Liar, liar...
when the sweet sap of
the sugar cane is gone
when the salt does not
taste salt at all
when the vinegar loses
its prized acidity
the raw mango its sourness
the pork its oil and
the rice its gluten
when essence is gone
when you say that it is this
essence that precedes
existence
then tell me what happens next?
i know what to do.I know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Doctor's Warnings
half of the mango.
that is all you can eat
and you do not like
it you take the whole
mango
and swallow.
a cup of rice.
hardheaded, you
take a bowl.
no coke. you
bought a bottle
and drink it all.
no sugar. no salt.
you are determined
to have some
and some more.
take death then
the doctor says
and you say
with all dignity:
thank you.
i love it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ode to Salt
This salt
in the salt cellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won't
believe me
but
it sings
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.
I shivered in those
solitudes
when I heard
the voice
of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a
broken
v oice,
a mournful
song.
In its caves
the salt moans, mountain
of buried light,
translucent cathedral,
crystal of the sea, oblivion
of the waves.
And then on every table
in the world,
salt,
we see your piquant
powder
sprinkling
vital light
upon
our food.
Preserver
of the ancient
holds of ships,
discoverer
on
the high seas,
earliest
sailor
of the unknown, shifting
byways of the foam.
Dust of the sea, in you
the tongue receives a kiss
from ocean night:
taste imparts to every seasoned
dish your ocean essence;
the smallest,
miniature
wave from the saltcellar
reveals to us
more than domestic whiteness;
in it, we taste finitude.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Sour
some fruits are loved
for their being sour
it is their sourness
that reminds of their essence
like the green mango
it is even missed more
than when it ripened
but with you my love
do not worry
sour or sweet or bitter
we will always be together
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Woman is like a mango
A girl is a mango infantile,
That tastes in pickles.
A lass is about ripe mango,
That tastes in curries.
A woman is a ripe mango,
That tastes with its flesh.
At forties as juice and at fifties
As jelly, she lingers to my taste.
Even in sixties, she is like mango-essence.
In seventies, as endosperm of its nut
She still taste though differently.
Woman to men is evergreen.
29.05.2001, Berhampur
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Cook Of The House
Ground rice, sugar, vinegar, seco salt, macaroni too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
The salads in the bowl,
The rice is on the stove.
Green beans in the colander and where the res is heaven only knows.
Cinnamon, garlic, salt, pepper, corn-bread, curry powder, coffee too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No, matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best.
cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
Where the rest is heaven only knows.
Matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house.
Cook of the house,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Existence precedes and rules essence.
Jean-Paul Sartre in Being and Nothingness (1943)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jackie Cane
Jackie cane was everybodys sugar
She gave it all wherever it took her
They used her up before the sell-by date
To be so sweet was her only mistake
The only flower in a concrete garden
Destined to be the rock that wouldnt harden
Jackie cane was everybodys sugar
Shed melt away if only she could of
Taken for granted
Abused and drained
They ran her dry and
Then it never rained
She was the queen
Of the 25th hour
They looked so sweet
But the after-taste was sour
Salty days for jackie cane
song performed by by Hooverphonic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harvest Time
O! beautiful black queen…
You are as sweet as sugar cane….
I can’t control my craving of you…
Sweetness!
Right from the harvest to me…
You, you sweet sugar cane…
My fever has reach an all time high…
Inside I cry and cry…
Why do I let you down?
My sweet, sweet brown sugar…
Are you to sweet for me?
Or am I to weak for you?
Ahhhhh! I’ve love on my mind…
I reach inside my soul…
And feel your sugar…
Stuck to my bones…
That says…
I am not alone…
O! beautiful black and sweet …
Sugar cane…
It’s harvest time…Wake up!
I’m coming for you…
My brown sugar…
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Vinegar Salt
I...like the things that you hate
And you...hate the things that I like
But it hurts
Honestys your church
But sometimes
Its better to lie
I...am the vinegar and salt
And you...are the oil that dissolves
My frustration
Honestys limitation
But sometimes
Its better to lie
I am the vinegar and salt
And you are the oil that dissolves my frustrations
Limitations
But sometimes...
I dont dare to ask why
song performed by by Hooverphonic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vinegar & Salt
I...like the things that you hate
And you...hate the things that I like
But it hurts
Honesty's your church
But sometimes
It's better to lie
I...am the vinegar and salt
And you...are the oil that dissolves
My frustration
Honesty's limitation
But sometimes
It's better to lie
I am the vinegar and salt
And you are the oil that dissolves my frustrations
Limitations
But sometimes...
