"soya" poems
No sprouted wheat and soya shoots
And Brussels in a cake,
Carrot straw and spinach raw,
(Today, I need a steak).
Not thick brown rice and rice pilaw
Or mushrooms creamed on toast,
Turnips mashed and parsnips hashed,
(I'm dreaming of a roast).
Health-food folks around the world
Are thinned by anxious zeal,
They look for help in seafood kelp
(I count on breaded veal).
No smoking signs, raw mustard greens,
Zucchini by the ton,
Uncooked kale and bodies frail
Are sure to make me run
to
***** of pork and chicken thighs
And standing rib, so prime,
Pork chops brown and fresh ground round
(I crave them all the time).
Irish stews and boiled corned beef
and hot dogs by the scores,
or any place that saves a space
For smoking carnivores.
21.8k
Mujhe wo aksar kehta tha
Muhabat kuch nhi hoti
Hijar ka khauf be matlab
Wasl k khwab bemani
... Nighaoon main koi soorat
Kahan din rat rehti hai
Usy q khamoshi kahain
K jis main bat rehti hai
Wo ankhain kaisi hoti hain?
Jahan barsat rehti hai
Yeh ansu bezaban ansu
Bhala kya bol saktay hain
Or uski narm palko pe nami
Din rat rehti hai
Mujhe wo aksar kehta tha
Mohabbat kuch nahi hoti
Magar jab aj barson bad
Main ne usko dekha hai
K uski jheel ankho main
Hijar ka khof rehta hai
Wasl k khwab rehtay hain
Wahan barsat rehti hai
Yun lagta hai k barson se
Wo soya v nahi shayad
Yun lagta hai kisi ki yada barson se
Usy din rat rehti hai
Or uski narm palkon pe
Haseen saay be geelay hain
Or uski khamoshi aisi k
Jis main bat rehti hai
Mujhe ab wo nahee kehta
Muhabat kch nahee hoti.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
chinese chow-mian
little brown worms
wriggling past soya sauce
skinny dipping into sizzling sauté stew
lavished with molten eggs
strangled by wooden chopsticks silently
heavenly.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
Take a simple packet of minced beef
Add a drop of water to the pan
Finely diced an onion and 3 chopped garlic cloves
Oh! Don't forget the fine cut celery
Now cook gently with a touch of love
Until the mince is brown
This now is the time to add just a pinch of dry mixed herbs
A liberal splash of soya sauce followed by a gentle stir
Important now please don't forget
A large pinch of marsala spice
For this will be the beating heart before you add the rice
RICE! Did I say rice?
For the amount of minced now in the ***
Cook an equal amount of rice until soft
Of course in another pan
Now just before the rice is done add mixed veg to the mince
In the other pan, frozen veg will do
Now strain the mince but save the sauce
Worth its weight in gold
Now, yes now's the time to strain the pan and add the rice
To the mince so savoury and brown
Mix the rice and mince with love until well combined
Place into a baking dish and set the oven high(160)
20 minutes will be enough so now the dish is done
Thicken the sauce you strained from the mince and bring to a gentle boil
Serve the mince/rice with new boiled potatoes and the sauce
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
This is not the best haiku in the world ...
... its just a tribute.*
(to HaikuDonnajones and her Dean).
.
At the crack of dawn
me and dean go milk our cows,
pulling the udders.
Our cows milk is good
for cheese, yoghurt and butter,
very nice in tea too.
Vegetarians
are great, make good customers,
Vegans not so good.
What the hell is this
new coconut milk anyway?
Or soya butter?
I don't understand,
its not real dairy goodness,
its all fake dairy.
Our cows are organic,
no artificial cow feed,
just grass and fresh air.
After milking cows
me and dean have our breakfast
to give us energy.
I may turn Veggie,
but love my deans big sausage,
bacon, eggs fry-ups.
Our goats have kids to,
tidier than our own lot,
don't complain as much.
Me and dean are happy
with our kids, cows and our goats,
on our dairy farm.
© Pagan Paul (01/04/18)
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
it's called the Mt. Everest of cuisine
without food critics...
- so i gather the chinese are not
too keen on deserts, esp. chocolate?
that fake aphrodisiac of feminism's
excuses of eager beavers in early
age trying to find a dumb schmuck
later on in life and making him
docile, effectively curbing his
****** appetite, translated as
domestic violence after they went to *** parties
with rich boy sons of billionaires?
- well the chinese do like sweet & sour
and sweet & salty cuisine.
- indeed... quiet the deviation.
- and if it ain't sweet & sour or sweet & salty...
