Polish villagers
In rags and robes
Hanging off the side
Of an American tank
Holding sticks and spuds
Tag: american
By the Citizens
Shot with a Canon EOS Digital Rebel XS; f/7.1; 1/125; ISO-200; 18mm
Invading
Invading
Schemed,
Their banners lean.
Glint of moonlight
Colors spears a pale white
Bobbing to
This quiet tune.
Flags are stained red,
An approaching dread
Creeps on through,
Below view.
Thrown
The gauntlet down.
Cold
Arrowheads of ice.
Painted herbs and spice
Black below their eyes,
Peering nerves unwracked,
Through stone wall cracks.
The scent of tense is left
Only on quiet breath
Before they move.
Baker’s Hot Sauce
Baker’s Hot Sauce
On main street stands a mercantile
Shop seen ran with exotic styles
He ignores the roller and flour
No dough to factor his power
No this baker made things spicy
Even if peppers were more pricey
It was worth every penny he spent
It was worth being short on rent
He knows something they don’t know
There’s a spice that makes food glow
Imported from the curious Indies
And harvested by indentured pixies
That brings a bite to any meal
Could be a soup or cut of veal
No matter the kind of chef’s pastry
It would become much more tasty
So he smiled pulling from the oven
A batch to the count of two dozen
Knowing that nothing can parallel
His treats perfected and incredible
