"cuisine" poems
A tired old man groans
As he hand you some
Asian culture cuisine.
Riddled with spices
It tickles the little thing in the back of your throat
As you swallow the substance.
Face now flushed
Like a cluster of fire ants crawling on the hill
Calling it their home.
Home?
Where was it?
Your memory slips.
Glee storms the man’s face
As he studies your expression.
“Seems like you can’t handle such a simple thing."
Clouding your judgement, you bite your tongue
In desperate attempt to knock back the sense
That gone up and left.
However
It fails.
Numb as the lightbulbs turn into bottle-cap suns
Concealing sight
With the light that it shares.
Count as your heart stops
With eyes bloodshot
His crafted words echo
In your failing ears.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
Food for thought
Savor in flavor within structural tone
A former Competitive Bodybuilder who could hold his own
He exercised to gain and ate to maintain
It was dignity and honor in appreciation of aim
Being a Competitive Bodybuilder requires all intensity
But it was about winning on the stage spotlight being a reality
Yet beyond Bodybuilding, there was something about food and preparing a very exotic cuisine
You will see down the line in what I mean
The former Competitive Bodybuilder felt that being a Chef was always his dream
Now it will be a reality like a running stream
But to be a good Chef you need the right education and Mentor
Yes a Chef for sure
Bake until rise
Savor the taste with the right ingredients being the surprise
Being a competitive Bodybuilder, one accepts the challenges in being the best
But when it comes to a Cuisine Chef, it will be the food critics who will contest
Patrons that will eat a Chef’s dish will be the true confess
So ovens over the world
There is a Chef to make your taste buds swirl
What will he prepare?
That is something I won’t share
You will have to experience for yourself
Taste I am sure you will enjoy
This is a true story of a Chef
He has cooking to do with not much time left.
Ship Ahoy!
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 4:29 PM UTC
vintage polaroids
mountain air
girl scout cookies
summer hair
ed sheeran lyrics
mint lemonade
blowing bubbles
christmas parade
harry potter
winter park crew
biscoff spread
morning dew
british accents
plaid shirts
old castles
chocolate desserts
breakfast for dinner
big bang theory quotes
shakespearean language
cape cod sailboats
sweet nostalgia
the smell of books
longing wanderlust
forest nook
80s movies
neon lights
time with friends
caramel delights
the great gatsby
walk the moon
old typewriters
plumerias bloom
bombay bicycle club
chinese cuisine
abstract art
seafoam green
vineyard vines
life of pi
scuba diving
monarch butterfly
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
amidst Jeffersonian opulence
the Prez broke bread with his
GOP poker face friends
to solve government gridlock
and sequester predicament trends
citizens of the republic
hopeful for nonsense to cease
sat at the table asking
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
Obama perused the wine list
boldly choosing a luscious Merlot
senators ordered the finest hors d'oeuvres
the guests were all aglow
numerous delectable dishes
were liberally splayed on the table
revelers sipped flowing vintages
wine a surefire icebreaker
sparkling crystal Lennox flutes
tinkled with convivial release
while America’s disenfranchised
voices ask
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
chutney meat, curried hens and
sweet walnut rainbow trout
the table a horn a plenty
the guests gorged on fine cuisine
a blessed nations bounty
the feast consumed
the Senators sated
said it was some
of the finest ever served
but the taxpayers only
got a peak of the banquet
a whiff of senators nerve
and asked
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
the dessert cart was rolled in
with custards, cakes, creme brulee
cordials, cognac and VSOP tastes
rounded out the wholesome feast
when the check was presented
for payment all guests headed
for the door with haste
they told the waiter the bill of fare
was covered
by the guy asking...
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
Music Selection:
Andre Williams:
Pass The Biscuits Please
jbm
Oakland
3/7/13
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Eggs on bread, eggs on rye.
Eggs in the sky, by and by.
My love for eggs will never die
since eggs will never tell a lie.
Eggs on toast, on a roast.
Eggs are always valued the most.
My love for eggs is something I'll boast,
from east to west, and coast to coast.
Eggs are hard, they never crack.
Unless hit with the force of a resounding smack.
I will be there to protect, and to hold back.
And for the egg's safety I will attack.
Eggs with butter, eggs with beans.
What do you think this all means?
You are an egg; a fine cuisine.
And my love for you will forever be serene.
