Recovered Poetry From The Archives 02

I think this one is tattered a little. It was on some rice paper and pasta and got nibbled on

There was a pasta pipeline that Alice invested in before she wrote the poem when the EU was in turmoil. Alice was always a creative cook. She never wrote in blood but sometimes in tomato sauce.

Your Mission Is To Vote Bad Or Good In the Comments So It Can Be Part of EU Documents Or Revalued to Zero

Alice’s Euro Dream
    by “Alice”

Impressed in my dreams
pressing matters,
stamens of red saffron
pressings of oil and olive trees,
a message from Archemedes
who indeed, though hard to see,
ran from Marathon to Brussels
and popped out of a cake.

He was chewing mast gum
from the island of Chios
made a wise crack proposal:

“Let us escape a faux pas, and have
no hurry to a Massacre-Euro decline
twilight glow of the drachma, so

let my people build into your billing benign
an olive-oil pipeline, many gods willing.”

With steel pipe and pumps pleasing
it progressed through Greece very well, just

shooting along Albania new
under the sea to the Boot, but
then a nasty dispute:

Italy wanted an expanded pipeline
made of tubular pasta renewable
to carry cannolis and a tomato paste –
a mere steel pipeline through Italy
just would not do.

They built a pipeline
made of fried pasta,
all the way to
Brussels Belgium with
so much at stake, but

before it could be turned on
nearly everyone along the way
ate it.

Why It’s Been Awhile Since Lost at the EU

    Alice had to remind me where she hid the poem. I had to swim through a pasta pipeline to the opening of the secret poetry wine cellar.
    So I lost all hope that I could find this one. But I spoke to Alice. There’s good news and bad news. Sometimes she’s not happy with this one, and I’m not certain she approves fully with my editing.

Recovered Poetry From The Archives 01

I think this one is mostly intact. The paper book was waterlogged.

It was underwater for a while. Some ink smudged so some words were shortened. Maybe for the better.

Your Mission Is To Vote Bad Or Good In the Comments So It Can Be Buried At Sea Or Dried Out

Your Laugh At Christmas

Berry Christmas baby,
you slay me with
the fruit of your love

I love how you slice open
your package of chocolates
’cause you can see again
secret cherry me
who is a tee hee squiggling
giggling merry me, happy
to see your unpining smile, that
you kissed to me under
the magic Christmas tree
with ornaments and light

Can we now eat our strawberries
just because we are so sweet in berry’lation

Let’s clear the table, and if
we can now devour an
endless dessert of love
won’t it be yummy

I think so.

Why It’s Been Awhile Since These Were Lost

    I had to swim underwater to the opening of the secret poetry caves and by the time I got to the vault in the forest past the bats, I couldn’t remember the combination for the lock. It’s hard to get a trustworthy locksmith who’s a good swimmer and who you don’t have to feed to the sharks.
    So I lost all hope that I could find these. But today I remembered the combination. There’s good news and bad news. I recovered a book of poems, but most are really bad, at first glance anyway.
    And worse, I’m finding out that the swim may not have been necessary because some overlap and are already public, sort of, I mean, some things I technically made public have never been seen in polite company, or even in the rogue community. And these, of course, are about to become invisible here also.
    I’m not sure if I should expose the mild ones fished out first or ones brought in with a gaff hook.