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Assortment of poetic wannabes from M to R. Sketches, many in the editing process. |
| [13+] As we go off to Scarborough Fair. ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ rosemary for remembrance, she said. What was her name? loony? toony? I forget, but her laughter cackles over the radio waves inside my head. Each time I crush these grey pine-needled leaves, I think of her. sage I stuffed wisdom into that goose with hard croutons soaking up the grease! I gandered at it cooling there. Dreamed of it taking flight into my mouth. Entranced, I forgot the virtue of patience. My feathers drooled. thyme What is the hour that snuggles between the mint and rue? Dangles over the flint rock wall, aromatic to the very minute of my tender touch? It slips delicately overtongue, its last thought mouthing 'beef'. parsley Buttery white balls, green flecked, greeted me today and I am ten again standing in the cafeteria line, asking Mrs. Toy to fill my tray. The saltiness of butter, the potatoed heartiness, the little flecks of ... parsley, sage, rosemary or thyme. © Kåre Enga catalogue numbers: [162.404a,404b,405a,405b] 24 september 2005 Written for a prompt 'The music of Simon and Garfunkel' Got it? Scarborough Fair? Right? Did you get Rosemary Clooney? Odd, how these things work. Hadn't thought of Mrs. Toy in years ... |
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