If I had the choice between smoked salmon and tinned salmon, I'd have it tinned. With vinegar.
quote by Harold Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pancakes and With Baked Salmon
I do have this 'thing'
For my own homemade pancakes.
And with baked salmon!
What a treat to eat.
You are not going to get any that I make!
But here is the recipe.
You can do it just like me.
First beat an egg in a mixing bowl,
Add a tablespoon of baking powder.
A third teaspoon of salt
A full teaspoon of sugar.
And about a third cup of vegetable oil.
Beat that all together.
Now you want to add the flour.
About a cup...maybe more...
If you're serving more than two people.
I choose to use evaporated milk.
At least a cup.
Whip all this stuff up.
Heat that frying pan or griddle.
Medium to hot.
Add some olive oil if you got it.
Vegetable oil will do.
With a slice of butter added too!
OH! I almost forgot the salmon!
I use salmon steaks.
Preheat the oven 350 degrees.
After rinsing the salmon...
Rub with apple vinegar.
Salt and pepper if you please.
Lay on tin foil since this is what I use.
Add butter and a bit of oil!
Enclosed that salmon within the foil.
Baked twenty minutes.
That's all it takes!
ENJOY!
Use syrup on the pancakes.
Perhaps a little Vadalia Onion Dressing,
On the salmon.
And if you don't like this...
You definitely will love,
My brown sugar/mustard roasted chicken.
But I'm not sharing that right now!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Those Wild Pink Salmon
Now, this ‘wild pink salmon’ thing…
are they just wild about pink
like that designer with the limp wrist
or wild like you wouldn't want
to share an estuary with them
or wild that they're not so good
at jumping up the waterfalls
or wild that they’re pink
when they’d like to be red
and so, wild that the other salmon are red
is it some muted colour-snobbery
like used to be in the Windies
between chocolate and coffee
and possibly I don’t know
between Red Indians and Pink Indians
whose mother got around a bit
though on the other hand
it could be boring on the reservation
being a Hiawatha brave or squaw
10 to 5 each day for the tourists
envying the other Indians
with a real job
like standing outside a cigar store
stained with nicotine
or even inside
is it like the Monty Python sketch
the pink salmon look up to the red salmon
but look down on the tame salmon
but then, are wild and tame
really opposites anyway
even if those are the correct terms individually
is it any consolation to wild pink salmon
that we think
they’re supposed to be salmon-pink anyway
so red salmon are the ones
to be red-faced
I mean how wild is wild
and how tame are farmed salmon
if at all
they could be wilder inside
about being hemmed in
when their wild brothers and sisters
are having a wild time
in the spawning grounds off Newfoundland
(though salmon won’t know it’s called that)
and so, excuse the phrase, see red?
and – the thought’s just struck me
like a slap around the gills
with a wet fish –
they probably don’t
read the label
there’s a message there
for all of us in this
colour-conscious age
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Fresh, Tinned or Frozen
Father was a snap bean,
that's all, Sis,
nothing more.
Fresh, tinned or frozen,
the greens of snap beans vary.
Neighbors in the yard,
clerks at the store,
folks at church,
you and me and bawling Ma,
for years we fed his strange chameleons
so we can swear, on the Bible,
Father was a snap bean,
that's all, Sis.
Nothing more.
Fresh, tinned or frozen.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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As the evening sun faded from a salmon color to a sort of flint gray, I thought back to the salmon I caught that morning, and how gray he was, and how I named him Flint.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I know it's not cat food, but what exactly is it that they put inside of tinned ravioli?
quote by Doug Coupland
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0222 Return to the Golden Age
We are like salmon, swimming back upstream:
leaping against waterfalls that thwart,
cut and bruised; but strong; our only dream
return to source; no thought save source of thought;
and in that fight, our iron age turns to bronze,
and we to heroes, in a war of soul,
as nature seeks the nature it had once;
though wholly lost, remembering the whole.
We silver salmon, sparkling as the sun
shines on our fierce and loving enterprise:
to rear our children where the world is one;
the source remembered, nature's greatest prize.
The golden age is ageless in its gleam
and we, like salmon, swimming back upstream.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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We may find in the long run that tinned food is a deadlier weapon than the machine-gun.
quote by George Orwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fish And Shadow
The salmon-trout drifts in the stream,
The soul of the salmon-trout floats over the stream
Like a little wafer of light.
The salmon moves in the sun-shot, bright shallow sea. . . .
As light as the shadow of the fish
that falls through the water,
She came into the large room by the stair,
Yawning a little she came with the sleep still upon her.
'I am just from bed. The sleep is still in my eyes.
'Come. I have had a long dream.'
And I: That wood?
'And two springs have passed us.'
'Not so far, no, not so far now,
There is a place but no one else knows it
A field in a valley . . .
Qu'ieu sui avinen,
Ieu lo sai,'
She must speak of the time
Of Arnaut de Mareuil, I thought, 'qu'ieu sui avinen.’
Light as the shadow of the fish
That falls through the pale green water.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Bear
Bear..
stone clad shores
welt beneath your warmth
fir lined trees
stand silent in your presence
misted waters raise to greet a vibrant sky in jubilation
as salmon fight ferocious rapids
you
intent
listen and watch
baited breath
silent
your cumbersome claw hovers as a wieghtless mosquito
dancing hithertoo
for that oh so perfect
catch
titanium
spray
avoi ds your touch
end the salmon's day
poem by Karen Sinclair
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The Salmon Are Swimming Upriver
The salmon are swimming upriver in the cold gray damp of the dawn
To the gravel beds of the rapids to dig out their spawning beds to spawn
November is their breeding season in the cold and wet Northern Fall
When yesterday's flood is subsiding they are answering to Nature's call.
