cauliflower
zip wire
needlepoint
taxi
mauve
tall white pitcher



Members of the message board were challenged to use the words from the list above in a poem. Below are their entries.














Clutter

By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)


a small table by the window, so cluttered it was
picture of a new type of cauliflower, so gaudy it was
little notes jotted upon it, from a magazine it had come
something to think about, wonder if it would be good?


four pieces of zip wire in a rubber band
had been fixing things, had not put it back
was it important or just something at hand
zip wire you ask, do I have any of that?


a small child’s toy, a little yellow taxi cab
who did leave it here, whose child was that
paint all scraped, one wheel amiss
how old was this toy, oh the memories there?


a neat pile of needlepoint, some finished
some work at hand
who is it for, what is the occasion it brings
was it something, laid down and forgotten?


a mauve bunch of faded flowers
from whence did they come
what olden memories do they hold
why are they saved in a plastic bag?


a tall white ornate pitcher stands apart from all
broken the handle, why is it there
what memories does it hold
will superglue repair the handle?


Stood and studied the table and its contents
wondering what occasioned each item
wondered what the history they represent
smiled and noticed, the dust was oh so thick.











The Tall White Pitcher

By Cottage Lady (Patience@bresnan.net)


With her slightly arthritic fingers, Maude unwrapped the zip wire bag containing the large white cauliflower she had bought that morning at market to make her special cauliflower soup. She had company coming for supper. The house sparkled with the aroma of lemon furniture polish, the windows were open and the curtains softly flapped in the warm late afternoon breeze. She had laid her needlepoint on the front porch swing to come in to prepare for supper. With the soup now simmering nicely on the stove, she tossed a salad, and put some garlic bread in the oven.

Upstairs in her bedroom, she changed into a softly flowing cream-colored skirt and her favorite mauve blouse with the small fringed cap sleeves. Downstairs again she mixed a tall white pitcher with a refreshing summer sangria. Maude then took a glass out to the porch swing and picked up her needlepoint once more. A few moments later, a taxi pulled up in front of the house. Maude stood up, her heart thumping in her chest, and prepared to greet her dinner guest.










The Tall White Pitcher

By Sharon (ByGolly25@aol.com)


The Jockey with the cauliflower ear
Won the race without any fear
He and his horse zipped under the wire
The horse had run like his tail afire


Later with paycheck in his hand
The Jockey caught a taxi feeling grand
Home he went to work on his needlepoint
He refused to go with friends to beer joint


He was making a mauve color rug
Proud of his handiwork he felt quite smug
He poured himself a drink of lemonade
From a tall white pitcher of dubious grade










Cauliflower McPug

By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@comcast.net)


Cauliflower McPug was a prize fighter who loved the ring.
He often was teased about his ears, but he only heard the bell go ding.


He loved to exit the ring on a zip wire which made the crowd go wild.
To say he liked attention would be putting it mild.


He never drove a car but took a taxi everywhere he went.
Every dime he earned, he promptly spent.


His Mother put his name on his robe in needlepoint oh so neat.
He often won the fight, but he was bound for defeat.


Mauve was the color of his boxing trunks that his Mother made.
He loved them so much that for any other, he would not trade.


A tall white pitcher sat on a table by his stool in the corner of the ring.
It held cold water, and he thought of boxing he was the king.


One day he met his match in a skinny young kid new to the field.
He hit him with a punch that sent him down, and his fate was sealed.


The new kid was Ali, and he was destined to be one of the greats.
After that fight, Cauliflower didn't get many boxing dates.










The Tall White Pitcher

By susi Taylor (Texaswishr@aol.com)


suspended in the air on a zip wire
the ski lift just kept going higher
up the incline till it reached the top
I thought it would never stop


all I wanted was to go back down
and feel my feet upon the ground
so I got into the next one going back
sat next to a taxi driver named Jack


we got to see a sunset that was beyond measure
the pink and mauve clouds were such a pleasure
back at the ski lodge dinner was waiting
and the cauliflower soup the waiter was plating


from a tall white pitcher Jack poured margaritas
while along with the soup we ate chips made from pitas
it was a beautiful restaurant, a real classy joint
the seat covers on the chairs were made of needlepoint


Romance bloomed between Jack and Lolita
over cauliflower soup and margaritas
that were poured from a pitcher, tall and white
it was a mauve ,zipwired kind of a night.
(whatever that means)










The Tall White Pitcher

By Amy (fabulousfilly@aol.com)


my brother had a cauliflower ear
he still went around always in good cheer
my mother made a mauve needlepoint piece
she stuffed it in a tall white pitcher,
so she could go watch the geese
she decided to put it in a zip wire bag
but alas it was beginning to sag
she went to call a taxi cab
but when it came she was busy being a gab
the taxi left her high and dry
and mom began to cry and cry










The Cauliflower Field

By Marilyn (LaraOct7@aol.com)


Her brother had rigged up a zip wire,
Which was a lot more fun than a grapevine.
It wasn't a long ride, but it was a scary one.
Down the mountainside and over the gulch,
On her first zip down, she'd barfed up her lunch.


No such thing as a taxi in their little town.
Model-T's, yes, but not too many of those around.
Folks who lived in the mountains kept pretty much to themselves.
It'd been that way ever since the day of the feud.


Who'da' thought a field of cauliflowers could bring on such bloodshed?
Well, it had happened and ever since everyone had been on their guard.
The only time a mountain person went to town was when they ran out of sugar or salt.
Even then they'd always take a hound dog or two...and their shotgun.


The summer sky turned mauve-colored at night,
And if the moon was out, the shadows would turn purple and move about.
Some said the mountain people believed in ghosts.
Two-legged ghosts was more like it.


On this night, the lamplight has turned the needlepoint pillows into a soft shade of yellow,
And given a glow to the tall white pitcher on the table.
I hear a strange noise and slip out to the porch so I can look around.
Brother is already there, and he whispers "Shhhhh....."


At the edge of the woods I see purple shadows moving about.
"It's them thieves," Brother hisses. "They're on their way to the cauliflower field."
We sneak inside and grab our shotguns.
"To the zip wire!" my brother says. "We'll get there first."


"Bang, bang, bang!" Brother holds his gun up and shoots into the air.
"Hold up! Don't shoot! We don't mean no harm," comes a cry from the field.
"You're after our cauliflowers," Brother yells. "Get the hell out!"
Just then a cloud moves off and bright moonlight floods the field.


"These are the best cauliflowers in the country," a loud voice says.
"Then buy them Charley Cheap, and don't steal them!" Brother's voice is strong.
At that, the town's mayor pulls out his wallet and throws several bills on the ground.
"Sorry, but the wife couldn't wait for you to bring them to market.
She makes the best cauliflower soup around."




 











To a Piano (several writers)

Six Words in a Poem (several writers)

Identity

Thoughts for July 4th




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