Alliterative Mock-Quiche

a mini version made in a springform pan
a mini version made in a springform pan

Add barley flakes to boiling broth and cover.
Simmer — standing by to stir — for a quarter-hour.
Prepare a pie plate with some oil
then flatten the flakes to form a crust.
Add cod and kale (cooked ahead)
then whisk ricotta, water, and eggs.
Season with salt and a smidge of pepper.
Pour this potion atop the crust
so it fills all fissures ‘mongst flake and leaf.
Place the pie in a pre-heated oven:
four-twenty-five for fifteen minutes
three-fifty for a further hour.
Let it alone to lose some heat
then slide slices off spatula with a knife
(’twill keep the cod from coming off the grain).
Nutritious? Yes. Tasty? No.
Truthfully told, it’s bland.
But fair fare will suffice for now —
with a chaser of chocolate cookie.

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White Christmas, Dissolved

image
in memory of Miriam White (1920-2014)

a half foot of snow from the 23rd
lies melting in Christmas Eve rain

so too lie tomorrow’s traditions
dissolved by a matriarch’s ash

BLUE [BLÁR]

after repeatedly listening to Njörður P. Njarðvík’s baksneidd-braghendas in Icelandic for 90 minutes

Canada’s smoke
has curled around
the Cape and shifted

out to sea—
my spirit lifted

with each breath
the sky has gifted.

©2014 JS Graustein
Meredith, New Hampshire USA

click to zoom in on Flickr
click to zoom in on Flickr

FINALLY [AÐ LOKUM]

on the work-for-hire publication of HOW TO WRITE AN EXCEPTIONAL THESIS OR DISSERTATION for Atlantic Publishing

My tome began three months before
the World Cup 2010.
I had twelve weeks to take their notes
and send a book back in.

Through migraines, travels, and lost sleep
these 67,000 words
turned into cash which I then used
as my earned payment towards

a laptop for The Fold. I thought,
With all Atlantic’s rush
my book should come right out this spring.

(This thought now makes me blush.)

Another World Cup came and went.
I moved cross-country too.
I gave up hope of holding it;
what else was I to do?

But yesterday, the red mail van
arrived with box first sent
to California, then sent here—
its corners awfully bent.

Yet safe and crisp inside the box:
six copies of my tome.
Four years, one month, eleven days…
My book is in my home!

©2014 JS Graustein
Meredith, New Hampshire USA

click for more info at Google Books

NEBISKAT [DÖGG]

small water maker

not possessive
not personified

a being that is
a being that does

unseen
unknown

whose handiwork
appears at dawn

recognized
by the Abenaki

We just call it dew.

©2014 JS Graustein
Meredith, New Hampshire USA

click to see full size on Flickr
click to see full size on Flickr

RAIN [REGN]

The sky turned black and we were stuck behind
a three-mile line of cars. I’d tried to find
a back way home from Megan’s Boston doc
but didn’t figure in the five o’clock
non-weekender just wanting to get home
to Essex County, Mass (I’d hoped to roam
its Whittier spaces). Rain began to pelt
the car as Haverhill came in view. We felt
quite nervous when we couldn’t see if there
were two or four lanes ‘cross the bridge over
the Merrimack. Our wipers set on max
could not keep up. We followed tracks
of a one-ton truck until it led us through
a flooded patch of Main Street. Thus we knew
we had to park and let the deluge pass.
We turned uphill and looked for treeless grass
to park beside. Rain-Bound. No debate:
John Greenleaf Whittier’s farm would have to wait.

©2014 JS Graustein
Haverhill, Massachusetts USA

Click to read SNOW-BOUND at Google Books.
Click to read SNOW-BOUND at Google Books.

DISSONANCE [MIS-HLJÓMUR]

Today

on Lake Winnepesauke

in Gold Country

local children play

my daughter plays

a band concert

on the MS Mount Washington—

in the high school theatre—

their introductory performance;

her farewell performance;

I am [not] there.

©2014 JS Graustein
Meredith, New Hampshire USA

Recorders, played with gusto.
Recorders, played with gusto.

SUNSET [SÓLSETUR]

After Michigan’s miles       marked with graves
and Ohio’s highways       hindered by cones,
I landed some lodging       in a lakeside town.
I planned to unpack       and plop on the bed.
But I went to the window       to watch the traffic
and noticed — through noise       and nuisant wires —
sweet-light from the sun      setting over the lake.
Driven, I dashed       down to the lobby
where a man marked       a map to the beach
on Presque Isle (the piece       of peace where my son
waded and watched       the waves last year).
I revved along roads,     racing the sun.
I lost. But the last       liquid red
shone on the shingle.     The shore glowed.
The wave-rhythm washed       away the roar
of a day spent driving       and dodging pot-holes.
The sand massaged       the soles of my feet.
I paced. I took pictures.       My pulse    slowed.
No matter that I missed       the moment of setting.
The fade was fantastic:       a finish worth
extending my trek.     Two days to go —
impossible made possible       by peaceful Lake Erie.

©2014 JS Graustein
Erie, Pennsylvania USA

an oceanesque sunset on Lake Erie
an oceanesque sunset on Lake Erie