Piercing
salmon slices
porcelain platter
wasabe sauce
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pleasures
a smooth flow of chivas regal
inside my throat lingering
but only for a while,
a white flower carried by this vine
on its soft tendrils crawling an iron fence
a trellis as lean-on
a salmon sushi bathed in soy bean sauce
and a fingerfull of wasabe
inside my tongue the chili running
towards me throat lingering and
rising in my nostrils in my brain
hot green tea that i sip
slowly
chopstick on top of a teriyake
a bowl of seafood ramen
its flavors rising to the lamps
of the ceiling
i face you and you face me
at this moment
we nod to make another sip
of life
we face each other again
remembering a promise.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sauces In The Mouth
Satisfy us, the sauce is laid on the plate,
To sound like a train we munch on the crockery.
All of us are tame, men sweat due to food and water,
This ranch of dining musically swings with munching.
My food created the salmon in my mouth
To move in lovely rhythm with my tongue.
Its territory is tested, like all good men,
But the inner taste is subjected to the pleasures.
At the end of all this is bitter and sweet food
Being kept in batches for the stomach to design.
I have been satisfied by the ranch of food and dining,
The sauce is hot and sticky in the very district.
poem by Naveed Akram
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What is sauce for the goose may be sauce for the gander but is not necessarily sauce for the chicken, the duck, the turkey or the guinea hen.
quote by Alice B. Toklas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Found My Way
you cook so well
and i am so
anticipating about
the new menu
on the white
porcelain plate
beside the
silver spoon
and fork
and the corrugated
knife fit for
the medium rare
steak
more rice please
more lemonades
and lots of
lettuce for the
salad
a ripe mango
and alligator
pear
on a platter
lady, you found your
way into
my belly.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Writing In Thin Slices...
it is like a big tuna that lands in the shores of your mind,
you view it and it is too big for your keeping
you take a sharp knife then have a thin incision
you open the think slimy skin and slice but a very small and thin portion
of its raw flesh
less the blood
this is sushi poetry
your wasabe is the clear sea
your chopstick your skinny fingers
your long tongue savors the rawness
of this delicacy
in real life we do not take much of the fish body
only thin slices
and then we make conclusions
without causing much ruin
of what is big and unaccounted for
you set the big fish free
into the deep ocean
it has its own destiny
you have taken the sample of what it tastes
of what it is all about &
that is surely enough
then you go on with a stick in your hand
you scurry the sands
for those tiny diamonds
under the midday sun.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Like Tomato Sauce
i like tomato sauce
and so i keep lots of
and different kinds of
tomato sauces inside
the ref and when i open
it one night i thought
tomato sauce are also
water and i am in a trance
of some sort or something
i drink tomato sauce
and i remember you:
saucy, so saucy
i thought i am floating
in the river filled with
tomato sauce, yes,
my point is: be proud
i always think of you.
saucy, yes, so saucy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If You Would, Please
Pass the salt dear, if you would, please,
I need to put some on these peas.
But not the pepper, now don’t tease,
you know it always makes me sneeze.
The horseradish sauce, is so nice,
it gives the meal a touch of spice.
But too much and you’ll pay the price,
it’ll burn your tongue in just a trice.
The tartare sauce is worth a try,
this is so true, I do not lie.
With luscious fish baked in a pie,
then served with a piquant stir fry.
What about chocolate dessert,
some extra calories won’t hurt.
then more cream, just maybe a squirt,
and watch it doesn’t stain your shirt.
Food of every kind I’ll eat,
I find it all a real treat.
I’m always ready for the sweet,
but slimming is a real feat.
Pass the salt dear, if you would, please,
and some lemon for me to squeeze
into my gin. Slices of cheese
would my sharp hunger pangs appease.
Pass the salt, Walt.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Some films are slices of life, mine are slices of cake.
quote by Alfred Hitchcock
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Anatomy Of A Decision To Be Pure Sometimes
the way we cover flesh with flesh
layer upon layer
imprisoning the divinity of thought
within the core
when they come to seduce you with
colored slices of ligaments and
salmon shades of serum
you shake your head and signal that
you do not more flesh in you for you
have become solid bones
ribs and clavicles, a map of skin
that guides you where the heart resides.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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If I could only have one type of food with me, I would bring soy sauce. The reason being that if I have soy sauce, I can flavor a lot of things.
quote by Martin Yan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.
quote by Marcus Terentius Varro
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Laissez Faire was very good sauce for the goose, labor, but was very poor sauce for the gander, capital.
quote by Benjamin Tucker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Midnight.....
somewhere
between two half slices
of a bread
a man slips in
with a mayonnaise
in his soul
the two slices close
him in
perfectly to make him
feel
that this is a world
of the burger
comforted
he waits for the other
to take the
best bite
all in his life
he simply
wants to be consumed
by hunger.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.
Happiness In A Platter
fruits in a platter,
pineapple wearing a crown
apples, green and red in shining gloss
of their glory,
alligator pear
sleepy,
ripe mango,
your hands carrying them
your breasts
helping to put them all
in one platter
of flesh.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Porcelain
Porcelain
Are you wasting away in your skin
Are you missing the love of your kin
Drifting and floating and fading away
Porcelain
Do you smell like a girl when you smile
Can you bear not to share with your child
Drifting and floating and fading away
Little lune
All day
Little lune
Porcelain
Do you carry the moon in your womb
Someone said that you're fading too soon
Drifting and floating and fading away
Porcelain
Are you wasting away in your skin
Are you missing the love of your kin
Nodding and melting and fading away
Little lune
All day
Little lune...
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers from Californication
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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