Sunday Scribbling #179: Key
Meter BabiesGive a dime,
Have a key
Lime pie,
Pinnacle of grayton
Beach sift and sniff
Egrets aping
Herons
The heron hunch of
Lunching with
Your size 4
“professionability.”
Where’s the cheese prince
When you need him,
All hoggy-fog &
Dilly-dallying
While the whipped cream
Fails to rise.
I’m a can-o-meter,
Babies, I can the peas
& shell the rest.
Fashion your nests
With care, cher,
Run down the quay
To your behoovable
Horizon.
Labels: moonish pies
posted by murat11 at 3:26 PM
17 Comments:
cool and green all the way through - love hoogy fog and behoovable. You are the king of canning and shelling baby!
Dee: I think if we all behoove ourselves, there may be enuff key lime pie to go all round...
Now you've made me hungry for a moon pie!! This poem was fun!
Teresa: Better a key lime one, west of Pensacola, down Grayton Beach-way: old daze, old unreconstructed hippie waze.
Intriguing verse, this!
I hold myself in the doorway
Kill Word Verification
Morning to you, GT.
I destest key lime pies, so I was glad there was some chocolate in the label. You know me, Murat, the darker the better...
key lime pie for a dime? where is this place?
Never had a key lime pie, but you got me craving one with these lines; also a hot beach, but that's the direct result of our Michigan milquetoast summer. Bit of Lou Reed there in that closing stanza; gotta imagine he'd appreciate that behoovable horizon.
My goo-ness, Teresa: That there's a pretty strong word about them poor little key limers. I'm as down with the dark as you (you and your Black Ox and I with my Black Rose), but I'm guessing you never, no you never, had a decent, much less sublime, key lime pie. I grant they ain't all the veriest of fine, but follow me to Grayton's white sugar sand beaches east of Pensacola, all from scratch, baby, all from scratch, including the latter day surfer-hippie-dude who hooked his feet behind the counter and leaned all the way across the aisle to my booth to assure me that I needed whipped cream from scratch to complete the ensemble and then proceeded to whipped that lactose to a fine froth for what must have been at least 30 minutes. Nirvana takes time, dontcha know!
Old Grizz: Poetic license there, sorry to whet your key limey desires. Maybe not a dime, but sweetest pleasure for less than the cost of many vices.
Anno: This simply will not do - you and your keylimelessness. I've no recipe for you, but I'm sure you'll run one to ground before too long. Lemme know when you do (and send me a slab, er, slice).
Well, Murat, you have definitely intrigued me. Do you know the road to Pensacola? I only know the way to San Jose, and it's been a long time since I've been there even. I think it was a Marie Callendar's Key Lime pie that I tried. Probably too much California cuisine and not enough good ol' deep South fried butter cookin'
Oh my goodness, girl. Marie Callendar's? It's gotta be from scratch. I'm sure I'd detest an MC key lime pie meself.
There’s them peas again—canned this time as well as shelled—and some new stuff, some hoggy-fog. Well, I never could do weather. Gripes my ass to this day. I’m goin' down to see May. I have a note here says she’s in April.
A-girl: It was 2 AM when I finally crawled into bed, grading urchin papers so's I wouldn't have to do it on Labor Day - you wuz still readin and it was 3 your time. I hope you're sleeping in and lazy-ing today, though sumpin tells me those ain't words in your lexicon.
LOL! You got that right. But some-lovely-times, when I’m on a roll and don’t have an early roll call, I just gotta roll, roll, roll, gotta thrill my soul, well alright… I was singin’ those roadhouse blues when I went to bed close to four and when I got up close to nine. Not a bad deal before returnin' to the grind : )
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