I like a crispy stalk of celery
to stir a Caesar’s spice,
or a wedge of tart lemon
squeezable in tea that is iced
and cinnamon is delectable
when steeping in hot cider
but never in my sipping days
have I requested a side of spider.
(Based on an actual incident. Photo is proof.)
Ice
cream,
an indulgence
inspired by summer’s
heat – cool mouthfuls
creamy sweetness melting
ecstasy – torture for those
whose systems cannot cope
lactose intolerance condemning
sideline drooling – until
manufacturers develop
alternatives –
coconut bliss
and soya
so good –
kudos
to
non-dairy treats.
(Thank you to Fandango for kudos, Daily Addictions for cope, and Ragtag Daily prompt for indulgence.)
Strawberries ripen, their blood-red sweetness staining the cheeks of students whose bodies, unripened, rail against the conformity of stiff backed chairs and bolted down desks. Spring has dared to don the cloak of summer – green emboldened fields trampling over delicate beginnings; and we are splash pad, motorcycle revving, boom box crazy: ready to plunge into the swelter, restless.
Strawberries ripen
Spring’s sweet offerings forewarn –
Summer games begin.
(Jilly at DVerse challenges to be unconventional in our halibun writing. Not sure how unconventional I am, but this was fun to write.)
Picnicking with mother
happened only once –
The summer’s day
a perfect pitch of bright,
the breeze a welcome companion
Laid our cloth atop rickety table,
perched in anticipation
of waxy wrapped sandwiches
and homemade bread and butter pickles
and the certainty of some fresh-baked treat
Hadn’t taken so much as a single bite
before the buzzing started –
bees inviting themselves to our repast
lured by the sweetness of our fare –
sent mother screaming
commanding us to pack up at once
Never again did we venture
further than our back yard,
reserved the park for drive by visits,
and, if lucky, the occasional
opportunity for a swing or a slide,
as long the bees stayed out of sight.
One Woman's Quest 