"goulash" poems
fischers rap
on a hot tin roof
bristol creek pools
over rock and seed
english wolfhound (and the barkbuster)
stroll pine lane
vibrant colors
of a cool spring
in cob yellow and
forest green
field mice squander
in cotton wind
goats and ferret
hold seven hour trim
raven and ****
meddle and forage (on a splendid fiaker goulash!)
crickets and frogs
hidden
in swollen grey logs
creepers fill the
cut stone walls
coy wolf high
on a frayed white rope
eagles perched
at trudy’s bend
catamounts laze
on a snow base cedar
(pared arbutus bent
through a failed ground rock)
brush spider spins
a timely web
brown bears fumble
at the spirit jamboree
quizzical squirrels
crack their nuts
as pillow clouds float
over telegraph trail
12 point dances
on talus and scree
hen hawks float
in a big hard sun
clydesdale and coach
trot copper smith road
(glancing down
on finch and the warbler
whistling through
colander row)
lavender fills
the peat soil box
mountain cats
guard the heavenly gates
black eyed ridge
is wide and open
the country squire hails
this fruitful land
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
a black bat
hangs upside down
digesting a fly
his face almost human
a flying Frankenstein
he excretes
puddles of guano
like miniature buttered popcorn
a dark and wavy goulash
gods gift
to beetles and worms
dizzied overheated men look on
to an uproarious variety hour
of song and a high heeled kicks
inspiring
a tempest of throbbing
whisky drenched
folded ***** and cash
trouser trout fish,
undulant
sexed up
tape worms for love
pulse the night
egging on bunny **** pom poms
devout finger puppets of Eros
for
shimmering ****** lipstick twilled vibratos
sequined tassel spinning areolas
and lavish come **** me dance girls
bring down the house in flames
making hearts apostate
clamoring
and melt men like steaming everglades
the bat
hangs from the chandelier
licks his black lips
and looks on to panorama of hieroglyphics
hearing music
a thunderous nonsense
witnessing visions
of
flies, tasty white winged moths
and the thrill of screams
while biting the head off of another bat
in a claret stained red velvet cabaret
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
See,
Thy world is a smelting *** of whimsical worldchyme stew,
A goulash that aquire's carrots, beef, potatoes, and other uncanny things,
Well,
As for me!
I'm its gravy!!!!
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 9:52 AM UTC
Basil, paprika, cold Hungarian goulash,
bleu cheese and stale cinnamon
coffee cake dominate
the taste of your
mouth and skin;
it’s not because you are
slovenly that pulls me
into you, I am alone.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 9:09 AM UTC
Chunks of meat
ground heated
on medium
until browned
strained then set aside.
tomatoes stewed
basil and oregano
onion first
then garlic sauteed
Water brought to boil
salt added then noodles
8 minutes to al dente.
combine all three
bring to simmer
Serve with bread and salad
dinner
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 7:16 AM UTC
Intuition not mind boggling
Steak not goulash
Friend not lover
Know not question
Breathe not hyperventilate
(Add more please)
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 7:02 PM UTC
There are those that want it
to come to a complete halt,
frozen solid and white,
like an ice sculpture
stuck in a peculiar pose.
This is the only way
to stop that heart-wrenching
moment,
that robs them of their blue skies.
Then there are those that want it
to quicken its footsteps
and flip by, like the pages of
a notepad giving motion
to squiggly drawings,
in order to get the next paycheck
or start that dream job.
Me? Every now and then I want it
to make a stop by the side of the road
and enjoy a leisurely doughnut,
maybe join in on the freckled giggles
of the little girls hula hooping
on the concrete pavements,
and sing nursery rhymes of
broken eggs and fiddles.
But sometimes I just don't care
whether time shoots up the skies
or gets weighed down with iron,
especially when I've got
my favorite chicken goulash
served with fine couscous
on an afternoon such as this one,
where the sky frowns with dark clouds
and spits angry beads of rain.
As far as I'm concerned,
the brown-eyed little boy
on the corner of the street
could be the keeper of time,
making sure it walks on nonchalantly,
with no regard to people's wishes,
leaving in its wake footprints of
sadness, joy and everything in between.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC
The lames and children of the Lesser minds
are stirring, stirring, stirring
with paddles and ladles
with brooms and spoons
with knives and forks and slicers
with sticks and wooden mortars
with lean rods, brambles and twigs
Eagerly they stirred the cauldron
in demented exertions they huffed and puffed
Turn to the right turn to the left
one leg in and one leg out, we all turn around
we're stirring, we're stirring the *** they crowed
I looked into the ***
the *** was empty
I see nothing to stir
Nothing but hot air
nothing but hot air
What possesses lesser minds
into dances with the Gemini moons
The emperor's tailor
on yet another jape
Go on my puppets, stir that hotpot
I can sniff that delicious goulash aroma from 'where'
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
As I listen to her last breaths, I lay curled on a hard recliner, sick to stomach and head, staring with her with the same blank blue eyes.