The salmon are swimming upriver by Nature they are duty bound
They jump waterfalls on their journey to get to their high breeding ground
Their urge for to breed is upon them their numbers they must multiply
To insure the survival of their species their natural urges they cannot deny.
The salmon are swimming against the current a hundred kilometres or more
To the high gravel beds of the river that journey to the Atlantic shore
They risk the gaff and spear of the poacher so that their species will survive
And the main reason for their survival is their natural sexual drive.
The salmon upriver are swimming with the chill of late Fall in the air
Through old fields and along by hedgerows by cold winds of their foliage stripped bare
They swim on against the strong currents without even one thought of fear
Of the fate that might even await them death by the poacher's gaff or spear
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Ballade of the Glutton
I'm greedy by nature, and often in vain
Have lingered too long o'er the succulent hare,
Accepting the jelly, ignoring the pain,
Intent on receiving far more than my share.
I worship the plover's egg, tasty and rare,
And idolize fanciful French fricasses;
But what, darling dainties, with you can compare,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas?
I ask for real turtle, again and again--
Observe the Lord Mayor's John Thomases stare!
For kitchen-recitals to Susan and Jane,
And powdered impertinence, what do I care?
I sit down to eat, and I vow and declare,
I'd honour a dish were it made of stewed bees,
Though loyal to you, should you chance to be there,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
I cherish a chef, be he Grecian or Dane;
I even can relish a collop of bear;
I love ev'ry calf--if it boasts a fine brain--
And melt at a pullet, or even a pair.
Though gold's on the table and stately the fare,
I greet a grand entree with almost a sneeze
If you, dearest dainties, are sweet on the air--
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
L'envoi:
O Redcoats of England, who struggle and dare,
Your glory's a morsel no glutton can please;
My yearning is all for a soft-cushioned chair,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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Only We That Are Confused....
the mountain has no sense of duality,
and the leaf knows it is a tree.
the river doesnt worry about
where it came from,
and where it's going....
and the wind finds home in journey.
the butterfly finds eternity in a moment,
the wolf speaks for all with a single howl.
the night knows that it is day,
and the day knows that it is night....
the turtle paints with Van Gogh,
on the inside of its shell.
the dead drink brandy with thunder,
the rooster crows and infinity hath spoken.
the bear greets the salmon with repentance,
and the salmon bows with humble gratitude.
winter kisses autumn one last time,
while spring dances in the womb.
and god abounds in each and all...
it is only we that are confused!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Otters
I'LL be an otter, and I'll let you swim
A mate beside me; we will venture down
A deep, full river when the sky above
Is shut of the sun; spoilers are we;
Thick-coated; no dog's tooth can bite at our veins
With ears and eyes of poachers; deep-earthed ones
Turned hunters: let him slip past,
The little vole, my teeth are on an edge
For the King-fish of the River!
I hold him up
The glittering salmon that smells of the sea:
I hold him up and whistle!
Now we go
Back to our earth; we will tear and eat
Sea-smelling salmon: you will tell the cubs
I am the Booty-brmger: I am the Lord
Of the River the deep, dark, full, and flowing River!
poem by Padraic Colum
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River-Mates
I’LL be an otter, and I’ll let you swim
A mate beside me; we will venture down
A deep, dark river, when the sky above
Is shut of the sun; spoilers are we,
Thick-coated; no dog’s tooth can bite at our veins
With eyes and ears of poachers; deep-earthed ones
Turned hunters; let him slip past
The little vole; my teeth are on an edge
For the King-fish of the River!
I hold him up
The glittering salmon that smells of the sea;
I hold him high and whistle!
Now we go
Back to our earths; we will tear and eat
Sea-smelling salmon; you will tell the cubs
I am the Booty-bringer, I am the Lord
Of the River; the deep, dark, full and flowing River.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Color Scheme
Powdered sugar dusted donut clouds
Buoyant beneath the brilliant blue
Salmon shades slivering layered stone
Eons exposed in each earthen view
Varied verdant leaves interlace to
Toupee tree trunk troupes arrayed amass
Floral flags festooned in rainbow hues
Wave over emerald seas of greenest grass
As avocado agrees with apricot
So salmon sidles near clear sky-blue
Color scheme is part of nature’s plot
To bring heaven’s vision into view
poem by Mary Havran
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Well of Moonlight
This moon,
This moon,
This moon is not real:
There is another moon up
On a hill,
And my that moonlight
I draw water from the well.
Now my sister is getting married,
While I am waiting,
Waiting,
Wondering if I should stand sometime
Beside her stone
Beneath the well;
In autumn, or in summer,
I cannot tell.
My scars are salmon,
Salmon underneath the stars
And the pallid aspens, like sisters
All up and down the hill,
They stand so very, very still
Just down the draw
Where the moon spills its light
Like water down into the well;
And onto the stone
Where beneath my sister lies yet married,
So very, very, very still.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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The Wheels
The path disappears
under the foot.
Gently I lay down the book
and start reading the blank page.
Stainless thoughts.I strip to root.
A stunning revelation
about a tinned dialogue.
Blue hydrangeas
were telling something.
It was time to become insane
on the street.
The lust,
the sex
creeps into the sect. Religion was a proxy
to kill, to achieve a stop.
going nowhere.
poem by Satish Verma
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That's our race. That's our playoffs.
quote by Tim Salmon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We've always been able to bounce back.
quote by Tim Salmon
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