- compared with indian cuisine, it's quiet bland.
yes, today got cooking orange chicken,
what a playful, but a mysterious glutton dish...
the marinate was not like the marinate
i'm used to, it was so diluted...
orange juice, caster sugar, soya sauce,
malt vinegar, orange zest,
ginger and garlic paste,
finely grated onion - a bit of chicken,
half the marinate content soaking up
the chicken refrigerated for 1/2 an hour,
the rest heated to a boil, cornflour added
to thicken in...
then the marinated chicken taken
out of the marinate, dipped in egg
then cornflour and fried (mini schnitzels
of the east), in three batches...
then coated in the remaining marinate
of prior heated with cornflower,
a custard too thick that orange juice had to be
added, then evaporated so the essence
got soaked up... mm... a playful, but a mysterious
glutton dish... yummy.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 9:44 PM UTC
Yamaguchi Seishi Haiku Translations by Michael R. Burch
Grasses wilt:
the braking locomotive
grinds to a halt
― Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Published by Haiku Universe, Carpe Diem Haiku, Adas Poetry Alcove, HaikuViet, Form in Formless Times, Purple Pen in Portland
This appears to be one of my most popular translations on the Internet. A google search for the entire haiku text turned up nearly 8,000 results. That’s a lot of cutting and pasting!
Ceaseless chaos―
ice floes clash
in the Soya straits.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Having crossed the sea,
winter winds can never return.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
(The haiku above was written in October 1944 as Kamikaze pilots were flying out to sea.)
Banish the snow
for the human torpedo
now lies exploded.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The sky hangs low
over Karafuto,
as white as the spawning herring.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Green bottle flies
buzzing carrion—
did they just materialize?
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Finally
the cicadas stopped shrilling—
summer gale.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As grief becomes unbearable
someone snaps a nearby branch.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As grief reaches its breaking point
someone snaps a nearby branch.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Trapped in the spider’s web
the firefly’s bulb
blinks out forever.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Trapped in the spider’s web
the firefly’s light
is swiftly consumed.
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Both victor and vanquished are dewdrops:
flashes of light
briefly illuminating the void.
—Ouchi Yoshitaka, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: Yamaguchi Seishi, haiku, translations, Japanese, grass, grasses, wilt, locomotive, train
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 6:54 PM UTC
*the aerodynamics on that **** past the **** **** me... miles davis on the trumpet! followed up by john coltrane on the sax.*
sure... it's like egg-friend rice, of any kind replicable...
but this is hoisin sauce, and soya sauce...
jumping at each other in the mix...
or that's: half an hour, sitting on the window-sill,
sitting on my foot folded, massaging my ****
thinking: there's bound to be a few more
inches' worth of **** stuck up there....
c'mon heel! massage that **** a bit more,
if we get a few more farts out... we're bound
to get the **** out too!
that's the funny thing... you can have a lodged ****
but then you can also **** and the **** doesn't
come out...
how do farts byspass the ****
that really is, a weird question...
it's a bit like comparing it so psychiatry...
all these thoughts (farts) keep coming out...
past this thick fudge-berg lodged in my head (the ego)...
how did they ever bypass that shit-berg's worth of contemplative
and monetary's unit worth of reasoning about,
in the first place?
well... if you're going to circumcise people...
might as well call the **** the mind...
and make fun out of circumcised freud...
better now? ah hmm mmm?
farts the thoughts, thoughts bypassing the lodged
in **** turd's worth of ego...
surely if there's aerodynamics... there must be some
sort of cognitive-dynamism... a bypass...
people love to simply call it ignorance...
but it's not...
oh, lookie here... fits neatly, right into my trouser pocket;
what was it?
farts, thoughts, ego, ****
well.. you know... some of us like the idea of shortcuts.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 5:21 PM UTC
just today, i was walking past a house, where someone was
trying to "encourage" an "alcatraz" escapee
back into the home & abode...
but as i walked past, and turned around...
its pupils were glaring back at me... yellow...
seeing without a camera lens.
anyway, i remember times, maybe before the digital
way of encoding photographs,
that on a rare occasion, in a photograph,
your pupils would turn red...
perhaps due to dilation, and the idea
of the dark room being morbid omni-red...
you can't encourage cats to do what
you want them to do... you might put a collar on a cat,
but you can't exactly attach a leash to that collar...
it would be like telling a gorilla:
grow some testicles on your head!
but yeah... yellow pupils of a cat without
taking a photograph, and the once upon a time
red pupils of peoples' eyes in photographs...
cat's yellow pupils in the night.
right now? this is a digression by the way...
i'm thinking of innovating egg-fried rice...
cook the rice... fry an egg... jumble the two together,
and add some bits & bobs to the mixture...
soya sauce.... and sweet chili sauce...
i'm scheming up a recipe for a mongol...
i'd love to see a cat with an american spy in
a soviet museum... sleep deprived...
just a "thought" experiment...
it would probably equate to seeing idiotic
people making cats ingest l.s.d. tabs in america
that were once available online...
ubran myths these days, i'm afraid...
well, you know... people have their kicks
and pleasures...
