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  1. #1
    martin shaw
    Guest

    A Breath of Fresh Onions.

    The season of Charlotte
    is here.
    To pickle ones work
    and store in a jar
    a remembrance of summer
    in winter,
    when gales swirl crisp packets
    and chip shop papers,
    amongst parking tickets
    and mums shopping receipts.

    Each ploughman’s associate
    on the end of my fork
    is a Madame Mazelle,
    the crunching layers,
    an onion eloquence,
    as I fall in love
    again and again and again.

    They are topped n’ tailed
    air balloons
    that take me away
    to blue skies and buzzing bees,
    and to where an old lady
    in a straw-boater hat
    is clipping garden roses.

    Her wireless radio
    has all the birds tweeting
    in the same tone
    as Strauss.

    His strings pluck
    excitedly,
    the Blue Danube,
    as the birds hop,
    in time
    across a washing line,
    to an apple tree,
    its branches swaying in the breeze.

    They examine through the leaves
    their ageing Snow White,
    or maybe, the Lady of Shalott?
    My Charlotte.



  2. #2
    Senior Member
    Join Date
    Jan 2011
    Location
    ME
    Posts
    480
    I really like that. It painted a good picture. I like the last two versus. They are pretty.
    “Put it before them briefly so they will read it, clearly so they will appreciate it, picturesquely so they will remember it and, above all, accurately so they will be guided by its light.”
    -Joseph Pulitzer

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