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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1253431-Beetlebung-and-Kettlehole--April-Poems/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/2
by Joy
Rated: 18+ · Book · Drama · #1253431
Poetry in April -- in celebration
Daisies poetry signature

This is my Second Book of poems. I may not have eaten the plums from the icebox, but I am guilty of writing poetry without thinking too much, without laboring over words and lines.

This Is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

          by William Carlos Williams

You, too, forgive me for I only love the writing process; the result is secondary...And please never mind that I am also aping William Carlos Williams's false apology. *Wink**Laugh*


From where does the title Beetlebung and Kettlehorn come from?

The name Beetlebung and Kettlehorn has to do with ancient whaling practices and Martha’s Vineyard and Cape Cod.

During the nineteenth century, because of its dense white wood, the tupelo tree was used in whale oil casks made of copper. Beetle was the mallet made from the Tupelo tree and bung was the stopper in the cask hole. In Martha’s vineyard, the Tupelo tree is still known as the Beetlebung tree, and at Chilmark there, is a Beetlebung Corner, with shops at Chilmark Center, from where roads lead to other interesting points.

Kettlehorn, as well as being an ancient surname, refers to a piece of equipment resembling to but much bigger than a shoe-horn, used to stir the hot blubber and separate the fine oil from the denser particles. Whale oil was a popular commodity and, as a fuel, was used for lighting the dark, burning to provide heat and as an aid in cooking. After the whale was hunted, men in a boat cut strips of blubber from the whale's back, tied them together and rowed ashore. There the fat was cut into smaller pieces to be boiled into oil in large copper kettles.

In addition there exists kettle corn in Cape Cod which are corn chips fried in kettles and sometimes mistakenly called kettlehorns.

For some reason, way back when, the words Beetlebung and Kettlehorn were used together and, at one time or another, were given to shops and other things that go together as titles.

I adopted the name for my on-the-spot poetry in reference to the idea of blubber. *Laugh*

"Poetry the shortest distance between two humans"
Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Previous ... 1 -2- 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ... Next
April 11, 2019 at 11:23am
April 11, 2019 at 11:23am
this fake decadent shell
only a secondary home
I carry on my back
like my troubles

since as a scavenger,
doddering alone on water’s edge,
I recycle after others
wishing to fight the tides
and convert darkness
into blessings


Prompt: April 11-- aquatic creature
April 10, 2019 at 6:36pm
April 10, 2019 at 6:36pm
a river foams white
into a blue-stained moat
and detergent’s suds pop
and dishes cling, clang, and jangle
inside the dishpan
while I listen to the faucet
as if it is the rush of a waterfall
and imagine us camping
downriver, watching otters paddle
chittering and chattering
with one another, and later
pines, junipers, and cottonwoods
bend to tolerate
a rainstorm...

until I stab my finger
with the tip of a steak knife


April 10—water
April 9, 2019 at 10:26am
April 9, 2019 at 10:26am
(The Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, with 61 covered streets and over 4000 shops, is one of the largest and oldest covered markets in the world.)

Thin pastry so crispy
stuffed with cheese
and aroma so fine
the vendor called it borek
while uttering what I suspect
was a rhymed sales pitch
right outside the gate
of the Grand Bazaar
with domed roofs and
many alleyways
where hassling is a must.

And I might have insulted the
merchant when I paid
the exact amount he asked
for gilded harem slippers
because he said, chuckling,
he just reduced the price
for my pretty face,
thus, braving the hassling for me
this amateur clown
with a happy darkness
steady in ribaldry
confusing the seller with the buyer.
as if his trade were some child’s play.

Now, I sit still and nudge that memory
out of decades to find
under the splendor of ancient façades
many a nameless face
mimicking court jesters
with an off-beat marketing style
for in that antique bazaar where,
crafted in cartoonish surprise,
my true stories were born.


Prompt: April 9—market
April 8, 2019 at 3:52pm
April 8, 2019 at 3:52pm
( Space News: On September 15, 2017, the Cassini spacecraft plunged into Saturn, after proving the planet’s moon Prometheus created the inner ring alone and not together with Pandora as previously believed.)

