Upon Visiting A Dying Woman In The Hospital At Room 108
actually the barbecue
is more than what it appears to be
its scent of meat
and the hotness of the spice
and delicacy of
the sauce
it is the front of something
that is hidden
there is something behind its shape
and odor
i cannot speak to you about it
so i offer you that
pork barbecue
i know that hunger that
does not want to be fed
time fills that
grief
that cannot be appeased
the barbecue is cold
set aside in one of the corners
of the table
grease is solidified
no one
not one from those who see
the emaciated body
of the dying woman
wants to take
the bite
someone does
but eventually there is that
obstruction in the
throat
and so the tongue
expels that piece
of pork barbecue
again
what a waste!
yet we can never voice
this matter out
the eyes speak a lot
but you know then
they have no voices
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Plain Cacophony
when i walk alone Colon
i remember being treated for free barbecue
by my sister during her student days,
(it may not be important to you but it is
to me, for it was the first time that i have
had a free barbecue
with white rice wrapped by coconut leaves)
nothing significant really like it is an ordinary day
but there is one thing that i cannot tell you
i have seen stars there,
people who shine ordinarily without anybody knowing
that they are stars in their own right,
ordinariness felt
something that pleases you when you walk
and no one knows you
independent, open, nothing significant
you become real.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Barbecue
When summer evenings are nice and hot,
The thing to do is find a spot,
Where a barbecue can be set up,
So everyone can come and sup,
Relax with a bottle, and sit for a spell,
Which would be really nice and would end the day well,
And enjoy the light hearted, cheerful chatter,
With friends, who to you, truly matter.
Right!
The table's set, the flares are lit,
The music should be a real hit
The friends have arrived, the drink if flowing,
Laughter starts, the barbecue's glowing,
The cooking has started, the aroma's divine,
Everyone is getting along fine,
When!
The barbecue begins to smoke,
The chef, who's coughing begins to choke,
The chops are burnt the spare ribs too,
Everyone's looking very blue,
Conversation has now come to a halt,
What has happened, who's at fault,
There's thick smoke spiralling into the air,
It's now giving everyone a scare,
People are suddenly beginning to panic,
Good heavens, they are going manic,
What can be done, the food is no more,
The wine has been spilt all over the floor,
Everyone is utterly desolated,
For the poor old barbecue has disintegrated,
On top of that, it has started to rain,
It is really driving the guests insane,
The garden's looking a real shambles,
It really is just one of those gambles,
That the weather will go and change her mind,
But it's left such devastation behind.
The hostess takes a deep breath and swallows her pride,
Waves everyone goodbye, takes it all in her stride,
Clears up all the mess, and calls it a day,
But will book another date and just hope and pray,
That the weather forecast might treat them well, so
With friends once again, they can dine alfresco.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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I Didn't Know That Butchered Animals Do Not Feel Pain
sexy, so sexy,
and meaty and
tasty....
tenderloin steak,
spare ribs,
pork barbecue,
menudo,
sausages, and
chicharon, and
brain chops
sexy, so sexy,
butchered meat
feeling no pain
well cooked and
too spicy on my
table.
do i hear
the sound of red
blood dripping?
send it the specialty of this house.
sexy, so sexy,
and meaty and tender and juicy....
that is how i want things to be.
i don't mind the pain too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Have I got swine flu?
Your coughing and sneezing
and your head is pounding away
but you can't go to the doctors
if you do there will be hell to pay.
It used to be plain old influenza
you could get rid of it in a week
but this thing is related to a pig
so watch out for the signs of a squeak.
I think i may well have got it
because I've begun to wallow in mud
and I hate the smell of bacon
but I'd eat truffles all day if I could.
The diagnosis isn't looking good
I've been told to stay in and not go out
still they say it should clear up soon
but I'll be left with a tail and a snout.
I'll probably end up in a slaughterhouse
just a piece of meat on a hook
then on to the local butchers shop
as pork sausages all ready to cook.
