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pickled lemon,
salty sourness;
sunshine yellow bottled
as muddy reddish hot-lick;
i wander back,
a lemon plant summons
outside
kitchen window, fullness---
skirt rustling over leaves
pushed back by thorns,
wild button flowers beaming,
juicy-grass bed kissing,
huge trees greeting---
days of lemon-fresh laughter,
i picked the lemons from the past;
lemon-fresh soul,
pickled lemon in bottles---
tickling taste reviving memories
existence spread over time and space
notes on a musical thread with no end
flow and flow as rhyming waves
Linking this poem with IGWRT - Tuesday Platform.
The smell of lemons is firmly entrenched in memory - how we bottle and preserve the quality and colour of these fruits says a lot about our regard for those thoughts.
ReplyDeleteI can smell the lemons...
ReplyDeleteWords give shape to a moment
ReplyDeleteIsn't it strange a scent like this can take us back scores of years (in my case) to recall childish memories?
ReplyDeleteOh! I just adore this! "Lemon plant summons" is so good... wonderful.
ReplyDeleteI do love to bottle the scent of summer... we have just made elder flower syrup... makes a very good winter lemonade... if we had lemons we would try to keep it.
ReplyDelete