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It's often such a strain
Trying to keep up positive thoughts —
To strain my mind, hoping to get rid
Of negative thoughts; sometimes,
It just strains me more…

Life boils me over.
Some days, I get too steamed to even try
And move on forward... feeling so stuck —
Sitting still, too hot to handle,
And being too heavy to pour it all out.

I feel like white rice

Plain, overcooked, forgotten, and just
Sitting there, cooling off in an unattractive
Bowl, that no one really reaches for…
Sometimes  I am the metaphor, the idea,
The hope, the dream; or nothing at all
Yet I’ll give everything of myself, every
Last drop… even up to tiniest piece of rice
In that open rice bowl.
Erwinism Oct 2024
Tongue daps vinegar,
and your face winched,
as if offended,
as if death was a butterfly
fetching nectar from you,
but your soul has never resided
any body other than yours.

Yogurt is enough
to make you scoff,
sandwiches the same,
you shudder at the sight
of my teeth flensing fat
off a rind and the cream
of hardened tallow on steamed
rice.

Your lunch box comes with
this world’s gravy,
mine comes with
I-am-lucky-that-I-am-here
kind of deal.
Mine comes with bricks
my scrawny frame has to bear,
mine comes with my mama’s
expectations that I need to
build a better road for my siblings
and I to walk on.
Mine is more edible than
what papa keeps in his belly.

You have a lunch box,
I have lunch, now go eat.
ilo Jul 2024
i writher in junk
my shoes come pre-broken
and my shirts newly old and yellow

i am a tube within a tube organism
who be really just livin’ off rice and beans
and a lil tony’s
if you know what i mean

why all this effort to curate?
when i can just sit and contemplate
rotting and writhering here
like a big ole chunky maggot
it’s been a while. here’s an exaggerated poem dedicated to my broken shoes and rice and beans
Mark Wanless Jan 2024
enough rice and beans
and attitude to die for
happens then good bye
Isaace Sep 2022
The red soil rises in the garden
Upon a wrought and coiling mist,
Then collects the stems of morning light:
Old Future's endless sift.

These mornings when the flood plains swell
Instil great peace of mind;
Tireless are the crossroads of
Transpiring, morning light.

Set down the blade,
Spread far the grain,
Inhale the rice-fed air.
Now rake the water's fervent edge—
Reveal the waves of golden.
Pockets Aug 2020
I guess I was amassing a collection
So I could show my children all the places I’ve ate

Like little milestones

All the places I’ve had dead end dates

All the places I’ve gorged myself
Having just got off work
Or just smoked a bowl
Either way I felt deserving of a feast

All the places I shared stories with friends
All the places we shared kisses before we went in

All the orange chicken I ate to help sober up
All the take out I ordered when we broke up
And that one place I found out I was allergic to shrimp and threw up

Yeah I remember it all
The egg rolls, the soup, the soy sauce
The painting of pandas or dragons
The red lanterns
All the motifs
You seemingly needed to run an establishment
Like this

There are the stand outs
The Lucky Star whose pork fried rice was just cut up Slim Jims
The Panda House who treated me less like a customer and more like a friend
If I didn’t come around, they would call and ask where I had been

It didn’t matter if it was in a mall or in my small home town
I always found comfort in this other culture’s food
So while I’m waiting for all those fountain cookies to come true
I guess I’ll look back over these dozen Chinese menus
K Balachandran Jan 2020
A trail of smoke rises,
A died down pyre,broken clay ***,
Crows eat scattered rice.
In Hindu funeral ceremony,which is largely symbolic a  terracota ***,symbol of mortal coil is broken by the son who leads the rituals.Crows eating the rice and eight other grains is considered suspicious.
Three parts of water and oil

And one part of yellow grits

Salt and twenty minutes on the stove.

You don't have grits, throw in rice.

You don't have cornedbeef, throw in hamburguer

Or merguez mutton sausages. Or mix them both !

The secret ingredient of Scheharazade's Island Kitchen's Fire Engine is love.

She harbours in her smile

That grin of the kind of instant wild grits

Boiling for immediate bubbling,

Waters exploding from the ***,

Swelling, flowing, bursting,

Simmering until the point of bliss is reached.

And from an imperceptible move in her nostrils

You can guess the bulls in her cornedbeef mew the thyme of Heaven.

Her love is the kind of consistant batter

Blessed with okra, pumpkin and goat pepper.
Aaliyah Salia Jul 2019
There were so many sacrifices,
so many lives taken,
so many lives given,
and yet we are ungrateful.

We want more happiness,
so we neglect what we have right now.
We become greedy for more,
for more and more of everything.

Why? Why can't our hearts be satisfied
with what we have?
Why do we need this and that?
and everything the rich have?

Can't we just live our lives the way it is written to be lived?
Can't we, for once, ignore the evil
and turn to good?

Is it so hard for us?
Is it so hard that if you don't dream
you won't live?
Let's not forget to be thankful for everything we have and don't have. After all, life is too short to be greedy.
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