Little Vines 11/5/21

This week, I was not sure I’d have time for any Little Vines sessions, but, today was the day. I am glad I could fit it in. Here they are.

in the refrigerator
the lemons dimple in sunshiny smiles
the prunes mourn their wrinkles with syrupy sighs

They hand me some pink plaid tulle
and I said what am I going to do with this stuff
I take a bite. I chew.Wow! More, please!

A carrot assembled from
orange yarn and green dryer lint
in the salad bowl. Like the pillow body
a runaway kid leaves in the bed.

the bounce
of a tornado out on the town
the broken hearts it leaves in its wake

Look at the roots on that thing!
I will put it in the refrigerator
before it floods the kitchen with its enthusiasm.

The color is bigger than your brush
bigger than your canvas bigger than
you and any ideas you might have of taming it

I tell strangers on the subway
my secrets
and then I get off at the next stop

in order to function a workable hairdo
must obey the laws of physics
and good engineering principles

Oh Lou, our apologies –
a snail dashing across the sidewalk blocked our way–
that is why we are three hours late.

so it was intentional
the motor having a whole lot of pieces
that’s what you’re telling me?

this past eleven
I cut five and revised three
I didn’t think it possible in circles
only face to face. And you?

the scissors and their quick juicy bite
through the stem of the red tulip
luxuriating in cool drops of dew

A vertical motion and splat!
the planet terrifies another brain –
He must be new. It’s only rain.

the mechanisms of her thinking
grind wearily along
propelled by their underpowered motor

a square base made of flat metal panels –
that’s her bottom all right
I pity those floral-print sofa cushions

5 thoughts on “Little Vines 11/5/21

  1. There are lots of references to colours and patterns in this week’s LVs so my mind’s eye was filled with lots of lovely colours. The first poem really made me smile. I think I am more of a prune than a fresh lemon these days and definitely prone to “syrupy sighs”. #5330 reminded me of a commute I used to do by bus from one side of the city to the other. The bus I took in the morning was the same one used by families going to visitation at the prison and for some reason the person who took the seat next to me would often treat it like a confessional and confide all sorts of personal things in me. It was such a weird experience.

    • Now that bus story is something else. What you must have heard, and what pressure those people must have been under to be needing to express it even to a stranger. Our world is a hard one all right.

      • My only interpretation is that they must have felt the need to offload all their thoughts in advance of such an important and precious visit in order to ensure that they could meet their incarcerated loved one with as much positivity as possible.

    • Thank you. Many years ago I rode the subway to work. People had such intimate conversations there, right out loud for all of us to hear. With parts drowned out by the clacking of the wheels on the track or the horn blowing, which made them even more mysterious. And then, we stopped, the doors opened, and it ended. Only to begin again. I never got bored on these trips.

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