Leaf-Lunch
Gleaming, green and live
Like a tailless fish alive
Neatly cut and placed
Gemming sheen of water sprinkled..
Wished varieties cooked and brought on
Dished up with many a pattern
Items sweetened and savored
The tamilan way innovated
Served on sweetly first Paayasam
Ofcourse hand to mouth a culinary mannerism
Delightful Pachdis sugar and salt varied next
Delicious curries dry and semi-solid next
Incomming pappads, crisp veggie- chips and pickle
Following fudges and ladoos and like many to tickle
Spooned in the centre hot rice
Mixed with sambar so spice
Rowed up curries inbetween morsels
Put into mouth, divine and dainty handsels
Next helping..rice and rasam too hot
Second helping..veggies to fill the heart
Sweet break..
Paayasam, much more to take
On and on...' No' to brake
Ending with rice and curd
Touchy pickles dotted and tasted
A meal of regale admired
A menu of plethoric choices
The banana leaf's magic flavours
And the stomach's cliche
Yeaaaave...belch
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Related quotes
Varied Menu
Chicken and rice.
Fish and rice.
Rice and chicken.
Rice and fish.
Varied menu - 'ish!
Nice jungle place.
There's plenty of space.
Fresh clean air
But that dietary pair,
Fish or chicken
.....Not again!
So more trekking with a frown
Back to Georgetown.....
poem by George BernardBloodyShaw
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Preparing Dinner
I watch the pot on the stove
Water is overspilling
The rice is cooking
With bubbles galore
I smother chicken in sauce
Sauce that is made up of green pepper, black pepper and onions
Accompanied with that is the All in one spice.
Watch out for the toilet paper
The spices start talking
The chicken gets fried
The smell of breyani echoes through the house
I chop the potatoes as well as the carrots
I open up McCain veggies
And distribute it with the food
I put more spices in and the McCain veggies
Gets assimilated into the food
The pot is filled with colours
The steam fills the house
The brown chicken starts talking to the yellow potatoes
So does the carrots
The rice is strained
It rises to the core
I use tastic rice
Because it is the best out of them all
I set the table with plates
And it is ready to be filled
One by one they get dished out
First the rice (centered) and then the potatoes and chicken
Ice cream is served as desert
Coca-Cola is poured into glasses
The sweet taste bubbles in my mouth
The hot food burns my mouth
While the cold drink soothes its pain
I smother tomatoes and onions with vinegar
And serve them next to the food
The sauce gives the tongue extra kick
And goes down with a good drink
poem by Lee John Siebritz
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Rice
Rice.
This time,
Spare us the gravy.
Eliminate the salt and pepper.
No butter or sweetened brown sugar to add!
Serve it up to nourish.
That's all we ask.
No need for the silver placements...
Or impressive china.
Nor the water goblets or crystal glass.
It is just rice!
What else to us has been passed?
We are here to get it plain and simple.
Direct and upfront.
And without the seasoned meat,
Promised and teased.
The rice we all once thought we liked...
Had been too disguised!
And this time...
We demand to know why,
The preparation took as long as it did.
Afterall,
Hasn't it been just rice?
And if not...
What was it?
Taking too long to surprise.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Simplicity
before a table
a cup of rice and
few pieces of fish
you put your knee
near your mouth
as you mold
sticky white rice
with your bare hands
you open your mouth
and swallow what
you have inorder
to live.
(shall i say
poverty?)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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122
simplicity
before a table
a cup of rice and
few pieces of fish
you put your knee
near your mouth
as you mold
sticky white rice
with your bare hands
you open your mouth
and swallow what
you have in order
to live.
(shall i say
poverty?)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Request To The Dead
I offer this water to you,
my father, grandfather and great grandfather,
and to you, soldiers and generals
who fought for us and who fought against us
and who were killed by this war.
I stand here, on this battlefield,
and give this water and this rice to you—
you must be hungry and thirsty.
Ask for nothing
other than water and rice,
don't add to the long list
of things I was not able to give;
be content with this water and this rice
and return
to wherever you came from.
Consider this: the years
I have spent with you were many;
and this: it will not be long
before I join you wherever you sojourn.
Had I possessed things
other than this water and this rice,
would I have denied them to you
and asked you to return ?
Whatever I have
other than this water and this rice
are surely not appropriate offerings
for departed souls.
True, I traverse everyday of my life
with this baggage of witheld things,
but whenever I look at them
I disintegrate and cry out
with a voice that rends
the heavens
and the underworld.
Tears fill my eyes
when I make this offering
of water and rice.
I know, when my turn comes,
I shall have neither.
Look, the sun has almost set.
Now, go back to wherever you came from
with the little water and the little rice I gave you.
