chemical strawberries

conradconrad

to never waste a good prose-esque (prosaic?) impromptu on a stuttering for rhyme: all in all - to never waste a good impromptu on a constipation of rhyme - knock-knock... no one's there... comes the cascade, that the impromptu has a mind of its own - that it has stolen my fingers and my hands... i'd sooner choke on a rhyme than "think" it might ease the digestive process of reading - such that the eyes see first - which implies the tongue does not necessarily have to elevate itself beyond its genesis status of an oyster in the shell of a skull - plenty of riches surround it - all these pearls tightly clenched into a grin... that i would never waste a good enough impromptu on a constipation of rhyme...

'by hampstead heath'
    the teleprompter, might have said
and thus began:
    by hampstead heath no sign of tomorrow...

but truth be told: that only sounds
all buttery and pretty and daffodil fucking
a hyacinth sort of pwetty...

i've seen further afield and turned my gaze
away from the scarred sky
of the gargantuan lung that heaves
as much life to live
as much as it tramples said life
to a mush of murk, soot,
                               and phlegm...

enough to take my shadow my dog
on a leash of thought
    and these legs as aporte
   up noak hill toward and through
ingrebourne way: a horizon of hiding,
teasing, tilting and foraging buttons
   of focus for the eyes...
    a canvas such that is -
a most organic england...
     where ghosts of a people have
been frolicking to the demands
of pagan nudes and smoking barks
of acorn and of oak...
     an angevin england a tudor england...
before: how ready or not the world
might have been for the later guise -
the umpire and his tourists...
before... now... an inorganic england
with its imported mosques
in the urban shrill of scratching metal
and gluttonous concrete bulge and crackle...

- it's truly amazing not knowing:
why to begin, what to begin for (which
is nothing more than a fiddling of
the first why prompt) -
                                with what to begin,
perhaps even: to what end?
damn and damn again: another why...
but as ever:
there's always this persisting how...

to reiterate: why? why?! to whine!
or at least... to pretend to not be in a whining
concert(o)...
as such: this is apparently me...
not wining and dining but...
                     no... there's a simpler why:

why no. 1: because i was never much of
a d. h. lawrence fan (by omission)
        and now it is a fine hazy morning
and i've just read some of his... rhymed whining...

why no. 2a: it's morning, and i'm thankful
that it's not the afternoon,
    and that's a why no. 2b mind you:
probably never again... nibbling on the night,
past midnight, drinking feverishly,
convincing myself of "genius":
  as any drunk who has caught less
    a flu more a bravado cough ends up doing...
which is to say:
a cocktail of bravado                &
                    gusto...
perhaps some other time...
   when unnecessary laughter out of
blue-moon imminence is that last absolutely
necessary - stomach in stitches sort of shenanigans..

- and that's probably enough
of the why's: plural, question -
if (a) is the indefinite article...
and (the) is the definite article (v'eh point...
rather... no θank you very much)
then... possess me! O unnecessary
pedantry - raise me to a vapid polemic:
throw me a peacock of verbiage!
     - then the (s) is both a plural article
and a ('s) - apostrophe -
                 a possessive article:
                      an article of possession...

- which brings me to how...
              i suppose with language, on a spare...
i see no wrong with whining
   like so... if one can also be whimsical about
it...
  pretend one has an accent of ascent
befitting one to use such pronoun 3rd person
(i am a multitude of schizoid remains
safely mitigated in vitro)...
an accent less orientated in and around
essex or the extension of east london...
north-east loon & don...

and how else? 26 apparently necessary
tools - from which Na
                                       is a prefix for
   na-            +           -me
                  sodium / natrium /
                                     codex graeca -
    say... the alpha, beta croaking phallus junction
of p.o.w. machismo...
what war? oh... just a made up
war of words... props and grandists...
                          eat an E drop an I...
                  how... mein gott... the infinity
of hows and howls...
yet still finding only one suitably inoffensive
universal why...
as if a why isn't already too late
and is hardly justified...