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC
Resplendent rose, luminous green,
Lucid paradisaical palette,
The jewel delivers
It's dyed, distinctive sheen
Graciously, unassumingly
Casting a pink and emerald crewel
Coalescing into traces,
Cuisine for sunbeams
Brushing nature's easel --
Bedecking the constellation lighting on earth,
Realizing among tureens:
Scalloped edge profusions offering
The spoonbill waif
Sweet adrenaline,
Fueling it's sojourn in the atmosphere.
Bird of prey, humming minstrel,
Airy, iridescent meddler
Between red blooms,
Distant gem's sparkle
Gracing redolent, languid afternoons
Cloaked in shimmering velveteen,
Beating velocious wings, remaining still.
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 9:11 AM UTC
Last night I had an Indian,
And today I have the runs,
It struck me in an instant,
Now unable to sit on my buns
I told them I want a dopiaza,
With some chicken tikka on the side,
Now my pants are brown and moist,
From society I'll have to hide
I'm stranded inside my bathroom,
Fearing even the shortest walk,
Knowing if I pass a person outside,
About my stench they'll start to talk
I advise you stay clear of this cuisine,
For the sake of all your hineys,
I know that next time I venture out,
I'll be opting for a Chinese.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
Life energy radiates within--
literally the energy of beings
exist within your veins;
hungry animals thirst within those capillaries.
The lungs that heave
are the muscular tissues of little chickens--
tendons that tore to make you strong,
elongated strands of fat from each bite
made the skin around your lips.
Though the calcium of bones
was not used in this current cuisine--
blood was made into pudding
dessert maybe used to make hemoglobin.
We feast on flesh to create our own
same goes for the creatures that we eat
they mangle the essence of life
to satisfy their own longevity.
All must eat to survive,
remember with each bite
comes the sacrifice from the sky
it begins with the Sun,
and ends with the Earth.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
Growing up,
There was no "newest form of technology," no "stylish clothes," no "little puppy". Never a collection of Barbie dolls.
Realizing
She was surrounded,
a plastic society,
choicelss.
Simple figures. Thoughtless taste.
Molded forms.
Unseasoned cuisine.
Unrealistic ideas.
Unsalted frenchfries.
Styled hair, bright eyes, rosy cheeks.
Growing up normal,
No distinct collar bones, permanent bags, big feet.
Brainwashed
convinced of being un-proportional.
No first picks. No invitations. No turn at princess.
Whispers about "that girl"
Not listening, but hearing
every
word.
Lesson learned
Chained to the plastic society.
Barbie dolls as examples, imbalance of body image expressed.
No "styled hair," no "big eyes".
Chained; foolish concepts.
Attempting to escape the prison worse than death:
alienation.
Bring it on.
Darkest places, broken rules,
done being molded, through being fooled.
Always considered "that girl. Breaking free
from this brainwashed, plastic society.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
Eating a tomato soup made her more sentimental, as if there was a whole history
of shared meals with her family in that single bowl.
She couldn't deny who she was and from where she came from, as soon as her tongue got used to the richness of her country taste. The weirdness of cuisine and the specifics of character defined her and reached her bottom, which she couldn't discover without knowing what ground has shaped her body and a soul.
The day she went she could only see a fraction of her father's despair in his eyes full of love and pride. She couldn't feel more puzzled with all the sour-sweet emotions, but the train has already started, and the image of her father, standing straight on the platform number three trying to smile while waving his hand, was moving away. (...)
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
i love onions.
onions are great,
who doesn’t love onions?
they’re useful for everything
for improving the state of cuisine,
they make everything better.
when i think of onions,
i think of their ability to change life’s point of view
i think of a turning page.
after searching the market,
i found the perfect onion.
with perfect, glistening skin,
endless interesting layers,
and the taste
i knew
was unforgettable.
i tried to preserve you.
with every slice to your skin,
i’d wrap you back up.
place you in a drawer.
hide you away,
my secret.
eventually, i had to face reality.
you can’t preserve something
that was meant to perish.
your glistening skin was tarnished with scars.
your once deep layers revealed themselves…
shallow.
your “spice of life” flavor,
guess what?
it’s rotten.
now, when i think of an onion
i think of its ability to make me cry.
i think of its foul taste
that leaves regret in my mouth.
i hate onions
and all they stand for.
you’re not useful,
you’re worthless.
who wants the taste of dirt in their mouth?
you don’t make anything better.
you make things worse.
you made me worse.
i’m better off without onions.
i hate them.
i prefer broccoli anyways.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
A satisfied appetite is a simply joy
Overlooked and simplified
Like a growing urge, a salivating need
That is entrancing and glorified.
