What's for lunch?

What's for lunch?
Sadie asked
One hot bright southern summer day
I really want to know

We waited in line
The sun baked down to cook our necks
Until we were given
The all clear to go

In the doors and through the line
Of the camp cafeteria line
"Taco Stew"
Said head cook Janet

Ewwwww! I heard a couple of girls shriek
Why the sour face?
Taco stew melts on your plate
Satisfies until it melts in your tummy

The idea behind a good taco stew is to stir it all around
I learned this from an experienced girl scout
Who probably wrote a book on it
You stir and you stir
Until you can no longer tell the difference between

The beef and
the beans
the cheese and the
sour cream
the salsa and tomatoes
the olives
lettuce
and
potatoes

Soft or hard shell, why that's all up to you
Just specify when you give your order
To the chef
Behind the buffet

The secret is really no secret at all
It mushes together into one yummy paste
Until you get one spectacular taste

There is just one kink in the plan
The mixture leaves you stuffed full to the brim
You better not sink when you go to swim
Lethargy takes over in the sun
After lunch and turtle time
You are pretty much done

Oh tacos how you satisfy
One last time
Always expect good things
From a taco lunch
At camp

latin makes us sad

"Latin II, Assignment 44.3, pg 134
#5
Please translate the following:

Si iam hic adesset, sub arbore vinum bibens mecum sederes.

'If you were here right now, you could be sitting with me, drinking wine under a tree.'"

Alas, the contrary-to-fact-statement!
The saddest of all, scribbled in my notebook.
There's me, there's the tree,
and the wine (growing considerably less)
but no you.
Such are the facts.
This tree longs to be sat under
by a convivial pair
instead of forlorn, drunken me.
The wine wants to taste your lips,
a most reasonable desire.
But you are not here.
If you were not so contrary
the facts could be
you, me, the wine, the tree,
and a future perfect.

taco taurus

when hungry we'd shout
"taco, taco, taco!"
pretending to savor
a meaty, crunchy delight

gangly teenage legs twirlling
over the edge of the couch
flip-flops and painted toenails
beat a path to the taurus

drunk on youth and
nothing else except
the lawless excitment
of being out past midnight

to wausau, to taco bell
and then to yellow banks park
the moonlight shimmering down
on the lugubrious river

a feast on the playground
but before the caramel
of the empanadas could cool
flashing red, blue

"don't you kids have homes?"
and we laughed, fleeing
tumbling into my taurus
hightailing it home

chanting,
"Taco, taco, taco!
Don't you have any home?"

a bedtime story

taco was

a happy taco, proud beans and ground

beef, diced tomatoes and shredded lettuce draped

in a blanket of sharp cheddar, in a sprinkling of sliced black

olives from a can.

taco fell in love with a sauce known

as guacamole, the mashed daughter

to avocado and garlic, whose breath was sweet

with red onions, hair sticky with a twist

of lime

from her mother’s

fruity roots.

taco had to have her. he lay awake at night dreaming

of how he would slather her over his cheesy blanket,

or how he would dip himself into her

to make his taste all the more sweet, the crunchy

baked-corn shell of him

nearly cracking

with the thought of such pleasures.

he knew that he could be better with her.

but guacamole came with a price. avocado and garlic

did not approve of hard-shells, and so taco shed himself

in favor of a pliable flour blossom.

but avocado and garlic demanded

that he provide their daughter with luxuries so taco sauced

himself in black beans and cilantro,

dressed with white rice (for added

nutrition).

but avocado and garlic were offended. they saw the great

lengths taco had gone through and they said,

“you have gone through great lengths to change

yourself for this one thing, who is to say you

will not change again so quickly

when something better comes along?”

then taco went to the market and sold

his tomatoes, sold

his olives and even his beloved spicy meat

for a mixture of pico de gallo

he bought from a gypsy.

she instructed taco on how to dice

the tomatoes correctly, advised him to wash

his hands after handling the chiles, to add the serrano

just before going out, and where to adorn himself

with a splash of lime for the best

effect.

“surely,” the gypsy told him, “any vegetable parent

will see the depths of this love."

and taco lay awake that night, thinking

of guacamole's tender and fruity chunks, cool

and green, green the color

of her eyes, green

the color of the salted sea,

thought taco.

taco returned to avocado and garlic, draped

in his handsome cloak of pico.

he said, “i have done so much to prove to you

that guacamole is the only condiment that could ever

make me whole. we are not complete

without each other. you said that i have changed,

and you are right. i have changed,

but for guacamole. i have become

better for guacamole. i have demonstrated

fourfold my dedication to your daughter.”

true to the gypsy’s words, avocado and garlic

saw that taco spoke truth. but they had one last request:

to see that taco could provide protection to their daughter

from the fierce elements of room-

temperature, which turned her delicate complexion

a rotting shade of brown.

in one swift movement, taco wrapped himself

in his flour blossom to demonstrate his flexibility. this

greatly excited avocado and garlic, as taco had

enough space for an extra portion, and they

were excited to have grandchildren.

so taco became a burrito for love of guacamole,

and they lived happily ever after.

