Farm to Cup

Walking The Farm

I make an early rise to check on the trees, inherited from father four years ago.
The rains were heavy early in the year, a good sign.
The last trees father chose should be ready for their first harvest.
His influence still covers the hillside, encouraging and intimidating me.
The workers will be arriving soon, ready to pick the bright red fruit.
Many of them knew father, mourned with us.
I wonder if they have confidence in my abilities or worry as much about the future as I do.
Then comes a few weeks of stirring, rotating, and hoping for strong sun,
until the batches are the perfect parchment.
Father had a knack for knowing when it was time.
He'd get out of bed one morning and announce,
"Ready the hulling machines."
As a child, I loved to help with the manual sorting.
I think father liked giving me a small task near so many adults,
even if my work needed checking over.
Now, my favorite part is the sisal bags stacked up and ready to go.
It feels like an end to the hard part,
but in some ways the planning between seasons is the most difficult.
That's when I wish I could still ask for father's advice.


Cupper

Nose, roast, crack, rest.
Nose, slurp, repeat.
100 tastes a day
To find the perfect blend.
Every seed has a story
Of rainfall, sun, and wind.
The attitude and altitude
Of the farmer and the land
Influence the flavors
Of the beans in my hands.
Floral, chocolate, toasty,
Tangy, acidic, sweet.


Conversation of Questions
Heya!
How are you doing?
What can I get ya?
Big or small?
Extra shot?
Room for cream?
Anything else?
Here or to go?
Do you have a punch card?
Need a reciept?
Thanks!


Cup of Clouds

Swirling clouds of cream push to the bottom,
Half settling and half mixing,
A visual for the science behind density and solutions.

Rippled edges like afternoon tide pools.
Little peaks of color fighting to find equilibrium
Between layers of mahogany, burlap, and fresh cut pine.

Take a sip or give it a spin
To see more blending, more gradations.
Until it's all one,
Or all gone.


There are a steps left out, but four poems felt like enough for a series.

Wrestling

tumble
jump, roll

grab hold and spin around
get the other guy down

no matter who's won
dogs always have fun


Shared with Thursday Poets' Rally #57

Thanks to The Poetry Palace Community for the Perfect Poets Award for week 57! To see other winners for this week, visit here. I nominate Masked Are We and Myopic View.

Preparations

Half naked trees
losing their leaves
slowly undressing.

We cover up
and snuggle up
and eat it all up.

Both groups just try
ways to survive
the long winter's night.


Included in The Gooseberry Garden's Poetry Picnic Week 15

Knots

Over, under, around, through,

the simple little knots we do.

Repeat, two, three, four,

now you've got a shell's worth more.

If you've got knots enough

you can even stuff with fluff.

Keep it going round and round

suddenly a blanket you've found.

One little tool, one really long string:

now you've made a beautiful thing.

If you're confused by what I say,

I'm discussing the art of crochet.

I have been crocheting a lot lately, working on Yule/Christmas gifts.

A shell stitch is a group of stitches that are all worked into the same space. It's quite common in granny squares and was what mostly made up my first projects when I was learning to crochet.

Grocery Limericks

I went to the store for a pickle.

Last week it cost only one nickel.

But too bad for me,

they now cost 1.03.

Why are the prices so fickle?

I went to the store for some honey,

but didn't have quite enough money.

The clerk laughed at me,

but I just don't see

why the clerk thought it was funny?

I went to the store for some garlic.

I heard it's helpful if your joints click.

I eat it each day,

and pain goes away.

I hardly even feel arthritic.

Dog Park

It is now National Blog Posting Month 2011 or NaBloPoMo!
A bunch of people all decide to write a blog every day for a month. Due to popularity, it happens every month with a different theme. November is the traditional month with lots more bloggers and prizes. Here is the blogroll which (currently) has over 600 blogs!

Today when we went to the park,

One dog couldn't hold in his bark.

Another played fetch with her ball,

And one didn't move much at all.

When it started to pour,

People ran for the door.

No one wanted to play

On a cold, rainy day.

Thank you Poetry Rally!

I wrote a poem

about my dog's favorite place

Thanks for the award!

Other winners and their poems here.

I nominate LifeSpect: Tender Power for this week's award.

Gravity Gave Up On Me

Earlier this morning,
I fell into the sky.
It started without warning,
and I can't figure why
gravity
gave up on me.

I swerved around a tree limb
and nearly hit a bird.
Clouds were all around me
when suddenly I heard,
"Hey there, you!
You're floating too?!"

Just as I came to a stop,
I saw a smiling face.
"We're kids gravity forgot.
You'll get used to this place.
My name's Sly,
let's share this sky."

And so I settled in
to live atop the clouds.
The air is a bit thin,
but at least it isn't loud.
Gravity
gave up on me.


Inspired by Shel Silverstein's "Falling Up".
A new book of his poems came out recently, and I'm excited to read it!
Every Thing On It