Falling in line with saturnine effect
Cassini, the spacecraft
crashed on Saturn’s surface,
after crediting Prometheus
in shaping a narrow ring,
and canceling Pandora’s part.

A dizzy tumble for Cassini
yet, well-deserved heavenly justice
and Pandora with the bruised ego,
though she is afloat on the silent sky,
I feel like reaching out to touch
in empathy.

Prompt: April 8--celestial body
April 7, 2019 at 10:46am
April 7, 2019 at 10:46am
they claim
it must have been the change in tides or
the food fish
forcing you wander off-course
but I suspect
the herd cast you off as herds punish their
precocious ones

or maybe the beachfront at Blind Creek Park and
sandy, wild shoreline
beckoned you to hike along
the Indian River Lagoon
for you envied the volunteer naturalists
walking about
in dramatic curiosity as if the beach
were a stage

thus, you received huge acclaim, larger than your size,
through their photos
and a eulogy on the front page of St.Lucie News
recognizing your vision
for it was not the length of your life but
the depth of it
and the ripples you caused along the way, drifting
away from the herd


Prompt: April 7—hike
April 6, 2019 at 10:47am
April 6, 2019 at 10:47am
I used to smell the fresh intent
in the earthy scent of the rain
just before the Azaleas bloomed

but I don’t belong there now
where the Azaleas bloom
not even to the greenish grass
of powdered cheeks
with the early morning dew

for I have mutated into a place
where I lose air slowly and
where palms tear their fronds
into ribbons, mirroring my heart


Prompt: April 6 -- bloom
April 5, 2019 at 10:33am
April 5, 2019 at 10:33am
it must have been the moonlight
making ordinary stones sparkle
and the night to lie

for wearing me on your skin
you lit a bright table lamp
in a strange city

your language of many tongues
or the hissing of tunes
yet so believable

how could I know you were
fattening me for slaughter
in sublime sacrifice

in lapsed time
calibrating hours at dawn
you were the dream I once had


Prompt: April 5--dream(s)
April 4, 2019 at 4:29pm
April 4, 2019 at 4:29pm
After I drift into sleep,
the mind
now set free,
throws outlandish fits
popping out things
in tiny fragments of
uprooted old scripts
battling with trifles
provoking longing for
vacant rooms, windsongs,
deserted loves, and
roads with sinkholes that
wrap their tenacious roots
around my feet
exposing my past
to the light of the moon


Prompt: April 4--fitful sleep
April 3, 2019 at 8:16am
April 3, 2019 at 8:16am
Let them come
with bulldozers
for what will be left:

winding hills,
forever grass,
coiled ribbon snakes,
voracious squirrels,
undrinkable water
from the treacherous creek
surrounded by
wild, burly bushes
with piercing teeth,

and ghostly echoes
of ancient laughter
in the backyard
of my childhood home.


Prompt: April 3--place
April 2, 2019 at 10:51am
April 2, 2019 at 10:51am
akin to a lame bird
you perch on a park bench
to watch scrub jays and warblers
sprint from thin twigs
chirping tunes

at you, the lost one
who never learned to fly

then, when their songs
drift flute-like
in longing and desire
so deeply felt
into flower beds,

rose petals uncurl
to dance

but you still refuse
to move


Prompt: April 2—birdsong
April 1, 2019 at 1:06pm
April 1, 2019 at 1:06pm
memory is all the home
to start from on altered routes
since in the rearview window
only half my head appears

and at every bump on the road,
down-slopes, and danger signs
this old body
riots in rebellion

a culprit is the timing
or possibly the driving
making my knees rattle
and neither can be undone


Prompt: April 1--road trip
March 29, 2019 at 11:18pm
March 29, 2019 at 11:18pm
savvy chef that you are
ignoring I am ticklish,
will you sift them like flour
add sugar, cinnamon, butter
to impress people
in complete silence?

wait till my ashes talk

March 27, 2019 at 9:53pm
March 27, 2019 at 9:53pm
me and you
glued together

or separated
by large distances

neither dependent
nor independent

spatial proximity
our quantum state

April 30, 2018 at 12:47am
April 30, 2018 at 12:47am
the days deepened, at first,
their surface rippling
with the toss of a wishful coin
and me imagining
—what did I imagine? a month
that would never end
and while the clock moved its hands,
time’s jaws would clench?