Everlasting for moments we call meals
Forgotten in time, lingering above
But the taste, the lonesome lover pushed aside
Gazes afar and near wanting to be enjoyed again
The young lady with a tongue of raspberry delight
And the matured widow with darkened cacao lips
Ripening nectar of a sliced peach center
Halved and topped with mascarpone crème
The man with a skin of caramel glaze
Caressing and savoring
With a fragrance and scent
Of hazelnut coffee indulgence and sin
In the pursuit of a brief love affair
What oral sensation did my taste buds want?
My odyssey of gustatory endeavors await
Through the seas of lined people and waiting staff
Generous portions and humble pies
Decadent desserts so rich you’ll die
Vine cherry tomatoes sliced and sauté
Over al dente rigatoni in a roasted cashew sauce
A robust aroma and savory appeal
Basil leaves with garlic strips
Olive oil to top the surreal
Hubristic meatball aborigine
Elysian cuisine or many dreams
Teasing the senses, warming the pit
Of flowing pleasures
And tingling fingertips
Without moral measures
And succulent wines
Rotisserie lamb falling of the bone
Seasoned with Sicilian herbs
And paired with broiled asparagus
Drizzled with lemon juice
And a glass of Merlot
Spices I hardly know
Lachrymose apologies beside a bottle of faded sorrows
With love there is pain, passion endured through the names
Thin soups, flavorless and dull, feeding street-thrown bums
Breathing hard against the delicatessen glass
Hickory smoked hams, pepper-seasoned pastrami
Vinegar cultured pickles and hard dried salami
Unpleasured, without measure, at one's leisure.
Forever my endeavor
Blackcurrant tea laced with slivers of gooping honey
Layers of cinnamon hair atop olive skin
red-painted doors with cedar trim
crushed almonds mixed with hazelnut butter cream spread
devilish rounds of crumbling rum-swirl bread
Smells and wonders, tastes so ...
oh god
Divine and sublime.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
building purist æsthetic
proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry
commemorating historic concert
sensing dark forces
fokken lekker antwoord
pumping sensory overload
featuring high-tech dee-jay
admiring gelato micro-truck
laxing laying lazing
"doing something nasty"
continuing quality content
entering another cathedral
journeying without borders
"exactly one year
since visiting vatican"
appreciating full-time gigasphere
awaiting pyongyang performance
depicting unlikely crowdsurfer
foreseeing exponential improvements
furthering esoteric agenda
sensing profound incompatibility
data-mining people's infidelities
anticipating futuristic caffeine
perfecting invisible propaganda
researching mind-control techniques
polishing psycho-social weaponry
sensing social embargo
flourishing frantic fanfare
admiring longitudinal monument
parodying marketing slogans
cycling through österreich
eyeing dystopian disneyland
streaming crosswords extended-play
herding glass kittens
deleting idiosyncratic fragment
loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth
receiving ultramodern telegram
eigo-ga wakarimasu ka?
guzzling duck-fat fries
encouraging panic selling
(juxtaposing past incarnations)
getting black-and-white privilege
renewing boutique account
relishing cinema poutine
re-entering hibernation mode
opening old windows
continuing zoo motif
absquatulating excessive excesses
nullifying originality claims
proliferating protean persona
disappearing sidewalk alphabet
shrugging opprobrious moments
enjoying vertical alignment
re-entering cyberpunk paradise
approaching island sun
soaring beyond monoliths
trivializing extraneous argy-bargy
decreasing character limits
dumping generic accounts
uglifying commit message
escaping into idiosyncracy
moonshining great lake
exuding idiosyncratic propaganda
living nineties' dreams
making occidental cuisine
envisioning idiocratic president
expropriating your time
ascending homely helix
singing fat lady
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
Did you know the East Indian Bottle Masala includes as many as 27 spices, or that an oil-free pickle served at their weddings is actually known as Wedding Pickle?
These and many such authentic East Indian masalas and pickles are available at East Indian Cozinha (Portuguese for kitchen), a food store started by Christina Kinny at Kolovery Village in Kalina, Santacruz. "I started East Indian Cozinha with an attempt to preserve and highlight our cuisine and culture," says the 24-year old, who has studied Masters in Social Work and currently, works with an enterprise that helps tribal farmers.
What’s in store?
