La Recette pour l’Amour

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I’ve scoured the pantry of my heart

For morsels sweet to tell

About the honey-roasted tart

Who has me in her spell

 

O’er skin like large-curd cottage cheese

Falls vermicelli hair

As limp and oily as you please

To chuck-roast shoulders there

 

Those marbled eyes, prosciutto wads

Stuffed neatly in her face

Ripe eggplant lips, like okra pods,

Disintegrate in place

 

With fingers thin as pretzel sticks

She cleans two pie-crust ears

With corn-cob tongue she chastely licks

Espresso-stained veneers

 

Great feet like racks of baby-backs

A cauliflower nose

Those gams, like hams with turkey tracks

Turn cheddar in repose

 

Her breath a piquant nasal treat

Of eggs and sauerkraut

Her voice a satisfying bleat

That I can’t live without

 

In this, the larder of my soul

She’s just the meal I wish

From soup to nuts, my Noodle Bowl

Is quite a tasty dish!

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Harmless Fun

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An orange moon like lantern hung

O’er autumn fields no longer young

Where parchment leaves despairing clung

And cornstalk voices softly sung

In dry and ancient Druid tongue

Demeter’s requiem

 

At stealthy pace the darkness grew

In hissing wrath the night-wind blew

Close to the kitchen fire he drew

A tiny, costumed bugaboo

In livery of chintz and glue

To merriment condemned

 

“I think I’d rather stay inside”

Said he, small eyes in panic wide

“In yonder parlor I’ll abide,

A bowl of candy by my side

For to appease the ghastly tide

That floods the town tonight.”

 

As sweetly as a chapel bell

With laughter bright as asphodel

His mother weaved a calming spell

The child’s anxiety to quell,

And youthful confidence compel,

Wee courage to ignite.

 

“My only son, my darling dear,

Those marrow-freezing shrieks you hear

Are but your playmates making cheer!

For ‘pon this eve, just once a year

Roam trick-or-treaters far and near

In happy, haunting horde.

 

“That grinning demon, eyes afire?

A sculpted pumpkin to admire!

That skeleton? Just wood and wire.

Nightmarish wraith? A fraud entire!

Go now, before the night expire

And claim your sweet reward!”

 

His terror being much allayed

No more in fear of witch or shade

He donned the cape his mother made

Raised up his broomstick pirate blade

Resolved to join the weird charade

And fill his candy pot.

 

“No Halloween deserter, me!

No more a baby will I be!”

Across the threshold, one, two, three

When from behind the shrubbery

Leapt up a monster suddenly

And ate him on the spot

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Babylon ’15

For you of law-abiding turn

   And candid temperament

It doesn’t pay to share concern

   Of criminal ferment

Or take to task in language stern

   The common miscreant

 

The vandal is no public blight

   Proclaims the advocate

To exercise his sacred right

   And nobly desecrate

Somebody else’s weal by night

   Protesting his estate

 

The thief is not a loathsome worm

   The robber not a curse

‘Victim’ is now the sanctioned term

   For those who loot our purse

And we by selfishness confirm

   Ourselves to be far worse

 

A rioter is not a thug

   Nor wanton arsonist

We’ll answer anarchy with hugs

   Apologists insist

And shake their heads and smugly shrug

   As outrages persist

 

No longer is it safe to scold

   The killer for his deed

Society, unjust and cold

   Itself nurtured the seed

That’s grown into a hunter bold

   And so we all must bleed

 

Even the savage Jihadi

   Can suffer no offense

Mysogyny’s his culture, see?

   His birthright violence!

Respect medieval bigotry

   Lest punishment commence

 

In this our modern Babylon

   We judge at our expense

Our highest virtue rests upon

   Unthinking tolerance

And greatest sin is hatin’ on

   Malignant pestilence

 

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Resolving to Succeed

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There strut amongst us them what will

Romp and riot and sin and swill

And burn their candle hot until

December 31st

 

When sudden-like they’ve got their fill

Of hedonistic overkill

And so affirm, all smug and shrill

In grace they stand immersed

 

The New Year’s Resolution be

A righteous curiosity,

An exercise in sanctity

Easier said than done

 

If temp’rance was your cup o’ tea

You would be sober already.

And giving up on gluttony

Is battle never won

 

“I will regain my lean physique

By working out three times a week”

Sounds doable when things look bleak

Hung-over New Year’s Day

 

And then you’re playing hide-and-seek

With folks from your Pilates clique,

A self-indulgent bob-bon freak

Committed to decay

 

Don’t be a tool, you weak-willed fool!

Keep always to this Golden Rule,

Resolve to quit only what you’ll

Be glad to go without

 

Give up the nasty and the cruel

And watch your self-improvement pool

Grow suddenly both deep and cool

Success no more in doubt

 

“I will not dine on rancid meat

Or lick a dirty toilet seat”

Are Resolutions hard to cheat

And don’t take lots of time

 

“I’ll never slap a nun from Crete,

Or juggle chainsaws in the street,

Or drink a half-liter of DEET,

Or pistol-whip a mime

 

“I won’t support the Taliban.

I won’t wear shorts made of rattan.

I won’t pour gin on Raisin Bran

At least till 8 o’clock.

 

“If someone says ‘Let’s join the Klan!’

Firmly will I denounce that plan.

I’ll not use pages of Quran

For origami stock.

 

“No way will I sit idly by

While supermodels sigh and cry

For want of an appreciative eye

I’ll dote on ev’ry lass

 

“I will not clean my squalid sty

Engage in treason on the sly

Won’t ever make what I can buy

I won’t feed orphans glass

 

“I won’t eat possum from the can,

I won’t defy a no-fly ban,

No way I’ll finish what’s began

Or start what looks like work

 

“I won’t defect to Kazakhstan,

Or eat X-rated marzipan,

Or pick a fight with Jackie Chan,

Or gamble with a Turk

 

“I promise not to learn to sew,

Won’t study Edgar Allan Poe,

Will steadfastly ignore J-Lo

Wherever she’ll occur

 

“I won’t take strychnine with my Joe,

Or paddle-board a lava flow.

Nor shall I be induced to mow,

Or worship Lucifer.”

 

Aspire too much and wind up lame?

Or maybe finally beat this game.

Glory is yours, or yours the blame.

The row is yours to hoe

 

No Resolution worth the name,

Need end in failure, die of shame.

Should noble schemes go up in flame,

Your Resolutions blow

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