"I only wish I had an apple tree / Now there is a fruit on which we agree"
Avocados and Pomegranates and Crystal Meth
On this startlingly sparkling autumn day I went out in my backyard and I found Two big ripe avocados on the ground
I never eat them but give them away Left in a shopping bag for my neighbor Who gives me pomegranates in return
I never eat those either but I learn Dynamics of friendship trade and labor Backyard fruit becomes currency exchange Barter economics if rather strange Practiced with green and red commodities
Avocados and pomegranates are Coin of the realm in neighborhoods like these Subtropical fruitful communities Trading in subtropical oddities Nobody here keeps their fruit in a jar
I only wish I had an apple tree Now there is a fruit on which we agree If I had apples I would eat them all
A crazy man came screaming down our street Pushing a shopping cart and pulled by death Shopping for something which we do not grow
And somewhere within his bone-chilling call I heard somebody who might like to eat A pomegranate or avocado
I also heard the cry of crystal meth
But he was so angry he scared me so For now it looks like I may never know
+Steven Curtis Lance
Copyright MMV
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Reviews of "Avocados and Pomegranates and Crystal Meth"
So my question to you is ... what do you do with the pomegranates now?
Over the three years I partied regularly with meth, I always had nourishing, ready-to-go food on hand, like hard-boiled eggs and lots of fruit and juice. The "angriest" addicts I knew, though, couldn't keep their larders stocked, much less have food and liquid on hand for me when I came a-callin'. Ultimately, they could not provide the more abstract forms of sustenance, either, which is why I left. It's hard to imagine their having the patience to work the sustenance out of a pomegranate. Convenience does not engender mindfulness. It just lets you get back to crying that much more quickly.
This was beautiful, Steven. Blessings upon you. --Bill
You were wise to be scared. People on Meth are unpredictable. The only thing he mostly wanted was something he could trade for more meth. Pomegranates and Avodados would not do. Nor would red ripe apples. All of which I like. But I'd barter with you anyway, trading my apples with your apples, as every garden has its own flavor. Smart poem. Peace to you Stevie and take watch. ~ Sara
Sounds a good recipe for staying awake, Steve, wish I could say I could go into my yard and find fruit or such, but alas, we are heading into the winter...soon the only thing I will find in my yard is stuff the color of crystal meth, but just frozen rain...enjoyed this look into your psyche...Peace, Ed & rufuz (give Freddie Noodles a licky kiss from Rufuz)
Your hiding, jumping monkey says alot, Steven, as do your lines. You are braver than I, Ghunga Din.
The mysteries of products produced on earth to free our minds are not unkown to me, there is an allure to poisonous treasons.
The controlled acclimation of substance enhancement has always produced sailing visions for Poets. I do not find fault with the great struggle to free our minds, indeed, who would then have seen such honestly of earthly lives?
The crux is to use and create, not use and destroy self and others in its abuse. The crux is influction tempered with deliberations of the disposal of that which frees too much.
Your piece, Steven, spins a tale of happiness in consuming fruit, but, not in the substance of the fruit...
Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
Reviewed by June Thompson (Reader)
Reviewed on November 28, 2005
my brother is dying of this habit... killing himself as fast as he can enjoying it no more... by the side of his lover and friend who too is dying of the same and cancer as well
The meth houses explode with barter. Cough syrup ingredients, aspirin, and red sulfur traded for non-support of children. This is how our modern-day world copes with the high life. Trade the orchard in the backyard for a child's future. Barter of Satan and his disciples. Steven, I'll trade you an apple strudel for a bowl of guacamole. Fair enough?
This one I had to read twice and still n ot quite certain if there is somthing deeper that I am missing but irregardless It still lingers on the palette of the mind with all the fresh fruit bside it.
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Over the three years I partied regularly with meth, I always had nourishing, ready-to-go food on hand, like hard-boiled eggs and lots of fruit and juice. The "angriest" addicts I knew, though, couldn't keep their larders stocked, much less have food and liquid on hand for me when I came a-callin'. Ultimately, they could not provide the more abstract forms of sustenance, either, which is why I left. It's hard to imagine their having the patience to work the sustenance out of a pomegranate. Convenience does not engender mindfulness. It just lets you get back to crying that much more quickly.
This was beautiful, Steven. Blessings upon you. --Bill
Love Tinka
The mysteries of products produced on earth to free our minds are not unkown to me, there is an allure to poisonous treasons.
The controlled acclimation of substance enhancement has always produced sailing visions for Poets. I do not find fault with the great struggle to free our minds, indeed, who would then have seen such honestly of earthly lives?
The crux is to use and create, not use and destroy self and others in its abuse. The crux is influction tempered with deliberations of the disposal of that which frees too much.
Your piece, Steven, spins a tale of happiness in consuming fruit, but, not in the substance of the fruit...
Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
Sage
Felix