So if your feeling under the weather
and you think you have got swine flu
if I was you I'd keep it to yourself
or you could end up being eaten at a barbecue!
poem by Kevin Halls
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With Them
with me is an emerald mountain
below the turquoise blue sea
with me are the trees
and the sun that cast me a shadow
with me is a glass of wine
and a stick of pork barbecue
with me is the night that covers me
with stars and a moon colored gold
how can i be lonely then?
how can i be so alone in the middle
of all these treasures
these beauty these graces?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Neighborly Guy
Baptist churches and brotherhood
In a tired, aging town
A moribund neighborhood
Where faith and fraternity are found
Cleveland Ohio’s a rust belt town
Ordinary citizens, still work out the days
Life comes and goes, has ups and has downs
But some neighbors are different in unusual ways
Take Anthony Sowell, a neighborly guy
A smile bright as the sunrise, none brighter or quicker
Liked to sit on his porch, by and by
Sippin’ from a bottle of King Cobra Malt Liquor
Had a few girlfriends over, seemed a regular guy
Neighbors came over for barbecue at times
Always said “good mornin’ and evening” and “hi’
Scrounged up ol’ metal for nickels and dimes
Neighbors at times notice odd scents
Of dead things or spoiled meat
Seemed to be coming from beyond a fence
Of a sausage maker just down the street
But Anthony sowell, a neighborly guy
Had compliant companions who sat quietly inside
Four on the couch slowly rotting
and three on the floor where they died
A few in the hallway
several upstairs in the bed
One in the bathroom,
on his workbench, a severed head
Anthony Sowell, a neighborly guy
was led in handcuffs through his front gate
Left his neighbors imaginations to fly
As to what was in that barbecue they ate
Anthony seemed such a neighborly guy
Some said they’d forever feel sickened
Some said they’d never eat barbecue again
Some said it tasted a little like chicken
poem by David Whalen
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I have the restaurant, too. I serve Southwest, barbecue.
quote by Mickey Gilley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We sat around and I fed them barbecue and whiskey. And pretty soon everyone started to compete with each other on the guitars. It seemed the more everyone drank and ate, the more everyone got into it.
quote by Gary Allan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sounds Of Summer
it is the air that blows the song of summer
the birds chirp and the sky is ready for their wings.
the sands of the beach are whiter
and the waves of the sea are bluer.
the mountains lush and the paths are clear.
someone waits for you on the other side
the coconut wine is bubbling and the
dance with the wind shall soon start for
a thanksgiving. The rice cakes on the
banana leaves, the pork barbecue,
the raw mangoes with shrimp paste
and the relatives from the cities are coming.
News, stories from far, bits and pieces
and poems, and more merrymaking
i heard that she is coming and i am waiting.
This time, we shall explore a new avenue
just friendship, and a lot of reminiscing
no regrets, a little glance, and then we part.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Vicarious
you're off to Mindoro
on a night flight from Davao
to Manila
i am bound for Manila
on an early morning flight
for a conference
in Faura
we're heading finally to
a new direction in our lives
to start this new year
with a lot of missions
you go for the smile
i will try, but for the meantime i keep
my mouth shut
i like you (i doubt if this is
love, it is just a very sensitive issue)
i may follow you
and pursue you (till the end of my
life, but when? and where?)
the hands of morality grip me by the throat
giving me the signals
that it really means what it says
you know what i mean.
i still have fences to mend.
there will be a nice hello.
hot and sizzling barbecue.
the goodbye will be as cold as
frozen meat
who knows, i will eat it raw.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dancing is my number one love. That was my first goal as a child. I would love to do stage, maybe do Chicago. I love being in front of an audience. It's so stimulating. I also love to barbecue.
quote by Carmen Electra
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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8: 45 P.m.
i had this chance
of seeing you
eating
in my favorite restaurant
you have beer
and some chicken barbecue
and chili sauce
and some
sticks of cigarettes
i know you
have seen me
first
and in hiding your greed
and selfishness
you got hold
of your cellphone
press some
numbers
and letters
and pretend
you are so engrossed
with something
else
i very well understand
how the hardtimes
convinced
you
to take the shame
of eating
alone
and simply forget
all the hungry
children
in our home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Transient Immortal
Tommorrow is on my calendar
as is every day next week.
I have interviews, appointments,
Dinners at which I'll speak.
I'll make some time for family
and writing, I suppose.
I may find time to barbecue
and to launder my work clothes.
When evening comes I'll settle back
with a glass of Pinot noir.
I'm a transient immortal,
I'm on loan here from a star.
The future is a game;
against ourselves we play.
We act as if we still have left
forever and a day.
In truth we all are transients
For just this moment free.
