Thursday, April 28, 2011

Salad Ballad

O, here's a ballad on a salad from my memory.
Though on the face, 'twas not the case my meal was odd at all,
The fact endures -- my take and yours'll hereupon agree--
That leafy lunch was such a bunch of strangeness, great and small.

So hearken, guys, just close your eyes and conjure up a bowl,
A lovely bowl that's mostly full of vegetables galore--
Fresh carrots chopped and aptly dropped atop clean, crunchy slaw;
Tomatoes, too, of every hue, and easy to adore.

But as we sneak a second peek, we'll get a sudden sense
Unusual acts have come to pass throughout our salad's youth
That actuate a current state of novel countenance...
A countenance that makes no sense -- and that's the honest truth.

For every trace of green's effaced -- yes, every leaf erased--
No kelly pea, however wee; no moss, chartreuse, or jade;
No forest herb or cucumber; no sage or celery…
Yet all that's left post-em'rald theft seems colorfully arrayed.

Red cabbage tossed and gladly lost up dreamy streams of sauce;
Tomatoes, small and sweet and all but dyed ruby and gold;
And carrots, made a lovely shade by beta-carotene--
Resplendent, though my story's no Best Legend Ever Told.

For stranger themes have happened around poetry and food;
The salad turn was subtler, naught markedly afoul.
What type of salad has no green?  What person notes such facts?
The same one who can't overlook the absence of a vowel.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011


Beware the foible in free will,
The roiling choice that troubles you--
Foible choice up just to fancy...
In that just necessity, keep true.
Free troubles to keep cheeks stuffed!
Will you fancy true, stuffed hullaballoo?