IJIPOETRY.COM - POETRY BY LARRY INGRAM

Sweet and potato's vine

7/24/2013

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Sweet you are in glowing heat,
days or nights of summer,
bouncing aloft, clearly
winning any battle of
color codes meant for pots,
day lilies fight as perennials -
though never really touching your
Olympic standards.

You know too well of royalty
blaring your sign, wrecking
other communities set in May.
But for mediation there would
be fights aroused by jealousy,
as though you know nothing
of winning, deeply drinking in
statuesque manicures.

We'll design a summer for
you - and others who gloat
over leaving vegetables behind
for lower beings, those unearthed,
while beads of perspiration
from radishes staring -
watching as you fly from farmers
wanting nothing but honesty.

It's a trial to be king, to wear
the crown, to laugh in the
face of unbearable heat -
ovens glowing with embers
daring all to stare down in
pathetic pamphlets of powdered
pedantic potatoes.
Sweet you say.
We know you mock.

We know of better, more pure
days that many wish they were
you, clever, growing without
effort, without sun, moon, stars -
or water, you lap, you dare
to sparkle as you, to dream
of color for kings and queens.
Generous I know, but only
for this season,

as you laugh and grow.

© 2013 Larry Ingram
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Procrastination

7/24/2013

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Click here and see how easy -
yes, but beware of habit, these
driven people will take you for
all the fortitude available for
drinking water there, see the
spite in fountains, unkept by
public ventures, bankrupt
for daring so.

You see the night comes
quickly here, this path chosen
may lead to dry gulches, dry
lanes, brazen courage it is to
follow one's course, awake
at all, these visions dance -
but tarry not there -
surely you know, to, not.

It kept me there for a fortnight,
or so it seemed to me as I
waxed of days plagued with mud
slowing the wheels of carriages,
horses struggling with water,
paving trails taken - sure -
and stay there if you have not
sense about you.

But beckoning was this new
way, this trial before me, too
as getting lost behind me was
something that could be lost
from me for a while, while I
tried gaining on, or making a
foothold in creating, making
forging a path in molten iron.

And I say it has been dreamed
as it lay before me, a plan not
crazy, well considered, and today
seemed sensible as well.
And why not now, my senses
said it was possible, and true
and straight as the catamaran
takes wind and rides it well.

Still I saw the raw fault line,
the capsizing capable foolhardyness
of the path, if not for sensible
creatures who I spoke with at length -
or now it seems to be reality
that shakes blood, that dares to
dream and put pavement,
blood and sweat to it - now.

So it's considered to be raw
and mean, but real all the same -
this sail before me, this triumph
of wills, that wants wait, but says
no, to wait, but do to possible -
and it does. And then again it
says, watch while it happens,
and even so, credits pile for
when courage will win again.

© 2013 Larry Ingram
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Flowers that died

7/24/2013

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Now they are lovely,
these roses?
No, but be glad they
shine now, early this
summer, floating,
breezily as night comes,
resting, white, yellow,
hybrid but still pure.

A torrid wind, heat
evaporation, and nary
a soul cares the world
as night passes day,
takes long pauses as
curses fly across to
warn of impending doom.

Yes they said as much -
or at least they dared
the brilliance of heroes
who paved before -
reds, again, petunias
chosen for gawking
visitors, or none will wake.

Fewer still they bob heads,
branches flower to crisp grey
stalks, wilting slowly with
amber, looking for green
but finding nothing,
they gasp - incapable
of frugal times, heading away
saying goodbye to genius.

© 2013 Larry Ingram
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I feed it feeds me

7/24/2013

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Those are fried, those foods.
They know abundantly,
clearly they did not read the
warning on the octane booster
as it sat on top of conforming
handles for easily dispensing
fuel for late nights, snacks,
abundantly nutritious,
but for weary souls.

It's all good. Well, no.
It's there. It shines -
brightly it beams neon,
though the brand was taken
up no doubt at midday, when
doughnuts had been plenty,
and counting was not done -
so to speak. It was I who
fed the loss, or the gain?

It was beautiful food.
With no one to eat it's not
really complete, not wasted, but
there all the same.
Not a loss if I do; but potatoes
as those can make for plenty
of energy, which is needed by
all. I won't leave myself from
that line.

It is accepting, these sights -
for money is all it takes for
great gains of insight, of daily
intake that knows no bounds -
for five minutes, ten, fifteen.
Describe your malady that cannot
be solved by cards drawn, chosen
paid for, then smiling nicely.
It was nice to have a nice day.

It's no loss when athletes imbibe,
when TV is on and consumes calories
by the mile, they run track, it takes but
minutes to watch, as calories drawn
comf0rting, remarkably hungry pictures.
There is more, you know that you
are always welcome here to make
what of it you can.
If feeding, eating is not your lot.
Perhaps servicing the beautiful sign?

© 2013 Larry Ingram
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I'll amass it all

7/24/2013

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I'll come by this eventually,
as snow falls my way -
first as crystals, beauty,
but later as avalanche of good
for me, you say, but not
likely knowing - me.

It did come, I say, but not
as I prepared the venue -
the massive advertising budgeted
as it was in snowdrifts, scaring
visitors, windshields and such,
they mistook it for good will.
I meant it for pure greed.

It's not that they don't work -
this skiis, faking lightly, turns
prepared, but not as the day,
the sun peers out blinding me
to lust, to want, to water that
barely gets at it - guts.

So now it melts.
It told me of vast quantities,
inscribed for me, tales of tablets
like as never before discovered,
when skiers were unearthed to
reveal preparations for sun,
but not blinding speed.

Now it scares. Yes, it's there.
Still it mows down trees in it's
way, trees I planted, as I surveyed
my plans for good, for those
that shine, that blossom,
as beautiful as falling snow,
in sparkling moonlit nights.

© 2013 Larry Ingram
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    Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture.
    Check out his columns at ijiblog.net.

    Contact him at
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