All The Fixings

There we were

On St. Anthony Main

On the deck of Picosa

We anxiously passed a bag

We had smuggled into this world

At dawn of our nonprofit service year

We all ordered some cheap beers

Some even-cheaper $1 tacos

The bag held contraband

In the form of dairy

Shredded cheese

The tacos arrived quickly

Topped with ripe red tomatoes

Our bleeding hearts had assembled

Ones that were sliced and diced for a year

Never coming out of the experience the same

Human service had taken our beliefs, thoughts

Turned them on their head, made us silly

Idealism took shots, developed wounds

We could not save the world, perhaps

We could learn to save ourselves

Our tomato hearts, in pieces

The black beans

They were the gas

Provided our energy

They fueled us to vistas

Previously untouched

Visceral experience

Away from shelter

Hard shell for some

Others asked for soft

We all had our outlook

Our approach toward others

But make no mistake about

The genuine desire to hold

Things together for those

Who struggled with it

The fillings, just like

We all do at times

The cheese

Shredded cheddar

It was what we brought

Not much to offer this table

A cheap way to fake being cultured

Toppings too cheap to pay for on-site

Our experience left us all without money

We just hoped it would come together

In the end, when we left it behind

Separate, from what we made

The bleeding heart tomatoes

The passionate bean energy

The tortilla of dedication

Getting stuff done

Or trying at least

Theme for June: Tacos

Photo credit

Ready, Set, Go...write poetry

What do tacos mean to you?
What memories do you associate with tacos?
Why do you get that funny feeling in your gut when you think about tacos?

Anything you care to aspire to when it comes to the magical mystery mix-up food.
Everything tacos.
Everything in a shell.

Wishful Wednesday (on a Sunday)

Active hands
Mean
Active minds
Active minds
Mean
Thoughtful souls
Which
In turn
Mean
The future
Is looking
brighter and brighter
by the
Minute.

(You have to see the picture I have this captioned by to have it make sense, but it's a group of my six-year-olds at the Children's Museum in South Carolina looking out of the window on a sunny South Carolina summer day while drawing on it with erasable window markers. Very cool. At least I felt inspired enough to jot down some notes when looking at the photo again.)

Maybe at some point we can have a photo theme on the blog too...just sayin'.

lights out for love

An emotion you cannot ignore
(Though you may have been foolish before)
When love comes a'calling
They say it's like falling,
And, my friend, you have just hit the floor.

There's something about love that stills
All tedium that normally kills.
And as you happen to be
in your great ecstasy
You've forgotten to pay all your bills.

Yes, being in love's made you dense
To a rather important expense,
But you think it's a lark
as you kiss in the dark,
"This warm feeling, it doth recompense."

Somethin... a little dated.


Made this and I was trying to be ghetto. It turned out rediculously emo.

This a rhyme for all those who have died,For those who have cried, and kept faith alive.Sometimes it hard when the pain is inside, you tryin to hide but its dripping through, out of your eyes.You gotta realize, speaking in lies and swimmin in tides, just aint for all the people who have hope in their lives.I sympathize, when you breathe hurt in your sighs and the best wish you dish could be wantin to die.But still you try, again,to everybodys surprise, and you feel you could succeed against all the goodbyes.And then it hits you, like a drop kick to your side, and you know this is the end of the longest of strides.But please,take this with you,in you I confide, soon you'll find peace in that place in the sky.

Today feels like

Squirrel heads and girly dresses peeking through the cracks of these glorious summer days.

mindfulness

I'm not practiced in the art of mindfulness,
100% myself right then, right there,

I'm a thousand different places
a hundred different versions
ten different girls
and one life.

I am sitting here right now,
but another part of me is doing laundry,
another part of me is taking a math test,
another part of me is composing a poem,
another part of me is kissing a boy –
(his scruffy chin would be most welcome against my cheek)
another part of me lounges, topless, with a drink on a Hellenic beach,
another part of me mourns a death that has not happened,
another part of me lives in a dream,
another part of me dances in celebration,
another part of me is driving to the store,
(probably for more liquor)
another part of me is having sex
(it must have been a hell of a kiss)

and another part of me is dying swiftly, unexpectedly, ahead of the revelation I was supposed to receive...