As I listen to her last breaths, I think what a cruel, painful and ugly world this kind, joyful, beautiful world can be. I think how broken and sad is her spirit, my spirit.
As I listen to her last breaths, I think of puppet shows and Mother Goose, of paintings and the blue bike she never rode. Of art classes and musicals, piano songs, of cheezits and coke. I think how sweet she is, even at the end and how lovely they all say she is. She is. Always.
As I listen to her last breaths, I think of high school yearbook pictures, of Hungarian Goulash, of sneaking to sleep at the end of her bed, of her notes to herself. I think of fear and worry, pain and disease. Of love and joy, of wit and family.
As I listen to her last breaths, I think I didn't appreciate enough, share enough, talk enough do enough, show how very much I loved enough.
I think I should tell her how incredibly strong - incredibly strong- she is.
As I listen for her last breath.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
(
)
In the silence of cold, quiet,
after midnight hours...wind
audibly pushes branches and
leaves...sends them swaying
and rustling....i hear the rain
falling...like small nails hitting
the neighbor's acrylic eave.
the peace of these unholy hours
empowers me...i feel, i rule the world,
my senses and my mind are sharpest..
while others are asleep and dreaming.
everyone's eyes are closed...mine, too,
yet, i am so awake, i see this cauldron,
where my life's goings-on are stirred by
an unknown force, spinning clockwise,
simmering, nothing burns, or breaks,
for, underneath, its fire burns slow...
good and bad issues mix and join
the stew of old stubborn ones;
daily rigors, wee triumphs blend in,
like a goulash of meat and veggies,
slowly cooking, as fire burns slow,
giving time...............taking time
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
the strong aroma of arabica jolts me
from my reverie...it matters not if i
haven't slept......6 am, i'm back to
reality.....lots of work await me
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
five-pm past, arabica again stands by
me as i watch the orange fires of sunset,
hear the crickets sing, or a frog's croak,
while my rocking thoughts are cradled,
while i enjoy some peace and quiet,
exuded by a fragrant twilight.....it's
that feel-good part of each day...saying
gratitude for every sunrise and sunset,
while my candle's fire burns slow....
........
......
...
Sally
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 6, 2021
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 3:46 PM UTC
I could tell you all the things I see in Budapest,
but nothing I see is bigger than myself.
but let me try, I'll take you into my world,
this place I temporarily call home,
this place where my see ya, is goodbye
but their Czia (see ya) means hi.
That time when I walked down Rakoczi,
with the awkward smiles they gave me,
it must be the sneakers I wear,
or the hijab on my head,
but I will never know,
because I do not speak their language.
That time when I took the train to Deak Franc
where they have stations with yellow lamps,
and every letter has dots and dashes,
how was I to know tickets should be validated,
well, my existence here wasn't.
That time when I thought rolled up pillows
are quilt,
and that time when I close up
from people without guilt.
I tried, smiled once smiled twice,
smiled the third time but nothing- still closed.
That time when I found the vegan Goulash,
while I was trying to find the vegan Goulash,
Paid 4 dollars in a 4 star cafe,
But she smiled at me just the same,
Although I was thrifty and left them none.
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
i did so much weird ****
in my lifetime
that i don't even have a bucket list
i saw pyramids
and eiffel tower
and empire states building
flew a plane
rode a buggy car in a desert
flew on a trapeze
spent a night in prison
hosted a booth at a **** convention in vegas
was on tv
dj'ed on a radio
waited tables
acted on stage
moved to another country
donated blood
saved a life
pushed two humans out of my body
had ice cream in rome
and goulash in budapest
and surströmming in stockholm
drank guinness in dublin
and ***** in siberia
...rode a rollercoaster
danced on a street
swam in an ocean
floated in the dead sea...
but sometimes it feels like
i'm in a bathtube of that hotel
in hurgada
and all my life was just my brain hallucinating
on the final cocktail of noradrenalin and serotonin
i'm now waiting for the dopamin
to kick in
Sep 18, 2021
Sep 18, 2021 at 5:58 AM UTC