Going back 500 years, the East Indian cuisine enjoys influences from Portuguese, British and Maharashtrian fare. The staples include rice, coconut, tamarind, fish and meats, with spices forming an integral part of the cuisine. For instance, Prawn Atola is a dry dish comprising prawns coated only with Vindaloo Masala featuring Kashmiri chilli, cumin and turmeric. "Most people from our community were farmers and would be out on field all day. So, the masalas and lemon would help preserve their food for a longer time," reasons Kinny.
At present, the store stocks six varieties of masala in 100g bottles (R150 onwards). These include Khuddi or Bottle Masala, Chinchoni (fish) Masala, Vindaloo Masala, Roast Rub, Kujit Masala and Tem Che Rose. She also offers Wedding Pickle, an oil-free variety prepared with raw papaya, carrots and dry dates. "All the recipes have been passed on from generations and are homemade," she informs.
However, making the masalas is no cakewalk. "It takes three days to dry spices under the sun. Then, we hand pound them and pack them tightly in bottles with wider openings," says Kinny. She recalls that in her grandmother’s time, the masalas were tightly stuffed in beer bottles. The bottles were darker, and hence, helped preserve the masala for at least a year, at room temperature.
Lugra love
East Indian Cozinha also stocks traditional 10-yard saris known as lugras. These are hand embroidered by Kinny’s mother, Carol. Previously made only from cotton with authentic gold borders, now, lugras are embroidered with sequins and threads. "She has been in the garment industry for the last 30 years. She also makes traditional accessories like kapotas (earrings), karis (hair pins), anklets, etc," informs Kinny.
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
Ma Jalouse, Mon Unique, Mon Ultime
Sais-tu ce que Lord Invader, Sam Manning
Cyril Monrose, Charlie Parker, Louis Armstrong
Jack Sneed et Ernest Rangling
Sans oublier Blue Glaze Mento Band et Phil Madison ?
Et je m'arrête là pour l'instant,
Sais-tu ce qu'ils ont en commun ?
Eh bien vois-tu, ce sont tous mes ombres.
Tu ne pourras jamais me comprendre
Si tu ne les comprends pas
Et si tu ne sais pas ce que représentent pour moi
La mangouste et le raccoon.
De même que pour te comprendre il faut avoir lu tout Dostoievski
Pour me comprendre il faut avoir écouté tout Sly Mongoose
Car peut être n'as-tu vu en moi qu'aria et boléro, symphonie et concerto
Alors je t'explique : pour comprendre, n'essaie pas de philosopher
Lève-toi et bouge tout simplement et tu toucheras l 'essence
C'est du folklore, c'est du reggae, c 'est du mento, c'est du calypso, c'est du jazz,
C'est instrumental ou c'est vocal
C'est moi, mes ascendances et descendances.
Sly Mongoose c'est mes Frères Karamasov
Smerdiakov, Aliocha, Ivan et Dmitri
C'est mon Idiot, mon prince Lev Mychkine
C'est mon Joueur, mon Alexei Ivanovitch
Mon Rêve d'un Homme Ridicule
Et Raskolnikov errant dans la nuit dans Crime et Châtiment.
Sly Mongoose c'est l'histoire d'une mangouste maline
Qui a baptisé la fille du pasteur
De son eau sainte
Et qui fuit la Jamaïque
Et part à l'étranger
Après son forfait.
C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui vole les poules les plus grasses de la cuisine
Et qui les met dans la poche de son veston
C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui entre dans la cuisine d'un prédicateur
Et qui repart avec une des poules les plus grasses
Et tous les chiens savent son nom.
il s'appelle Sly Mangoose
Il est malin, il est vicieux, le compère
C'est mon ombre, que veux-tu
Et parfois pour échapper aux prédateurs
Il prend l'apparence de l'ombre d'un raccoon.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:05 AM UTC
the Hebrews call the Greek myth of Icarus
by name: Lucifer - i know man is prone to plagiarism,
esp. in the religious realm, the easier the plagiarism
the easier the governing of men -
for indeed the Hebrews claimed
Icarus prior to the Greeks, the former with Lucifer
and the latter with Icarus -
but how i loathe peasants claiming
medicinal endeavours
of knowing only the spotlight cursors
to curate and environmental care of origin
of such negated ease,
they have no knowledge and no power,
their interests in the subject matter
would never encourage them
to run a marathon for accumulating funds
for a cancer charity -
one word answer? ***** they're basically
***** should have engaged in a family
life before you blamed me m.d.!
take your regressive anger and shove it
up your little bee magnet **** to take
a **** like extracting honey - now i'm ******
but look where i'm writing it: on a colour
of defeat - militant heaven of the archangel Michael
sword in hand and Satan defeated waggling a
tongue - isn't that importune to speak of
the current times with the defence of a freedom
of speech subdued by a fear of insult
demanding? monotheism did as much good
as it shouldn't have - and did as much evil
as it should have - and did, crafting the strict
labouring of judaism's orthodoxy -
so for each niqab there came the madness of
a jewish girl's care for wig - translated into
christianity as the donning of wigs in the 18th century,
and the 17th - bypass the concerns of
monotheists and you came across cuisine
freedoms of mandarin, and the colour backlash
sprinkling to a billionth birth, a land
where the homeless have a mother kamadhenu -
and celebrate Holi for chance of extracted mundane
hue of man polarised with fluorescent ivy
and x-rayed orange... or that's how the thing was said.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
Like ******* a **** and you can't get hard,
Like rolling a blunt that's full of glass shards,
Like a bowling stunt where the pins are yards,
Away and you must stay put loaded with gin and not on guard,
While there's jaywalkers walking cross the alley and snipers far,
Up both sides, moss covered camouflage dilly dallying,
Falling comets, planets and stars while you ***** black tar out your scars, Sick spurting **** out the pit of your face and tripped on a lace falling down along with Mars.
Faster than my **** grows when I'm hitched, race-cars, bullets, and the suicide of a suicidal emo ***** with a mullet, grab the **** and pull it off and roll it up like the glass when you rolled it in the paper faster than a rapers hips going twitch twitch twitch, ***** you know it, she's on the list.
But you're soft and no fist can fit and what the **** is this about, just **** I coughed up and spout out my mouth, if it makes sense, even a little, I am not dense with my rhymes, raps, and riddles, there's meaning to it all, whether its beaming or dull, but I guarantee it's full and fits and flows when I say it to a T, you say my **** blows, well that's just mean, you say it's great, my confidence ovulates, so use it as bait as I eat off this plate, this 5 star rated treat elevated to six star cuisine meat.
I'll continue later in few poems that are greater and like haters, I won't stop planning and plotting out **** like these lyrics, I'm a creator.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
from the smallest batch to the largest hatch
these cold fleshed beings are hard to catch
lurking slowly in dark places, but quick to find sight
when the cuisine arrives for their morning bite.
pellets, minerals, early catching worms
between swirling and dancing ferns
these wide finned beauties will show you a trait
making it hard to see them as bait
skittish and scattering from left to right,
to watch them and ponder is my true delight.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
She took a slice of a rice paper
Hold it delicately ... careful not to break it
Expertly placed it on a plate..
Mixed the fresh salad, some noodles and shrimps
Nervously rolled it one by one, though...
All eyes are on her.. All ears are on her
She and her famous Rice paper ...the subject of attention..
... the rolls she promoted..
A traditional cuisine, a local pride
She dipped the rolls in some kind of fish sauce
Shyly she offered the delicacies to us..
We .. the so called “International people” were amused
this tantalizing Vietnamese cuisine..
Specially made in Vietnam.. only in Vietnam..
Rice paper rolls.. repeat the demonstration
Wet it with water..
Choose your favourite fillings... roll it and roll it..
Its done.. Its ready.. its super unique...
Fish sauce.. fish oil and dip one... dip another
one by one.. so sensational taste..
Looking so plain never you doubt the taste
Superdelicious!!
Yummy the Vietnamese Rice paper..
Only in Vietnam..
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
*Reflections of Paris this morning , for all the inhabitants of the world , especially those inspired by beautiful works of art and architecture ! Those fortunate enough to have dined in world class eateries on cuisine prepared by Master Chefs , marveled over the downtown skyline high atop prominent monuments ! Impassioned lovers perusing her avenues , window shopping store fronts , boutiques along famous boulevards ! Senior couples recalling their yesteryears with great joy , frolicking , happy children playing in parklands , feeding songbirds with euphoria and curiosity , strolling walkways along the riverbank at Dusk with great wonderment and personal reflection
The poet and poetess , musician and thespian , ballet dancer and street performer .. To lovers young and old , the continued hope of gaiety and splendor at every turn !
She is lovely indeed , the Queen of all that is beautiful on this Earth* ..
