“Dawn Patrol Crows”

Crows go ‘Dawn Patrol,’

racing over Sanford ‘fore

a five-day rainstorm.*

 

  • (At least that’s what National weather radio has to say for the prospects of a wet and possibly stormy Tuesday-through-Friday series of tropical and sub-tropical “pulses” set to cross our delightful finger of land pointed South and eastward from the Continental United States, my dear state, Florida. I have a dry porch and a festive leadup to Thursday’s Thanksgiving, books, music and maybe a slight touch of kitchen wizardry to perform amidst some radio sports.  Some emails to brothers and their better Eleven-Tenths and their daughters, too.  I have a newfound book for the English doctor-candidate, Prep with which to scandalize her parents perhaps. That’s just one part of an uncle’s ever-unending job, a joy always.  The opera niece, her PhD decreed, a touch more difficult to find some way to present – but she has bestowed my every dream for her already and thus I shall give her my glow.)

“Show Me A Man”

show me a man who

did not ‘misuse’*  his mother

and you watch carefully

 

  • (Not just overly-gnawed liquid-providers proudly proffered so I was told, but ‘sass’, stayin’ out late or missing supper – or even not wearing clean (or any!) ‘skivvie’ shorts thus risking her humiliation at the hands of hospitals, morgues or – gasp! – the police!  Thus I have barely begun the litany of my sins, your honoress.  And you! so graciously replied: you three boys gave me hell all my many lost lives – but gifted me this: none of you divorced, none of you jailed and none of you ever tattled on the other.  And when I tried to say ‘but what about…’ she’d show a well-worn hand and replied: I know what I was working with.’ And smiled.  That kind of abuse – or misuse, or ‘ma’-use is not what I mean to “watch” for but the kind of unkind that brings shame on self and family and friends and country and planet that simply may be called by many names but goes by “sex abuse” to all too few of us.)

“Near-Dozen New Herbs”

near-dozen new herbs*

take to their new homes and see

welcoming sunrise

 

  • (thyme, sage, oregano, fennels – bronze and Florence – sage and mints – parsley, basils and suchlike seeds will soak for a day before finding a warm home in soil-less starter beds facing the morning’s glow.  The many tomatoes still repose in seed packets and I confess remiss failing to get the mesclun and more lettuces a-bedded as well.  I blame that on a three-beer day last month.)

 

“Smoked Turkey Carcass Soup”

smoked turkey carass

soon will join the big parade

en route to soup pot*

 

  • (No respecter of calendar, I already have carved and stripped a smallish turkey carcass – reserving of course giblets sans liver – to join after a brief boil and then gentle simmer onions, carrots, celery, garlic and bouquet garni of outer-leaf leeks, parsley stems, chive and sage. What comes next is a matter between knife and board and garden: I just cast into larger mid-sized pots a collection of herbs to over-winter – with but slight stealings – to replace tired and snip-worn favorites and a few newcomers, all promised good homes and moves from sun to shadow and warmth to chill and back again.  Still, I debate the addition of galangal or ginger – and mayhap will proffer a few slices to soak into a bowl so to taste-test.  Of course I will make enough to enrapture rice and other such happy grains, or, what’s a carcass for but to please your comistibles?)

autumn strain

Yassy – go see for yourself – offers one of her favorite forms, A Quintella, whose rhyme scheme and rhythm almost remains hidden for the imagery she paints between those wondrous lines. Find her at Yaskhan . What’s more her work is littered with surprises and delights – and education.

yaskhan

I set off on one of my dreams
Under sunlight’s pale golden beams
Meandering tawny meadows
Looking for harvest gold rainbows
Reflections in gurgling brooks, streams.

Trees preparing to bare their soul
Cascading leaves russet, brown fold
To lay down a carpet of gold
A nip in the air warmness stole
Nature hibernates as I stroll.

#quintella
an old favourite of mine..

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