Poems by J R Turek

At Pat’s Farms

At a time in our life we’d rather forget,
a happening we will never forget.
Late afternoon, we hover over racks
Reduced for Quick Sale, ripe and
ready produce, pray we find vegetables,
salad fixings, maybe fruit for dessert
if there is any.

We find a cello-wrapped pack
of cucumbers we can slice tonight
and soft tomatoes I can make a hearty
sauce for over our plain pasta.

Our meager finds held in grateful hands,
we stand on line behind shopping carts
opulent with clear bags of lush berries,
fresh veggies, and exotic fruits from
aisles we don’t venture down.

The total is $2.17; we’re ready with
two singles, a dime, nickel, and
two pennies. The cashier smiles,
packs our dinner into a handled bag
and says, “It’s paid.” We hold our
our open palms with the money, stutter
“But — .” She waves over her shoulder
that the woman on line ahead of us who
just left paid our bill. “Have a nice day,”
patting my hand as she passes me the bag.

We talk about it all the way home, still
remarking these dozen years later when
life has almost righted itself, feeding us
with thankful blessings, we revel in how
amazing it was, never sharing the story,
still wondering
how did she know?
--
Backyard Farmer

Sustainability has us tilling soil,
adding amendments, peat moss,
earth-friendly fertilizer, and has us
researching to grow our own veggies.

We attend a garden seminar, learn
that peppermint plants will keep
the family of bunnies living under
our deck from munching on our crops.
Broccoli. I never thought to plant it,
didn’t buy it yesterday from the fruit
stand because it didn’t look healthy,
that not-so-good green I often see
and call pesticide green. We can get
three crops from just one plant,
enough for the season.

Strawberries – he shows us a verdant
pot, tiny buds set, tells us to expect
a bountiful crop of about 40 berries
per plant. This will be a deck pot that
will travel inside – expect berries for
Thanksgiving and Christmas and snow
day mugs full of berries delivered to
blizzard shut-in neighbors in need of
sweet berry smiles.

Next, Romaine lettuce growing broad
lime-green leaves already, plant now
in cool temperatures, no fertilizer,
let it grow. Next, spinach. None for
me. I’ll plant it in a part of the garden
without peppermint plants so the bunnies
can feast. Of course, we’ll plant our usual
crop of cucumbers – kirbys and divas for
me, marketmore 76 for Paul, several more
peppermint plants. Cherry tomatoes –
sungold, grapes, and sweet millions,
enough to feed the entire town. This
new outlook of working the soil, saving
our planet, ravenous to learn and share
sustains us through hungry times of solitude.
--
Poem Garden

What if there were no produce departments
or farm stands, no place to buy grapes or
tomatoes, no watermelons in summer, no
seven varieties of lettuce to salad your hunger
for crisp, healthy eating...

What if words no longer worked to tell a story,
or show a reader the lining of your heart in verse,
no way to know how nourishing a poem can be
for someone starved of metaphoric sustenance,
void of satisfying similes...

What if a famine befell us, like a virus that spread
around the world, in cities and farmlands, urban
and suburban alike, a pandemic to keep us from
hugging, from touching hand to hand or reaching
out across a screen of technology to know we
are not alone...

What if we overcame our fears, followed wise
counsel, emptied our hearts of rage and anger
to write love poems, emptied our refuse piles
to rake in amendments to change our outlook
to planting seeds of unity to sprout nutritious,
delicious meals of poems served on vibrant
platters to everyone in every town, city, state,
country of our survival on a planet we adopt
as mother, plant a garden of wholesome words
with roots to reach everyone...

​would you feel nourished?
I would.

​J R (Judy) Turek, Superintendent of Poetry for the LI Fair, 2020 Hometown Hero by the East Meadow Herald, 2019 LI Poet of the Year, Bards Laureate 2013-2015, editor, workshop leader, recipient of two Pushcart nominations, and author of six poetry books, the most recent 24 in 24. ‘The Purple Poet’ has written a poem a day for 18 years; she lives on Long Island with her soul-mate husband, Paul, her dogs, and her extraordinarily extensive shoe collection.

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