The Sunday Poem: Pistachio
Ok, a challenge. Next Sunday do a poem on Ice Creme Cones, and do it without any insinuations of death, love, or nature.
No insinuations? Fat chance.
Pistachio
Pistachio piled high, a green the shade of leaves in shade;
Scintilla sparkles, specular sliding off the cone.
A spritz of soda, carbon captured, bubbles bursting;
Antiseptic odor effervescing from the glass.
Waterstains on spoons, overlapping nebulae. Straws. Scoops.
Color buckets, congealed craters, rough gorges. Crème.
Here there is no death except in melting. There is no love,
But for the sharing of banana splits, there is no nature
Save for green the shade of leaves in shade, the nuts,
The flavor on the tongue, purchased by my grandpa.
We chrome, we swirl, we pile double-high, we watch
As scoops sizzle on the hot cement, fallen from their perch.
4 Responses to “The Sunday Poem: Pistachio”
Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.
I’ve got a real challenge for you. Write a poem on Areae without divulging any secrets, directly at least. ;p
Good one Morgan. 🙂
Raph, the morphing, yes, well done.
I’ve got an even harder challenge than what I suggested previously.
Construct a poem, or perhaps a haiku, using only pangrams.
That’s not the challenge though. The challenge is do that and make sense.
I bet you US$1.00 that you cannot do this. It’s impossible for even a Master Poet. ;p
[…] Pistachio A spritz of soda, carbon captured, bubbles bursting; Antiseptic odor effervescing from the glass. […]