I want to believe
that all plants are born
from the grounds of Nature.

The fertilization
of Mother Earth,
our Soul and Liferock.

Yet there is one vegetable
--dare I give it so common a name--
that seems--Nay, is!
born of some
Higher Life.

That of which I speak
--the very name of it
showers my soul with glee
--is...

the Pickle.
 

G. Bennett Ulrich     1988

Reprinted with permission
  Death House Press 2003
 

[This poem was the result of an automatic writing* exercise.
Phrases were put into a hat and chosen at random.
"Juicy Pickles" was the phrase that resulted in this poem.--Editor.]

*Automatic writing consists of writing whatever comes
to mind under a strict time limit.  Even if all one can think of
is "I can't think of anything" the pen must never leave the
paper or stop moving.