Ode to Thyme
Oh gardener’s gift, you easy herb.
Such subtle sister to exotic basil,
sultry oregano, deep-throated sage.
Your dewdrop likeness to fairy hearts
strung as if green seed-pearls
on supple stems. Shivering in crushed
magic as must of the season, your fronds
lush as Rapunzel’s long locks tempting
senses. You, forest. Olive. Willow.
Mint, by turn. How wholesome
your capturing vertigreed spirit
of summer; trapping in velvet
undernotes to stew, to roast, to bake
or baste with not one tasteless dash.
Rather with your own subdued
yet savoury graces.
Ode to Oregano
Eyes closed, aroma intoxicating
even without wading through leggy
tendrils swaying. We’re left
standing outside time in greenish
rush like luck in the last blur
of heat, sultry as overheard
rumours of winter; there on
the cusp of dusk – wound
of day that bleeds and bruises.
You, tiny coins of summer, all
tenderness and pity. Odour
of creation, you herbaceous
scent of sun and pines. Tokens
of earnest powers; sweet
mysteries of garden plots.
Your juices lend sorry hints
of suffering, compassion to
tired tongues. Whether gorged-
on, gathered glory or as desire
dried to savoury steadiness;
low-tones for Bolognese. A
pungent habit too hard to
break. Siren song to culinary
saints of Italy. All reverie and
grace. As if we’d made you up,
moon and orbit. Paradise, leaf-
captured. And we so enthralled,
temptation is our gravest sin.
Joe
Just like some Pavlovian cue
the gurgle and soft sputter
beckon you to worship
at the full carafe
whose gift each bright new
day pours out just for you
like rich elixor perhaps
stirred with silver spooned-in
sweetness or mellowed in a blur
of cream as out-of-mind
you’re simply transported
out your own kitchen window
no farther than that neat
chain-link, corralling sight
within a fruitful garden rife
with ripening tomatoes, peppers,
zucchinis bearing blossoms
so searing your eyes will burn
with pride while imagining
your harvest stuffed as tribute
on perfect Wedgewood
dinner plates.
Barbara E. Hunt has publications across North America, U.K., Europe, Scandinavia and Australia to her credit, most recently with Pacific Review (San Diego), Sublimation (Sweden) and The Mersey Review (Liverpool). Work is accessible (free) on WATTPAD. Her climate-change collection, Rowing Across the North Atlantic was recently released.
Website: www.writersplayground.ca
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/barbaraehunt/
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UChyj2GqTn_5XL2_b6DnkLvA
Oh gardener’s gift, you easy herb.
Such subtle sister to exotic basil,
sultry oregano, deep-throated sage.
Your dewdrop likeness to fairy hearts
strung as if green seed-pearls
on supple stems. Shivering in crushed
magic as must of the season, your fronds
lush as Rapunzel’s long locks tempting
senses. You, forest. Olive. Willow.
Mint, by turn. How wholesome
your capturing vertigreed spirit
of summer; trapping in velvet
undernotes to stew, to roast, to bake
or baste with not one tasteless dash.
Rather with your own subdued
yet savoury graces.
Ode to Oregano
Eyes closed, aroma intoxicating
even without wading through leggy
tendrils swaying. We’re left
standing outside time in greenish
rush like luck in the last blur
of heat, sultry as overheard
rumours of winter; there on
the cusp of dusk – wound
of day that bleeds and bruises.
You, tiny coins of summer, all
tenderness and pity. Odour
of creation, you herbaceous
scent of sun and pines. Tokens
of earnest powers; sweet
mysteries of garden plots.
Your juices lend sorry hints
of suffering, compassion to
tired tongues. Whether gorged-
on, gathered glory or as desire
dried to savoury steadiness;
low-tones for Bolognese. A
pungent habit too hard to
break. Siren song to culinary
saints of Italy. All reverie and
grace. As if we’d made you up,
moon and orbit. Paradise, leaf-
captured. And we so enthralled,
temptation is our gravest sin.
Joe
Just like some Pavlovian cue
the gurgle and soft sputter
beckon you to worship
at the full carafe
whose gift each bright new
day pours out just for you
like rich elixor perhaps
stirred with silver spooned-in
sweetness or mellowed in a blur
of cream as out-of-mind
you’re simply transported
out your own kitchen window
no farther than that neat
chain-link, corralling sight
within a fruitful garden rife
with ripening tomatoes, peppers,
zucchinis bearing blossoms
so searing your eyes will burn
with pride while imagining
your harvest stuffed as tribute
on perfect Wedgewood
dinner plates.
Barbara E. Hunt has publications across North America, U.K., Europe, Scandinavia and Australia to her credit, most recently with Pacific Review (San Diego), Sublimation (Sweden) and The Mersey Review (Liverpool). Work is accessible (free) on WATTPAD. Her climate-change collection, Rowing Across the North Atlantic was recently released.
Website: www.writersplayground.ca
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/barbaraehunt/
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UChyj2GqTn_5XL2_b6DnkLvA