as a student of kant might have put it:
oddly enough everything that's how is
a priori...
while the why is a posteriori...
             - do we need to muddle the words
further with that quadratic rubric of shorthand
i.e. synthetic a priori vs. analytic a priori etc.?
i've heard it somewhere...
mind you...
     having recently been injected with
a bug, a sickness for walking...
                        an incessant need as it were...
however much i fashion myself
with enough slow-burning grub...
at the zenith of 3 hours...
the blood sugar level drops to the point
where i can taste acidic metal in the air
and i start to chew: either my tongue,
my teeth together...
              a dignified discovery of
nostalgia in the form of maynards
                                   bassetts
 wine gums...
the chemical strawberry in that instance...
far superior to the real thing...
however i look at it...
it would be wrong to eat a strawberry
in winter... the analytical bonkers route of
imported from spain: a watery mush of
punched-up rouge...
   but this... synthetic taste of strawberry...
it's hardly...
                but it's its own variation
of: at best imitated - but at least not the worst
of an over-ripe original...

    - as such, the day can begin with its
slouching - its miraculously stitched together
humbling - that i can find a momentary
repose - exceeding expectations i'll demand
of myself later - or rather later forget -
bride of amnesia - memories for rent:
a hybrid of a cameo role
      and an out-of-proportion cyclopean
subjectivity that tease from
the omni- litany a needle eye's coercion
of concentrated blind spots.

  • Author: conradconrad (Offline Offline)
  • Published: November 25th, 2020 04:40
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 24
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Comments2

  • ANGELA & BRIAN

    GUT MITWOK CONRAD ~ Brian here (I share this site with Angela my Wife since MARCH ) Thanks for an epic Poem ! Most Members like short poems so you will get READERS but not REPLIES which is a pity ~ because it is the ability to COMMENT & REPLY that makes MPS a Proactive Site. I am a Food Scientist so your title intrigued me *CHEMICAL STRAWBERRIES* I downloaded the Poem & read it and I have pleasure in commenting on the STRAWBERRY SECTION. There are many Srawberry Farms in Essex (its the soil & climate) and the handwritten P Y O signs are very inviting in the season. Also it give one the opportunity to eat one (or three) straight off the BUSH ! English Strawberries are UNIQUE as is their FLAVOUR & TEXTURE ! Strawberries should be eaten Uncooked in Season (they dont freeze) and as you point out Spanish Strwberries are Anathema and should be banned ! The flavour of an English Strawberry consists of over 50 chemicals in a perfect genetic proportion which is impossible to achieve synthetically ! Bush Boake Allen in their *Strawberry Essence* use about 25 compounds - and that essence is used to flavour *Strawberry Sweets* by MAYNARD etc etc. These taste far superior to Spanish Strawberries but not English ones ! Both the *Taste & Texture* of an English Strawberry are important but some of both are lost by freezing - bottling - canning - cooking etc ~ unlike some other FRUITS. The only answer for *Year-round English Strawberries* is JAM & Tiptree Jams have cracked that one and are available Worldwide. *Little Gem* is revelation !

    Thanks for sharing *CHEMICAL STRAWBERRIES*
    Peace & Joy to You & Yours
    Love Angela Brian & Smokey Cat !!!
    Please check our SITE ~ Thanks !

  • L. B. Mek

    1) 'i've seen further afield and turned my gaze
    away from the scarred sky
    of the gargantuan lung that heaves
    as much life to live
    as much as it tramples said life
    to a mush of murk, soot,
    and phlegm...

    enough to take my shadow my dog
    on a leash of thought
    and these legs as aporte
    up noak hill toward and through
    ingrebourne way: a horizon of hiding,
    teasing, tilting and foraging buttons
    of focus for the eyes...
    a canvas such that is -
    a most organic england...
    where ghosts of a people have
    been frolicking to the demands
    of pagan nudes and smoking barks
    of acorn and of oak...'

    2) '- it's truly amazing not knowing:
    why to begin, what to begin for (which
    is nothing more than a fiddling of
    the first why prompt) -
    with what to begin,
    perhaps even: to what end?
    damn and damn again: another why...
    but as ever:
    there's always this persisting how...

    to reiterate: why? why?! to whine!
    or at least... to pretend to not be in a whining
    concert(o)...
    as such: this is apparently me...
    not wining and dining but...
    no... there's a simpler why:

    why no. 1: because i was never much of
    a d. h. lawrence fan (by omission)
    and now it is a fine hazy morning
    and i've just read some of his... rhymed whining...

    why no. 2a: it's morning, and i'm thankful
    that it's not the afternoon,
    and that's a why no. 2b mind you:
    probably never again... nibbling on the night,
    past midnight, drinking feverishly,
    convincing myself of "genius":
    as any drunk who has caught less
    a flu more a bravado cough ends up doing...
    which is to say:
    a cocktail of bravado &
    gusto...
    perhaps some other time...
    when unnecessary laughter out of
    blue-moon imminence is that last absolutely
    necessary - stomach in stitches sort of shenanigans..'

    '- which brings me to how...
    i suppose with language, on a spare...
    i see no wrong with whining
    like so... if one can also be whimsical about
    it...
    pretend one has an accent of ascent
    befitting one to use such pronoun 3rd person
    (i am a multitude of schizoid remains
    safely mitigated in vitro)...
    an accent less orientated in and around
    essex or the extension of east london...
    north-east loon & don...

    and how else? 26 apparently necessary
    tools - from which Na
    is a prefix for
    na- + -me
    sodium / natrium /
    codex graeca -
    say... the alpha, beta croaking phallus junction
    of p.o.w. machismo...
    what war? oh... just a made up
    war of words... props and grandists...
    eat an E drop an I...
    how... mein gott... the infinity
    of hows and howls...
    yet still finding only one suitably inoffensive
    universal why...
    as if a why isn't already too late
    and is hardly justified...

    as a student of kant might have put it:
    oddly enough everything that's how is
    a priori...
    while the why is a posteriori...
    - do we need to muddle the words
    further with that quadratic rubric of shorthand
    i.e. synthetic a priori vs. analytic a priori etc.?
    i've heard it somewhere...
    mind you...'

    'to never waste a good prose-esque (prosaic?) impromptu on a stuttering for rhyme: all in all - to never waste a good impromptu on a constipation of rhyme - knock-knock... no one's there... comes the cascade, that the impromptu has a mind of its own - that it has stolen my fingers and my hands... i'd sooner choke on a rhyme than "think" it might ease the digestive process of reading - such that the eyes see first - which implies the tongue does not necessarily have to elevate itself beyond its genesis status of an oyster in the shell of a skull - plenty of riches surround it - all these pearls tightly clenched into a grin... that i would never waste a good enough impromptu on a constipation of rhyme...'

    3) 'it would be wrong to eat a strawberry
    in winter... the analytical bonkers route of
    imported from spain: a watery mush of
    punched-up rouge...
    but this... synthetic taste of strawberry...
    it's hardly...
    but it's its own variation
    of: at best imitated - but at least not the worst
    of an over-ripe original...

    - as such, the day can begin with its
    slouching - its miraculously stitched together
    humbling - that i can find a momentary
    repose - exceeding expectations i'll demand
    of myself later - or rather later forget -
    bride of amnesia - memories for rent:
    a hybrid of a cameo role
    and an out-of-proportion cyclopean
    subjectivity that tease from
    the omni- litany a needle eye's coercion
    of concentrated blind spots.'

    ***

    Absolutely Brilliant!
    You seem to be at your best after a brief (3 hours) walk. I admit I have read little of Lawrence's works but I remember this passage that might help endear him to you a little, from 'Don Juan':
    'Here this round ball of earth
    Where all the mountains sit
    Solemn in groups,
    And the bright rivers flit
    Round them for girth.

    Here the trees and troops
    Darken the shining grass,
    And many people pass'

    Stay safe and thank you for giving us another glimpse of your unquestionable talent.



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