I don't dare to ask why
song performed by by Hooverphonic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Simplifying Life
back to the basics now
when it is hard soften it
when is dry
wet it
when it is too hot
wait
when it is bland
put a little salt
or a pinch of sugar
if you want it a little bit sweet
or sour
then use a little vinegar
or
add some drops of lemon
a cube of seasoning
or to appease the tongue
put the black pepper
or the chili sauce
when things are frozen
thaw it
it is just like life
when things get rough
my dear
be tough
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Do I Really Need?
upon a dining table
i too, ask myself,
what do i really need?
one fried dried fish
a cup of steamed brown rice
a pinch of salt
five drops of coconut vinegar
a glass of water
and then the much needed
rest for the night
& with you
my bare hands
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No One Can Stop Us To Write
and they must know the reason why,
simple enough
we are writers and our essence is to write
for writing's sake
nothing aimed nothing gained nothing lost
we write because we are here
and we are here because we write
we write because if we do not
we no longer become ourselves
we lose our salt we become just like any
flesh, rotten, infected with bacteria
foul, and finally become just dust
on the corner of the road
we write and we keep on writing
because we are
we do not need the praise
or the condemnation
we do not need an audience
or an empty space
we write because we are
that is our essence and no one can stop us
except perhaps when the word is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Veggie Poetry
steamed okra
round, red, shiny tomatoes
violet onion, some white spring ones
and hot chili
with black pepper
some olive oil
and rosemary herbs for flavoring
a little salt
a little sugar
suit to your exquisite, exotic asian taste
add some more other
herbs and hot spices
mix them in a bowl
shed some tears
for summer salt
add some green lettuce
and black olives
and pickles to taste
pick some
then chew
do not swallow yet
take your time
enjoy your veggie poetry
do not take any meat
or poultry
now take your time alone
eat
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sugar
I'm yours
And you are here
Don't you
Really want to feel
That my love is turning on
And it feels so real
So tell me what's the deal yeah
I'm coming back
For more and more
You do it to me
'Till I can't take no more
And I know
That all of that real
Good lovin' is oh so real
And I want all your time
When I'm down here
Sugar dance for me
Sugar taste so sweet
Climb on and take the wheel
There's nothing here for you to fear
And my love won't lead you wrong
Let me make this clear
Sweeter and sweeter
I'll always make you feel
I'm coming home
I'm oh so low
I need you baby
Come on let's go
'Cause only you are my lover
And you're so sincere and fine
So divine
And you're all mine
Sugar caramel
Sugar and it taste so sweet
Sugar my fantasy
Sugar you were made for me
Hey sugar my fantasy
Sugar and it taste so sweet
Sugar my fantasy
Oh my sugar baby lovin' is so sweet to me
And it taste so sweet
Sugar you're my fantasy
Sugar on and on
Sugar
Say I want your baby
Want you lovin'
Say I want your baby
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Are You Gonna Go My Way
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunset (the One We Agreed Upon)
i like your sunset
flaming firmament
hues of fire, red hot iron and orange fruit combined
tasting like salt and sugar and vinegar to me
v-shaped seagulls like fighting planes
and the silence of the vast space
like i am in the library
the librarian on sick leave
and all the books are taken
did i forget the flavor?
(remember we agree on a poem with a color, taste, sound, smell
and whatever)
vanilla, and the sound, i already told you,
pssst, silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Typhoon Signal No. 1
This is where the typhoon starts—
inside the fourth paragraph,
ten city blocks away,
where the neurosurgeon halfs
La Celestina, where you occupy
the spot under that Tiffany lamp,
where Edgar Rice Burroughs laughs,
where sugar cane is thigh
high, where you apply lipstick,
where the address numbers
are transposed, where hearts
take on airs of Parisian avenues,
where Mexican silver coins
are exchanged for salt, where
there is no fine line between art
and pornography, where the big
gingerbread boy answers
to the name of Alfredo, where you
take that moment to adjust
to my poem, where the metaphor
escapes from your throat.
poem by Nick Carbo
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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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A Question
whatever detests upon yourself
cannot just be simply removed by you
and you say, this is not me
there is no denial about your dual nature
both evil and good
mixed in one glass like salt and water
if you remove one from the other
you shall not be the same again
not your taste, not you anymore
and you ask: what is real? the salt alone?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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