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
I find that chromium-vanadium steel,
while holding glimmer and shine
through much abuse,
is harder to hone
to that razor-like edge
that truly makes chopping a breeze
(watch the fingers, please),
merely mangling fine fruits
and tomatoes, instead.
(just tilt your head, thus)
It's a tool best left
for whacking at meat,
as its heft and its strength
make short work of bone;
more cleaver than scalpel,
if truth will be said.
I've always preferred
the high-carbon alloys,
though now out of fashion
in today's haute cuisine.
While rusting and blackening with age -
not the type you'd put on display -
the blades stay as keen
as the day they were minted,
and wipe down nicely on sleeves.
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 6:48 PM UTC
I.
Sunday mornings in Vancouver
even pigeons sleep in till 10 A.M.
Undaunted, I walk down Granville shortly before 8
seeking lox bagels with capers, red onions and cream cheese,
two breve lattes, and a newspaper. In truth,
panhandlers on the corner of Robson
have far greater chance of scoring.
An unexpectedly sunny February morn
suffices to spur me on. I am attuned to all vibration.
Breath of the awakening city
exhales manna upon the shop awnings.
Bagels rendered superfluous,
I scarf images instead ---
trolley buses, an umbrella shop, falafel stands ---
delicious Canadian visual cuisine.
II.
Vancouver is a nymph. Of that I'm sure.
I hear flirtatious giggles trill
from darkened alleys between hotels.
Spotted her once across the street on Dunsmuir,
seated on a walk bench reading a Margaret Atwood novel.
Bus passed between us and she vanished.
Caught a later glimpse through the window
of a walk-up dim sum restaurant in Chinatown.
Flew the stairs, only to find an empty table and
discarded napkin smudged with candy pink lipstick.
She watches me.
III.
Turns out there are no Sunday morning papers in Vancouver,
but I locate the bagels and espresso backtracking on Helmcken.
The barista smiles as I approach, sets down her Atwood novel.
I leave a Toonie in gratuity.
B.C. wind pushes hard on my turned back,
as I rush our breakfast back to the Executive.
A nymph goes roller-blading by toward False Creek.
The Gastown Steam Clock whistles that it's 10 A.M.
A flock of pigeons lifts in flight.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 2:04 PM UTC
I foresee a summer of spices
Of a saffron mid day sun
And flowers of anise
On trees of cinnamon
And the aromatic pepper vine
That seasons lands of green
Will find its way into -
A warm summer cuisine.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 11:34 AM UTC
Last birthday you hadn't uttered your words yet
Now you are nearly two
You were half asleep uttering those words I craved for
Happy birthday mama
It was sweeter than sugar
You clinged onto me and were in your sleepland again
We wore matching attires
Mellow in yellow
Lit the candles on the luscious chocolate cake you chose for me
As always I made a wish for you
Off we blew the flickering flame
I held your hand and we dived into the cake gently
You loved it the moment it touched your lips
And asked for more and more
Mama chose your favourite cuisine for the afternoon, Chinese
You couldn't resist any longer
The moment food arrived, you slurped in every strand of Hakka noodles with some tofu
After a quick nap, evening was playtime
The ball pool area was awaiting your entry
Up the stairs, down the slide; up the slope, down the stairs
It was all yours
More fun time with sand play sets, alphabets, shapes and many more
I stood there watching you enjoy the day
I wanted it to be your day
I don't remember what birthdays used to be before you
I am glad I am not alone anymore
Love you baby
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC
Recall all the sweet moments in life
Those that you want to re-live again
Sure there are a million of them
Joyous and sweet, exciting and engaging
Let us freeze those moments in time
Too precious to go off our heart
They make life worth living
And give each fresh day a kick start
In our mad rush for power and pelf
Many such moments skip by unnoticed
Moments of great beauty and grace
And wonders that still lie undisclosed
Have you forgotten to laugh over a prank?
Have you stopped watching a lovely scene?
Have you evaded a gregarious company?
Have you failed to enjoy a savory cuisine?
Break free of the ropes that bind
Let loose the spirit within
Shed out your dry reticence n’ reserve
Let your geniality, many hearts win
Crack a joke, laugh out loud
Wear a smile, walk an extra mile
Chill out, lose in the beauty of the dusk
Praise someone without any guile
No matter you are seventy or seventeen
Still spry enough to have frolic and fun
Youthful enough to cherish hopes and dreams
For life affably beckons and is not done!
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 7:14 AM UTC