#rice
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.
Jul 7, 2025
Jul 7, 2025 at 3:38 AM UTC
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.
Oct 7, 2024
Oct 7, 2024 at 12:23 AM UTC
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
Jul 13, 2024
Jul 13, 2024 at 11:15 AM UTC
enough rice and beans
and attitude to die for
happens then good bye
Jan 17, 2024
Jan 17, 2024 at 11:42 PM UTC
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.
Sep 15, 2022
Sep 15, 2022 at 9:47 AM UTC
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
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 2:49 PM UTC
A trail of smoke rises,
A died down pyre,broken clay ***
Crows eat scattered rice.
Jan 27, 2020
Jan 27, 2020 at 9:36 AM UTC
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.
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 3:36 AM UTC
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?
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 4:20 AM UTC
-----------I weave my grand mother's spirit to life--------
when I paint with my words what she dreamed
in her life. My grandmother's kimono sat in the dark never
worn; so needs a dusting--I lift it up into this light to be
seen, to be heard, to be felt, fabric of loving heart
dreams to be. It's not perfectly shaped or tattered or torn,
rather fermented beyond her time to take form. My
Grandma loved to eat her white rice she ate thirty
seven million grains of rice by the time she reached her
104-- Born on a sugarcane plant'tion on the coast of
Oahu, a child in the tropics then a teen in Japan. Her
family returned to their roots to learn, & grow, reenter the
cultural force. She discovered her new talent as
------------------------------
K I M O N O
A R T I S T
------------------------------
Kikuyo Yamamoto became
liberated as an artist and then
her life changed as her family
demanded she leave her position
and marry away to a Japanese man
who lives in California (my Grand
father). The matchmaker said it
would work really well....She
endured life as an American farm
wife, then life in Japanese intern-
ment camps. Five children, nine
grandchildren...Dear Grandmother
I know you had lots to surrender-
I honor your life as mother,
grandmother, and artist --I
wove this poem in the form
of a kimono for you May your
spirit rest in peace. I love you.
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 2:42 AM UTC
Alternative prizes
are ready for
RICE and NICE plant.
Alternative of prizes
are also there.
A flying digital clock
can release your stress
by singing
Lady Gaga and
Justin Biber's
slow songs.
Alternative of prizes
are also including-
A digital robo cat
eagerly will wait
to have fried
sea fish to
compete your
neighbour's two natural cats.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 1:21 AM UTC
I feel like my body is made of grains of rice
When you hold me I collapse and slip through your grasp
You just aren't the 'forever type' are you?
One day someone will either slip with me or help me hold us together
Then you'll see what you could have been with me
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 10:45 PM UTC
Bristling green rice plants,
Make waves reaching the far hills;
Wind’s jugglery spooks!
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 12:45 AM UTC
Rice is thrown from the pews
Flowers are embroidered upon the
Faces of those who stare at the stage
Mustn't we not decry departure
Are we to lay idly by
When
**** goes astray
NO!
NO!
NO!
Speak, for you have a voice.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 10:17 AM UTC
Skin is skin, Heart is a heart.
What makes makes a mind to consider any is less like an empty bottle?
To sense one is second-rate?,
Skin to skin, dust to dust, Bone to bone.
Heart to heart superior Judge will sit judgment on disgusting hearts.
Equivalent we are, as transgressors, we are.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 6:45 PM UTC
The test results are back!
It appears that a:
sack of rice
has
replaced your brain.
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 9:00 AM UTC
YOU delirious about the coastal span - from
the country that went on a hot year - then become the
beach your body: spread out - fragrant and hungry!
Like the perfume ad page, which is torn off
thick copies, magazines that chock short of pictures!
The one on you lies, I, which is released by the wind,
large pickaxes, mooring the sky, then sprinkling wildly
I started this guerrilla, facing my own shadow,
your spicy sand bath, quartz that grows hearts
Late afternoon. The sun goes past: yellow past
soon it was broken and glowing, the blood of a snake
I've repeatedly looked at digital numbers,
Casio - waterproof, 200 meters - an hour of the day
*
If the sea yells, the sentence is the waves!
He did not carry any name, until he called the bay
Place turtle loggerhead, from far journey,
Thousands of miles pilgrimage, to the sand he had hatched,
littered, food wrappers and beverage cans
This ******* like undesirable verbal abuse!
*
What have I found? Or broke it? I'm a farmer
threatened insect pests, certainly can not keep, seeds per
Seeds, immature rice. The season is short-lived.
When I see the location of the taxi to the North,
I also had to go back there, fold the map, then
stepping like a man's footstep -
like the song I heard from Springteen - and
write down a poem that I am afraid of his verses.
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 10:35 PM UTC
Ripe, golden rice,
Endlessly billowing in wind,
Wafting fresh scent.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 8:40 AM UTC
Can you hear them?
Yes, they are crying.
Can you see them?
Yes, the farmers, yes.
No, I mean,
The blood, the blood.
Each grain is pregnant.
With blood, with blood.
No! let’s fill the rice fields.
Let’s plant bullets.
No, with blood, with blood.
When will they learn?
Why? Is there something to learn?
Why is there something to learn?
Why, is there something--
They can no longer learn.
They can no longer hear.
They can no longer see.
Why? I demand an answer!
Why do I demand an answer?
Why?
You killed them.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:09 AM UTC
bowl of hot steaming white rice
faint porcelain bowl
each grain foretelling wisdom
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 7:18 PM UTC
More than any other food item,
Rajma chaawal can brighten my day up,
Bring back to my lips a lost smile,
Kidney beans is rajma and rice is the chaawal.
A different flavour tickles my taste buds,
Divine is this taste vegetarian,
Few are not so lucky to have tasted it ever,
It should be declared the national food of the kitchen north Indian.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 3:58 AM UTC
tangy taste of pickle
with hot white fluffy rice
from your rice cooker
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
rice
oh god rice
ive had it every night
porkchops and rice
nodles and rice
rice
step mom make brocoli
brocoli and rice
oh god guys so much rice im my sad life
rice
long grain or sticky
yellow or brown
got a rice *** cooking it now
rice and steak
rice and eggs
rice and life
im tired of rice.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC