Ginger-Mutt doesn’t eat nachos

I made nachos last night with the new red heeler pup, aka the ginger-mutt, staring up at me the whole time and snapping up any scraps I dropped for him. So the d’Verse “spicing it up prompt” seemed very appropriate when I finally time to read it.  The challenge was to include the names of several spices/mixes in a poem.

 

Ginger-mutt looks up, Egyptian eyes beseeching
waiting for manna to fall:
oh oh, those heavenly scraps of beef
disappearing with a snap
into the salt and pepper muzzle.

The air is embroidered with curlicues of scent:
cumin and onions, golden-soft,
and those kohl-rimmed eyes, pleading, are raised again
filled with a desire no less intense for its silence.

But, the beef must go into the pot now
(although perhaps the chef may let fall a little more largesse).

Tomatoes, beans, corn, chilis, brown sugar and a touch of vinegar
and at the last, when the heat is off,
for a balancing touch of bitterness
and a final russet tint to the fragrance:
just a puff of cacao and cinnamon.
Food fit for the gods!

But not, alas, now the cooking is done,
for the ginger-mutt,
who must now make do with food fit for a dog.

 

M&M

Dedicated to two of my very special colleagues:

M1’s young in head,
though no longer a boy
but he’ll still run to daddy
when he wants a new toy.
This week what he wants
is a badge and a whistle
to show that his role
is prop’ly official.
Given his druthers, he’d
dress the students in brown
and have them salute him out
on the parade ground.

M2’s old in heart,
(though not in tooth long)
in style he’s sans dance
and also sans song.
He’s not here to lead,
and he’s not here to manage,
he’s just here to stand by
and point out the damage.
It’s above his pay grade
(so he lets us know)
to do any work
(though he’s an aspro).

 

Aspro = associate professor. In Australia we use the British system: tutor, lecturer, senior lecturer, aspro, professor.  So an aspro in Aus is quite senior, not like an American assistant professor which is roughly a tutor. 

there’s a word for that

Tuesday’s dVerse challenge, “there’s a word for that“, was to indulge our sesquipedalianism and write a poem using a selection from a list of interesting words. Thanks for the vocabulary lesson Mish! 

 

Burbling through another gin and tonic,
unconcerned at my own inanity
he yet remains aloof, laconic,
to the verge of inhumanity.
I’m munificent in my legolepsy
but he’s securely wrapped in his sang-froid!
If only he’d take the first step, he
could overcome his isolophilia.
A single scintilla is all I ask
a single clue to this masculine puzzle
but his silence renders it a hopeless task
and leaves me severely, verbosely bumfuzzled.
Is he just quiet or is he timorous?
Or has he slipped into dormiveglia
lulled by my words’ gentle susurrus?
Is he my ikigai, could it be that we are
meant to be, and this is my soul mate?
Have I found my love on “Aussie first dates”?

 

From the list:

burble, laconic, legolepsy, sang-froid, isolophilia, scintilla, bumfuzzle (love that one!), timorous, dormiveglia, susurrus, ikigai. 

labour of love

Written for the dVerse quadrille Monday prompt “learn to labor or labor to learn“, 44 words exactly, including the word work (and dedicated to my darling twin boys and my husband who I didn’t listen to):

three years of hoping
nine months of waiting
twenty hours of labour
(two panadol)
two thousand loads of washing
twenty thousand meals
for two lumps on the couch
grunting and picking their pimples.

You were right dear,
a dog would’ve been less work.