the only people i have respect for
are the people i'd sit down and eat some food with.
respect and people i'd drink with?
i'm a lone wolf in that respect...
i prefer my own company when drinking
a liter of *** and trying to think up some bonkers recipe on the sly.
oh... the wolfish hunger recipe?
add 3 pieces of rye bread with some butter, just before falling asleep...
next day?
a **** that comes out of your ***
like a knife cutting through butter.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 5:46 PM UTC
mera dil jayapur bhaarat mein dhadakata hai
~my heart beats in Jaipur India~
Dil ko tumse pyar hua Jayapur
~my heart fell in love
with you in Jayspur India~
mera dil ham jayapur bhaarat mein toot gaya
~my heart is broken in Jayapur India~
~all the way to America.~
mera dil ham sabhee tarah se tod diya amerika aur vaapas karane ke lie
mera dil bhaarat se lekar amerika aur peechhe tak toota hua hai
It just means
My heart is broken all the way from India to America and back.
that's the beauty of being s poetess
we can dream aware
that dreams don't always come true
ek kavayitree hone ke naate yahee khoobasooratee hai
ham sapane dekhate hain ki sabhee sapane sach nahin hote hain
~~~~~
My dear Hello Poetry
I didn't cared for followers
nor comments or denied suns
I was looking for my true love.
mere priy ech.pee sun
mujhe pholoars kament kee paravaah nahin thee aur na hee sooraj sun
mujhe apane sachche pyaar kee talaash thee
I found my beloved asleep
deep in my heart
mainne apane priy ko apane dil kee gaharaiyon mein soya paaya.
~just waiting for my kiss.~
bas mere chumban ke lie intajaar.
Just waiting for my kiss.
~~
By Karijinbba
06-2021
Jun 23, 2021
Jun 23, 2021 at 4:32 PM UTC
.
.
..
Ab soya
Teri Nazar ke samne
Dil bekasoor
Phir bhi bekhabar
Sukoon se pal bhar
Nihara aashiqui ka lamha
Phir se khil utha
Ab soya
..
.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC
Brain was stewed,
poured like soya milk
Two hours stagnant,
without a blink.
Released adrenalin
blood up the brain,
No more juice,
squeezed up in pain.
tried probabilities
doesn't seem to fit,
Last resort will be
the cheating kit.
No just kidding
Whatever will be,
I'll do my best
for the time will flee
Give me luck,
For I am stuck,
If result's a split --
then So be it
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 4:56 AM UTC
Can we make our relationship back,
When we were there you're holding me my bowl of snack,
From hurrying to office and coming home late,
Cursing for every food you had made,
Joe still have questions about maths; like why multiplication seems harder than summations,
Why there is no power of zero and is he good with pronounciations,
It's hard to get my tie from the tropical forest of clothes,
I would handle it but what about Joe he's missing our thrashy trash talks and every bows ,
You used to do with mellow irritation,
Making him timely to reach the school bus station,
I still can't find soya sauce and why you keep ginger beer at the bottom rack,
Pretty white one got a company of a Black hat,
The engagement ring never felt so irrelevant while peeping through it,
No candy fingers of soft hands are embracing them saving it with bliss,
Now I know I was the " no man " to your kindness and blessings,
I wish I could bring you back from the coffin to me while I know you'll forgive my every sin.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
Mein Teri khwaab vich
Soya ek kinaare bina deewar ke
Ek gehri neend
Bas neend me dobara...ek khyaal
Aur khyaalon me woh baatein...
Woh lamhe....
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 11:26 AM UTC
Kya karta tere bina mein
Jalta raha saari raat...
Mehkhane ke andhere me
Jab suraj jaaga tab mein soya
Neend ke samundar me
Tujhe dhoondta phirta...
Kanha kanha?
Na jane kanha....
Pagal tha shayad mein
Jo Teri yaadon me khoya...
...
Haan ab bhi dooba hu...
Neend me hu...
..
Kyu jaagu mein?
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 10:45 PM UTC
becky; Rebecca; cappuccino
extra light soya milk mocha
tripod two for a table,
and some numbers
telling them: buy full fat milk
dilute with water,
why waste the energy
of economies
on semi-skimmed &
ghoul skimmed milk:
scare the children
ageing, engulf and balloon
all phobias, scare the children,
scare the children ageing...
scare them by becoming a child,
scare children by becoming
a child d r a' c u l (l).
i dare to own the night:
fireplace friendly
people, fear the posh ***
on a bench looking smug
in the night with a marlboro red
packet of cigarettes
and bottled beer, esp. spanish...
you never know when guilt tripping
managed to get a high-street label
coat-hanger for the skeleton.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
on saturday morning we grace around recycled rustic tables, lowering our heads over gluten free brown toast topped with gently scrambled free range eggs, adding soya milk to decaffeinated, ethically sourced coffee, self contained in guilt free reusable cups -
and still we fret.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 7:27 AM UTC
+chicken! & fried in butter!
