering
piece of hot property–
your fantasy–
she is not me
so, be well
I will be here
swinging
with abandon
from my chandelier