Self observing stardust
poised t'wixt two eternities
poem by John F. McCullagh
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A Date
three red chilis
on top of two sliced calamansi
beside the cup of white rice
inverted in form
the chicken barbecue is glazed
with butter
above a banana leaf
we have nothing to talk about
we eat
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On The River Song
On the river
I get so much satisfaction
Because on the river
I can get the best kind of fish
To grill on the barbecue
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Cookee
The barbecue
is the animal roaster,
the animal cooker...
A very different thing
From being the cook-ee
who can never eat
vegan cookies.
poem by Saiom Shriver
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Pork Chops are Fun
chop chop chop the pork squeals over dinner
with it's fatty bits and tasty bites
it marinates on a stick over hot coal
who will taste it first who will finish the bowl
Wow Pork Chops with red wine
then dinner will be divine
chop chop chop the pork is done
with ginger, wine and lots of fun
it's time to have with a salty bun
chop chop chop see it go in the oven my friends
it's dinner time lets eat it all
then lets sit together and have a ball
chop chop chop the pork tastes good
with the meat so tender it bloody weel should
sometimes on the pan sometimes as a roast
call your freinds for dinner it's a dish one can boast
chop chop chop the pork is done
sprikle a little wine to make things bright
then the meat put it on light
watch it burn and tremble with delight
chop chop chop my pork chops are done
poem by Anuj Tikku
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Reunion Committee Poem
We had our class reunion at Thieman's lake.
It was fun, such fun for goodness sake.
Ate pork, ate chicken, and even chocolate cake.
Hancock brothers used a cooker that was round.
Brian Tornatta hooked us up with great sound.
Barbecue smells and good music was all around.
Rendezvous garb was designed by our own Ryan Hayes.
View the front or the back, it's awesome both ways.
No matter where it is worn, a conversation will raise.
Ron Begle had the shiniest dome and won a large purple comb.
Bob Thomas took first prize, for having hair color of a garden gnome.
The Friedman's received a road atlas, so one day, hopefully, they may roam.
Also, the Friedman's have the most grandkids, yes they do.
Their jackpot was aspirin, for the headaches that ensue.
Eight rugrats, some dressed in pink, and others in blue.
Some of our old teachers came as well.
It was great to see them, sure was swell.
Hope to meet them again, time will tell.
Michelle, Lisa, Ron, Chris, Chuck, and Chad
Were told by many this was the best we ever had.
Now we go back to our everyday lives, tired but glad.
Heritage Hills class of '81, you're the best.
The reunion committee feels that way, no jest.
Thank you all for coming and God bless.
Chuck Hancock
poem by Charles Hancock
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Man's Evolution
from the monkey he comes
bringing a banana
then he changes
erect with a stone & spear
then tired with the spear
he carries a gun
and some beer and
barbecue and steak
he faces the TV
more than every day
at last he evolves into
a pig,
happily waddling
in the mud.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Spam
Spam in the place where I live (ham and pork)
Think about nutrition, wonder whats inside it now (oh boy)
Spam in my luchbox at work (its the best)
Really makes a darn good sandwhich any way you slice it at all
If youre running low, go to the store
Carry some money to help you buy more
The tab is there to open the can
The can is there to hold in the spam
Oh, spam on the table at home (ham and pork)
Think about selection, are there different flavors now (lets eat)
Spam in my office at work (its the best)
Think about the stuff its made from, wonder if its mystery of meat
If you need a spoon, keep one around
Carry a thermose to help wash it down
Now, if theres some left, dont just throw it out
Use it for spackle or bathroom grout, now
Spam in my pantry at home (have some more)
Think of expiration, better read the lable (oh boy)
Spam breakfast, dinner, or lunch (its the best)
Think about how its been precooked, wonder if Ill just eat it cold
Now, once you start in, you cant put it down
Dont leave it sitting or itll turn brown
The key is going to open the tin
The tin is there to keep the spam in
Oh, spam (spam)
Ham and pork
Think about nutrition, wonder whats inside it now (oh boy)
Spam (spam)
Its the best
Really makes a darn good sandwhich any way you slice it
Spam in the place where I live (have some more)
Think about addiction, wonder if Im a junkie now (lets eat)
Spam in the place where I work (youre obsessed)
Think about the way its processed, wonder if its some kind of meat
Spam in the back of my car (ham and pork)
Spam any place that you are (ham and pork)
The tab is there to open the can (spam any place that you are) (ham and pork)
The can is there to hold in the spam (spam any place that you are) (ham and pork)
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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