one-eyed layer leaves thirteen eggs,
wolf in the dooryard bows and begs.
moon goes green
sun goes hazy
owl goes blind and ants go lazy.
bowlful of hail on the breakfast table,
ghost on a noose rope out in the stable.
kiss me now
when your man’s in the field
tart wet taste where the apple’s been peeled.
_____
for Mary’s Mixed Bag “13”
Coal Black's House Of Pain 
Nothing like a deliciously arcane recipe for Friday 13th.
Oh, yes, I agree with Kerry. This is perfect.
Creepy… great for Friday the 13th
Definitely a Friday the 13th kind of poem. One-eyed layer with 13 eggs – Yikes!
Normally, coal ‘just’ sings but here, she writes something that few could execute–every single line is a verbal chainsaw, and the gris gris just drips off the John the Conqueror root, shriveling in a bowl of hail. Fine writing, soaring, and classic.
This is perfect!
Masters meets Sappho, perhaps? In any case, I love the tight, tart descriptions of a world turned on its head. I can only wish to write stuff like this.
Absolutely perfect for Friday 13th!! Great job!
I love this! It is wickedly delicious!
.. and wickedly luscious!
While your words and lines and meter overpowered me–more than William Carlos Williams could ever do–I am not sure what is happening. Is that the point? An overwhelming sequence of events which admits more and more, even a replay of the apple? The day could be that surreal. The artful images sweep at me and say “let go.”
Wowzers. Loved it.
Yeah, can I agree with Hedge? Cause I do…awesome Friday the thirteenth poem, Coal…this, “bowlful of hail on the breakfast table,” and the first line which played tricks with my mind because I kept reading one-egged layer instead of eyed for whatever reason but still fun tricks and twists of the word, as always..Love the sparsity very punchy!
So cool! I love the sing songy metre along with the creepy words! It makes me think of little girls’ jumprope songs or handclapping songs. They sound so sweet but often have dark lyrics.
Some kisses will only take place when the world goes crazy. Sounds like a fun Friday to me.
This is my favorite line: “bowlful of hail on the breakfast table” … Eat that, Mister. I’m saving my hot dishes for someone else.
moon goes green … so much to love hear. Let’s hope her man doesn’t come back for an early lunch! A cleverly dark poem for Friday 13th.
I love the rhyme and chant like feel of your recipe 😀
a kiss from a redhead is like no other….
♥