The Pretenders

They sat peacefully at their meal,
Ate heartily their bread,
And said
Anything to appeal
To the spirit of the occasion.

Through gentle persuasion,
I hoped to discuss
Desert,
Without raising any fuss
Or any hurt
To the host.

But they drowned out the question,
With a unanimous suggestion
To raise a toast,
And drank deeply draughts of breath.

Of the rancid dish of death
They did not partake,
For merriment’s sake.
As a matter of formality,
They considered it a bit too hot.

They left it to simmer
On a back burner, under a lid -

They, the madmen who did not
Concern themselves with mortality,
And I, the madman who did.

~ Daniel F Mitchell

Here

Here I am, garden, standing at your door!
Here I shall stay a while, in wholesome toil,
With gentle souls of green at my tenure,
The handiwork of summer to adore.
Where earthworms squirm ecstatically in soil,
I shall kneel with them in common amour.
I shall feel the goodness of the season,
And here harvest a full crop of the day,
Free from the shade of purpose and reason,
Until autumn falls in awesome display.
To my eyes arrive all that needs seeing,
Strawberries ripe upon an emerald weave.
To my nose goes whiffs of childlike anise,
Freely sharing delight with all being.
I hear all things that I need to achieve
Blowing through the cornrows on a warm breeze.
Cucumbers, on yellow bellies reclined,
Eye the muskmelons five rows away,
Bittered with envy of those sweeter vined,
Through spite, their own divinity betray.
Horseradish, what foolish horse would venture
To disturb your rudely-piquant censure?
Though chickweed the fingers of order stains,
And witchgrass all attempts at justice scorns,
Raspberries, plump upon their briared canes,
Shall not thwart my determined hand with thorns!
Aphid, beetle, blight, and slug, get thee hence!
Angelica, trouble yourself no more
With what lies beyond the pickets of fence!
Let us make heaven here, upon earth’s floor!