April 27, 2012

• turnips

  npm. of course.  bluemooncat enormous thing 40.  write a poem using the words: map, rye, saint, exoskeleton, paint, turnips

   

  Not a saint. Never once. A fool perhaps

  Sometimes a liar, sometimes a truth-teller

  The truth is too hard to find on the map

  What seemed like truth was less than truth

  Reality distant, a memory pushed far away

  As tiny as a kernel of rye imbedded in mashed turnips

  Unpalatable, tasteless, formless, dull as gray

  When false truth is bright and growing

  Planted deep in the garden of flowery visions

  Shimmery, shiny, slippery, sly

  Painted with the colors of daydreams

  The exoskeleton crumbles under the pressure

  Revealing the shiny illusion of papery pretense.

   

  You write a poem using turnips and see where it goes.   completely unrelated song that i really like HERE.  Can you tell I don’t care for turnips?  Some foods can come out of the ground and some cannot.  Radishes are even more disgusting, but at least they aren’t cooked.

  Should I tell you that I was speaking of ingredients for rum and coke at dinner and did a spoonerism?  Nope, I probably should not.

  • 9:14 pm
  • 32 Comments