Look, I myself do not have
either any water or any rice.
Look, I have nothing except the few things
I didn't give
and kept with myself.
[Translated by the poet]
poem by Ramakanta Rath
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Prayer To Pipal Pillaiyar
Gorgeously pregnant with varieties of dumplings
Vadas, appams, puffed and flaked rice
Cooked, baked chickpeas and raw rice idlis
Payasam with ghee-fried cashews and raisins
Added to the core of sweets
Fruits of jack, jumblem, mango, banana, wood-apple
Guava and of modernity simla apple, pineapple
And tangerines; Also on availability whole sugarcanes
Main offering of potful of cooked rice
With little dal purified on with ghee
Whole and halved coconuts, betel and areca
Little water from panchapaathra....Pillaiar
Signalling to nap, Your paunch belched uptrunked
This peepal tree on this tank-resort
You chose to sit under for rest..
Gentle breeze peepal tree strokes so sweet
Mind-sweeping and You're in a pleasant mood
Delicacies bulge though in real bulges your omniscience
In full prostration seeking Your blessings oh Lord!
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Inspired by Issa - your rice field, my rice field
your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our dreams in tokyo
your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our sons in tokyo
inspired
your rice field
my rice field
the same green
-Issa,1815
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Amen, Amen...
for the few grains of rice that i have given you
and for the slice of fish,
God has given me more than what
i have parted,
God has given me a house, a rice granary,
a thousand loaves of bread,
an ocean of fish
plus a book of poems,
plus the nightingale songs
My heart sings praises for Him.
For every grain of rice that i have shared with a hungry neighbor,
God has replenished me with truckloads.
FOR THE FEW cents that i have given as fare for the old woman
who wishes to go home,
God has repaid me money in bundles.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Day I Hate Rice
The day I hate rice
Is several rare day in a year
When I don't eat rice
I don't want to eat rice
I don't want to see it
Because I hate its taste
And I hate to think about it
If I have the day I hate rice
Then you'll know that I don't feel well
I'm bored of this procession
I want to run from this life
Because I begin to hate myself
...just a little while
And everything will be back to normal again
That's the meaning of
The day I hate rice
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Rice
On table plateful cooked rice,
Still the steam emits.
On chair I did cling,
Waited my wife curry to bring.
Beyond the plate, I behold
The farm wet with solicitude
Where the peasants
Sow the seeds.
Hot rice brings to the mind,
The paddy plants pined,
And the debt cankered peasants,
Whose sweats the balm to welted awns.
Held the rusty scythes,
And bent like the scythes,
The darkened women sang throat opened,
And the folk song my core vibrated.
Cooked rice still steamy,
And white purely,
As the mind of farmer,
The climate and price fall boiled ever.
Born to toil in the soil,
Farmers return to the soil,
To feed the worms,
Hanging on a rope hopeless.
When my dear curry brought,
I painfully thought:
No life without rice,
And without the peasant no rice.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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The Farmer And The Stray Dog
the farmer arrives
bringing with him his
viand and rice
places it in the corner
of his hut,
the stray dog
gets in through its
sense of smell
and finds its catch
the farmer's
viand and rice
the catch is taken
far away
the farmer
is not angry for soon
a woman with a long
black hair arrives
bringing him
his broiled fish
and newly cooked rice
the woman is not
his wife
and there they are
under the shade of
the mango tree
the stray dog watches
as this story unfolds
to the final chapter
inside the hut
on such a very dark night
the dog is clever
and it knows the ending
the farmer is not angry
for dogs. mind you,
never tell.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rice Being Cooked
warm
steamy
bubbling
knocking the lid of the pot
vital
bright
shiny rice makes a living room
sweet as many times as I bite
fun as family gets together eating
mom, I want to see you
smelling rice being cooked
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me Too
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too,
Went for a ride in a flying shoe,
'Hooray!'
'What fun!'
'It's time we flew!'
Said Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.
Ickle was captain, Pickle was crew,
And Tickle served coffee and mulligan stew
As higher
And higher
And higher they flew,
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too,
Over the sun and beyond the blue. '
Hold on!'
'Stay in!'
'I hope we do!'
Cried Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too
Never returned to the world they knew,
And nobody
knows what's
happened to
Dear Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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My Favourite Food
Here are some meals, which I really love to eat,
When, at the dinner table, I take my seat.
Lasagne served with a slice of garlic bread,
Is one of my real favourites, it has to be said.
Chunky chips and a tender gammon steak –
A really lovely meal for me, this would make.
Chilli con carne, served with pilau rice,
I also consider to be really rather nice.
A deep pan pizza, especially chicken supreme,
Is guaranteed to set my hungry eyes agleam.