friday, in england? usually a take-away, fish and chips.
today was the same... my guardian said:
the fish is warm and so are the chips, and they're waiting.
i just replied...
last time i ate this fish and chip...
i spent three ******* hours on the *******
someone in the take-away, clearly didn't wash
their hands thoroughly...
that's the last time i'm eating a take-away...
thank you, i rather wash my hands, and prepare the food
myself... i'm not playing a lottery, on some turk, who might,
just might, wash his hands when preparing a meal.
so i took to the kitchen, once again, like a mongol...
but i knew what i was doing this time...
again the asparagus, and again the pepper...
the rice was cooked, onion garlic and the above stated fried...
some paprika was added...
and then two eggs added...
then the search for chinese five spice...
none to be found... but i still needed a hug...
something to feel warm... what replaced chinese five spice?
cumin!
oddly enough...
then the al dente rice was flipped into
the pan... and fried... after which, sweet chili sauce and soya sauce
were added to taste...
then to garnish? freshly squeezed lemon juice.
i still can't believe i could have replaced chinese five spice
with merely cumin, for that hug on the palette.
then i washed up the cooking utenstils,
after eating the dish...
and at least i knew: that my hands were clean.
why is this eating out such a pointless luxury?
i know i washed my hands, and i know what ingredients
i used, having inspected them...
as i already said: i'm not going to risk eating
this fish & chips, and then spending 3 hours on the *******
agonising, with a burning **** no thank you,
i rather make my own grub.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 7:18 PM UTC
i share a piece of mind
thoughts in my head
a piece of my heart
right there on her plate
don't play with your food
it is not meant for a toy
she pokes it with a fork
adds sause made of soya
she didnt care even though salt makes it hurt
these are my feelings catchup stain on my shirt
and when dinner was over she asked for dessert
i told her i'm sorry this i just can't afford
i gave her enough, enough for just a taste
she is hungry for more my cooking is the best
now its over my heart is hidden away in a fridge
i put a lock on the door so ****es can't reach
she wants to be smart
thinks she is a player
what i feel for her now
is more like whatever
it has been a long time
i won't hold the grudge
its about music for me
not my place to judge
now this is important for me its like a prayer
i try to live my life while being honest fair
i reach out to you don't bite a hand that feeds
karma exists you and me have to plant the seeds
it's in your interest to grow flowers and trees
when the time comes check your garden for weeds
if all you do in consume its not going to bloom
Mr or Miss player: You'll be alone in your room
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
I run through the courtyard
Sweat dripping from my brow
Gaining a strong momentum
For the here and the now
My mother and my father have gone
Through love and trivial means
I am left alone with no one
Just the worldly possession of five soya beans
A guard stops me in haste
Why do you run so fast?
His bitterness I can taste
The heart has dropped half mast
My parentage has eloped into the night
To find a new place to be
They detested me at first sight
My release has set them free
And now I'm scared of the walls
I have no abode to dwell
Please let me sleep under the stalls
Of this engulfing Citadel
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
On my 26 x 39 (inches) bed
lies a pillow –
mushy and white –
named ‘Desire’
on which my head sinks
once a day or night,
sometimes twice when you
shed your eyes of negligence at me.
The pillow cover –
17 x 26 (inches) –
made of wrinkled cotton has small,
three-petal purple flowers printed on it,
that droop when you
let your well-crafted features
not sink into my sight –
a tease that you are;
only salty tears to revive them at night?
You are a post-midnight snack
dipped in vinegar –
a little of soya-sauce and sesame oil
to coat you up;
would you not let me have a bite
of your flavoursome existence –
only then would I be able to
sleep well –
my head sunk into oblivion on my
17 x 26 (inches) pillow named ‘Desire’.
My 26 x 39 (inches) bed may not have
enough space for you,
but I have learnt to live in
a compromising manner –
I would crawl up a bit
and make space for you
so that we both can lie-down
and let the seasons pass –
monsoon to autumn,
autumn to winter,
winter to spring,
and spring to summer.
When summer comes next year,
we shall get up from my 26 x 39 (inches) bed
and comb our hair,
have a light breakfast;
I may perhaps smoke a cigarette
or two,
and then we shall part our ways.
And when you leave my house,
it shall become a shrine for lovers
who walk hand-in-hand,
stop by in mornings,
afternoons,
and evenings,
to offer freshly-bloomed daisies
to my pillow named ‘Desire’
which has the shape of our heads imprinted –
seasons of love well-spent.
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 6:00 AM UTC
or would live to be
but with all light and honesty
I claim sweet beauty
my mother of all
Look at my black wings
singed with no closet
me a lonely soya god i'd love to be
I'D **** YOU AS i **** ME
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC