This is a thoroughly good piece of work, Ann. Lots of fine imagery and
good form sustained throughout. It might stand the odd tweak but who has
a poem that would not??Welcome!! Regards Arthur.
"V. W." wrote:
> '' After it's sell by date or shelf life has expired foods, even those
> frozen or pickled, lose their potential to nourish.''
>
> PICKLED POEMS
>
>
>
> I hide my poems in pickle jars
> and sneak them into unused coffee pots.
> Squirreling them away,
> against the day no words come.
> When the winter white sheet
> becomes too hard to dig.
>
>
> But now it is summer,
> words run like chattering mice
> across a sun splashed page
> where I have set my traps
> to snatch their freedom.
> Words
>
>
> skip unselfconsciously beside me
> as I walk to work.
> They dance in the garden,
> innocent of my sideways glance.
> My unexpected pounce
> against a less prosperous season.
>
>
> Now poems smile like captive fat cherubs.
> Pushing their faces into mine
> from their fine jars
> on the tall dresser.
> Smug, self satisfied,
> domesticated as dogs.
>
>
> And I, well provisioned
> against that silent season
> will not starve when winter comes.
> For I shall eat pickles
> and drink coffee.
>
> Ann Stockton
> (York)
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