Chicken of any kind, especially southern fried,
Is always a big hit with me, it can’t be denied.
Another of my favourites, is all-day brunch –
On this popular dish, I very often munch.
Britain’s favourite dish, bangers and mash,
I’m always extremely willing to give a bash.
Given lashings of sausage casserole,
I’m guaranteed to scrape my bowl.
I simply love a really good Indian curry,
And will gobble one up in quite a hurry.
The thought of a delicious mixed grill,
Always gives me such a real thrill.
And lovely, tender lamb chops,
For me, are pretty hard to top.
But, cooked to perfection, a Sunday roast,
Is the meal that I really love the most!
So, now here’s a selection of puds,
Which I consider to really rather good.
All of these are lovely and sweet,
And always go down an absolute treat!
At the offer of any fruit crumble,
You will never hear me grumble.
In a slice of gooey, chocolate fudge cake,
I’m always more than happy to partake.
And luscious, creamy tiramisu,
Is one of my favourites to.
A scoop of any flavour of ice cream,
Always goes down an absolute dream.
Offered a bowl of thick, creamy rice,
I wouldn’t need to be asked twice.
Of puddings with lashings of jam,
I’ve always been a particular fan.
At the sight of a fresh strawberry trifle,
My excitement, I have to try and stifle.
A slice of lemon meringue pie,
You will never see me pass by.
I adore hot, sticky, gooey, treacle tart,
It’s a pud which always warms my heart.
Chocolate, cream filled, profiteroles,
Are always guaranteed to fill a hole.
A toffee nut sundae, served in a tall glass,
Is a sweet which I consider to be pure class.
A pastry pie, with any fresh fruit filling,
For me, has always been rather thrilling.
If I was served up any of these, I’d be thrilled,
Even if I was sat right in the middle of a field!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Blackeyed Peas and Fresh Carrots
Blackeyed peas and fresh carrots cooked,
Together...
Is a surprising combination that is delicious.
Boil a medium pot of water.
Add olive oil, salt, garlic and onion.
Soy sauce with a bit of lemon.
And butter too if you wish this to salivate.
Bring these ingredients together!
In at least a ten minute boil.
Add the blackeyed peas and carrots.
Lower the cooking heat.
And within fourty five minutes,
Enjoy as you eat!
Be careful.
You are going to want this everyday.
Over rice or mashed potatos.
Or perhaps...
With my,
Sweet and sour brown sugar baked steak.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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At The Farm
there is this world of farmworkers
riceplanters and coconut gatherers
they have a language of their own,
their dreams so earthbound and
so unlike our sophistications,
they talk about what to eat
only for this day, their desserts
plain sugar chunks, their main
dish just plain rice, their drinks
just plain water from the well
and their feast, a bowl of
extra rice and two pieces of
dried fish, and they talk about
their sunday dance with the
banana vendors and the
charms of the housemaids
at the north end of the barrio.
simple dreams of day to
day existences of what is
just within their grasp and
hold: just today and no
peeping about what
tomorrow may bring.
and yet, i see them, they
laugh the hardest in the
fields and talk about sex
without restraints, and
i must agree: they are
happier than all of us
on this earth combined.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mamma's Baked Chicken And Rice
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW SPECIAL AND NICE
I FELT ABOUT MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
BUT FOR ME AT THE TIME IT WAS BEYOND PRICE
EVERY DAY MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
WHEN I WAS SICK AND NEEDED YOUR CARE
WITHOUT GATTING A LASH CHICKEN AND RICE WAS THERE
THE DOCTORS TOLD YOU BLAND, AND THAT WAS FINE BY ME
CHICKEN AND RICE MADE BLAND SPECIAL FOR ALL TO SEE
AT FIRST AFTER DAY'S OF HAVING THIS SERVED TO ME
I WAS PISSED AS HELL TILL I HAD A TALK WITH MY BUDDY
EVERY DAY HE'D COME OVER TO GET ME TO PLAY
AND HE'D SEE ME FINISHING MY CHICKEN AND RICE EVERY DAY
HE SAID THAT YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE YOU
SHE MAKES THAT EVERY DAY, AND ON THE WEEK ENDS TO
SHE GOES IT SO QUICKLY AND IT SMELLS SO GOOD
YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE, I WISH MY MOMMY WOULD
I LOOKED AT MY BUDDY AND SAW IN HIS FACE
THE TRUTH AND THE HONESTY ALL PLAIN IN PLACE
AND FROM THAT DAY FORWARD I SMILED WHUEN I HEARD
MY MOM CALL MY NAME TO COME EAT THOSE THREE WORDS
CHICKEN AND RICE, CHICKEN AND RICE I SAY
MY MOM MADE THE BEST, IN HER OWN SPECIAL WAY
WHEN EVER I AM FEELING WSPECIALLY NICE
I WOULD ALWAYS FIND AN EXCUSE TO HAVE CHICKEN AND RICE
SO MOMMA, YOU NEEDED TO JUST HERE ME SAY
I APPRECIATE THE LOVE THAT YOU GIVE ME EVERY DAY
AND THOUGH IT MAY SEEM LIKE I AM BEING UNKIND
IF SO, I'M JUST BEING FOOLISH AND MANIPULATIVE THAT TIME
YOU ALWAYS COULD BRING OUT THE BABY IN ME
AND FOR THAT AND THE CARING THIS POEM YOU DID SEED
THANK YOU MOM, DEAR LADY FOR ALL OF THE ABOVE
AND THE CHICKEN AND RICE AND THESE MEMORIES OF LOVE
poem by Talile Ali
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MAMMA'S BAKED CHICKEN AND RICE...by Talile Ali
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW SPECIAL AND NICE
I FELT ABOUT MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
BUT FOR ME AT THE TIME IT WAS BEYOND PRICE
EVERY DAY MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
WHEN I WAS SICK AND NEEDED YOUR CARE
WITHOUT GATTING A LASH CHICKEN AND RICE WAS THERE
THE DOCTORS TOLD YOU BLAND, AND THAT WAS FINE BY ME
CHICKEN AND RICE MADE BLAND SPECIAL FOR ALL TO SEE
AT FIRST AFTER DAY'S OF HAVING THIS SERVED TO ME
I WAS PISSED AS HELL TILL I HAD A TALK WITH MY BUDDY
EVERY DAY HE'D COME OVER TO GET ME TO PLAY
AND HE'D SEE ME FINISHING MY CHICKEN AND RICE EVERY DAY
HE SAID THAT YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE YOU
SHE MAKES THAT EVERY DAY, AND ON THE WEEK ENDS TO
SHE GOES IT SO QUICKLY AND IT SMELLS SO GOOD
YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE, I WISH MY MOMMY WOULD
I LOOKED AT MY BUDDY AND SAW IN HIS FACE
THE TRUTH AND THE HONESTY ALL PLAIN IN PLACE
AND FROM THAT DAY FORWARD I SMILED WHUEN I HEARD
MY MOM CALL MY NAME TO COME EAT THOSE THREE WORDS
CHICKEN AND RICE, CHICKEN AND RICE I SAY
MY MOM MADE THE BEST, IN HER OWN SPECIAL WAY
WHEN EVER I AM FEELING WSPECIALLY NICE
I WOULD ALWAYS FIND AN EXCUSE TO HAVE CHICKEN AND RICE
SO MOMMA, YOU NEEDED TO JUST HERE ME SAY
I APPRECIATE THE LOVE THAT YOU GIVE ME EVERY DAY
AND THOUGH IT MAY SEEM LIKE I AM BEING UNKIND
IF SO, I'M JUST BEING FOOLISH AND MANIPULATIVE THAT TIME
YOU ALWAYS COULD BRING OUT THE BABY IN ME
AND FOR THAT AND THE CARING THIS POEM YOU DID SEED
THANK YOU MOM, DEAR LADY FOR ALL OF THE ABOVE
AND THE CHICKEN AND RICE AND THESE MEMORIES OF LOVE
poem by Talile Ali
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The Mountain Of Poverty
this is what i can tell you:
the children are running in the hills
looking for their favorite butterflies to play
chasing dreams, i suppose, who knows
what they really know and
feel, i was once a child myself, perhaps i have the right to guess
what simple wants they have,
freedom, but i can tell you about something else,
their breakfast today is only brown sugar and rice,
and they have not taken their baths in the river because
the water is dirty, and there is no water system in the hills,
primitive, and still undeveloped, the grasses are not cut
tall and wild, and the coconut trees are not bearing much fruits,
there is drought, and the tenants do not have a good harvest
of their upland rice and there are rats infesting the rice fields,
it rains so hard, the road is slippery and we all have to walk slowly
to keep themselves warm, the men drink wine and smoke
the women do not weave mats anymore, they're sold cheap
and they are so disappointed with what they are getting
sugar is a precious commodity here, no coffee,
salt is expensive, salted fish is a luxury,
bread is like gold here and children do not know what is bread all about
cookies do not exist here
stone age, this is stone age in the midst of an expanding world
the children here are left out
i stare at them as they throw stones at play,
dirt and foul smell, but on the other hand i look at the pictures
that i took on that day
less the smell, less the dirt on their faces,
they are so beautiful, and the mountains are still hopeful.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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