still, I wonder why
the fine-grained calendar
surprised me so,
sending tides of sorrow
sweetened with handouts
enveloped in friends’ heartbeats,
lines, verse, flashbacks,
and cascading brilliance

could it be to light up my way
because the hours lengthened today?


prompt: parting is such sweet sorrow
April 29, 2018 at 12:00pm
April 29, 2018 at 12:00pm
I auditioned for life
before being born
since it scared me to stare
at the darkness non-stop
--as it still does--
then, approved in the tryouts,
though I fell off the nest,
my pulse has been ticking
ever since

now, using my underling script,
I still have
the moments to finish
my dissertation
in defense of why I
jumbled my lines on stage

before the curtain falls


Prompt: audition, tryout, job interview, dissertation defense, test
April 28, 2018 at 11:58am
April 28, 2018 at 11:58am
Hey there, World!
Are you the prince of darkness
or the prince of light
when you bury bodies or dreams
while you strut like a peacock?

Sometimes, you produce a healing
and gain momentum,
for when I stare at your dark side,
you let me see a billion tiny lights,
with a tendency to stroke your own ego
as you keep on worshipping yourself.

Even if one is subordinate
to your base material, your specialty
I find to be a sort of brilliance
that disorients,ransacks, blacks out,
or dazzles, and is secretly or openly savage.

Really, your story is a bit of cliché,
a beauty hiding its ugliness,
but then, isn’t it the same
for every being?
Who knows what’s under
each skin, including mine?


Prompt: letter to the world
April 27, 2018 at 12:17pm
April 27, 2018 at 12:17pm
wine trapped by cork,
like geyser springing from the deep
in fire and fury, rebukes
in haughty narcissism,
--now resting in a silver chalice--
“how dare you seal me
for so long,
you, such a small thing!”
and the cork from the oak
replies, “you make more noise
from your fluid mouth than mind,
in the theatrics of dim deficiency
your title is a grant,
mine is inheritance”
and the cork shrugs off the wine
thinking how its blush resembles
snooty maple’s pomegranate-red foliage
shedding to the ground, come winter,
and how the evergreen cork-oaks rise
to the sun, in mystical tradition
to produce bark nonstop
and dream of eternity

Prompt: tree(s)
April 26, 2018 at 12:08pm
April 26, 2018 at 12:08pm
just when you seem lost to me
l feel your breath hot on my neck
unraveling what’s knotted inside

nothing slips by your tendrils
reaching out, connecting to, stirring up
what I’ve forgotten, what I’d like to forget

faded bruises, specks of joys, veiled loves,
you weave as if fragrant dreams, your touch
matching my not-knowing, wrapped-up fears,

my contrite innocence, erratic pulse
making me bite hard on words when you
rise from the green like a lone blood rose

you, the poem I hide in my pocket

prompt: poem in your pocket
April 25, 2018 at 11:20am
April 25, 2018 at 11:20am
once she tried to run away
on a cryptic morning
while pillows muffled her thoughts
and she rose out of twisted sheets
when nobody else was home

          but they were never there in the first place

she knew the route but her nose bled
yet she ran leaving tracks of blood
and specific drops of grief
then cars curved past her suffering
her flight beyond their grasp

          but they were never there in the first place

her eyes half-shut she found it hard
to disappear inside a faultline with knots
waterlogged roads, cities of fogs
and, her grief moving at high speed,
she switched lanes and ran back to them

          but they were never there in the first place


Prompt: a story poem
April 24, 2018 at 12:20pm
April 24, 2018 at 12:20pm
oh, the comfort of feeling safe
within me
as I am merely a branch
of a host tree
references are my twigs
dangling in space
I favor self-serve, apples without cores
or purple hellebores

and the mind, not worth a dime
at this age
but a dirge I can sing for this world
so torn by rage
for my calling’s in the bag, no need
of a warning flag
so, take your pick, all yours
this schtick


Prompt: resume

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