Poetry by Sharmagne
            Leland-St.John


            
 

            
Nasturtiums

            

            
I am thinking poetry....

            The phones for once are quiet..

            and there are long shadows

            inside my room.

            At an open window

            curtains quiver.

            On the hillside.

            nasturtiums bloom.

            
Through sense memory,

            or euphoric recall,

            I am reminded

            of their peppery taste.

            Nasturtiums,

            also known as "Indian cress,"

            cousins to the radish,

            fill my wooden bowl

            with their asymmetrical

            celadon leaves.

            
Scattered on top,

            a gay profusion of flowers,

            mostly orange, but some bright yellow,

            or the muted colour of Devonshire cream,

            others in total contrast,

            a velvety, dark, burgundy hue,

            tantalise, tease,

            with their piquant promise.

            
I used to always cook with flowers

            when my life was simpler

            and my thumb greener.

            Squash blossoms dipped

            in a rich cornmeal batter were a staple

            at my dinner table.

            
On lazy, sun drenched mornings, in Mellery,

            roses, boiled with sugar cane,

            and reduced to a thick, sweet, ruby red syrup,

            was dripped, from Georgian silver, onto 

            Belgian waffles.

            Rose petal coolers were sipped in summer

            beneath the majestic magnolia trees,

            as bees hummed their drone-like litany.

            
The tiny blue flowers

            of the rosemary,

            the pink and purple blossoms

            of the sage and thyme 

            dotted the bottom

            of a large, brown, glazed, Mexican bowl,

            as we drizzled fruity,

            hot, virgin, olive oil

            from a copper saucepan

            over them,

            then added more chopped herbs

            to steep.

            Sending up an aromatic prayer

            to the kitchen gods

            
Then we poured this scented oil

            into another bowl

            overflowing with cooked pasta shells.

            Once anointed,

            we carried them,

            ceremoniously, through

            the catacomb of alabaster,

            white, sun bleached rooms

            out to the verandah,

            to our waiting guests,

            who, with forks raised,

            and starched, white linen napkins tucked

            into blue collars,

            or rib necked sweaters,

            awaited this magnificent feast.

            The ultimate gift

            from Mother Earth

            


            Sharmagne Leland-St. John,
            a 2007 Pushcart Prize nominee, is a Native American poet, concert
            performer, lyricist, artist, and film maker. Sharmagne spends
            time between her home in the Hollywood Hills, in Southern California
            and her fishing lodge on the Stillaguamish River in the Pacific
            Northwest. She tours the United States, Canada, and England,
            as a performance poet, either solo or with her band of poets
            "Poetry in Motion." She has published 2 books of poetry
            Unsung Songs (2003), Silver Tears and Time (2005), and co-authored
            a book on film production design. Designing Movies: Portrait
            of a Hollywood Artist (Greenwood/Praeger, 2006) her third collection
            of poetry Contingencies is scheduled for publishing February
            2008.