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Piercing

salmon slices
porcelain platter
wasabe sauce

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Those Wild Pink Salmon

Now, this ‘wild pink salmon’ thing…

are they just wild about pink
like that designer with the limp wrist

or wild like you wouldn't want
to share an estuary with them

or wild that they're not so good
at jumping up the waterfalls

or wild that they’re pink
when they’d like to be red
and so, wild that the other salmon are red

is it some muted colour-snobbery
like used to be in the Windies
between chocolate and coffee

and possibly I don’t know
between Red Indians and Pink Indians
whose mother got around a bit

though on the other hand
it could be boring on the reservation
being a Hiawatha brave or squaw
10 to 5 each day for the tourists

envying the other Indians
with a real job
like standing outside a cigar store
stained with nicotine
or even inside

is it like the Monty Python sketch
the pink salmon look up to the red salmon
but look down on the tame salmon

but then, are wild and tame
really opposites anyway
even if those are the correct terms individually

is it any consolation to wild pink salmon
that we think
they’re supposed to be salmon-pink anyway
so red salmon are the ones
to be red-faced

I mean how wild is wild
and how tame are farmed salmon

[...] Read more

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Spring Sestina

it’s nearly noon and the sun slices
through the thick spring fog, dark
with winter’s gloom, heavy with fatality:
the spent daffodil’s bloom, the cut
tulip whose bulb shrinks into earth,
the dew worm mining to the surface,

the bittersweet-bellied robin surfaces
through cold air, the flight slices
until stick feet meet warm, wet earth
as eyes scan lawns and ditches dark
with winter sleep, the worm cuts
through to the robin’s charge, a fatality

among spring’s chalk marks of fatality
struck against the papery surface
of birch bark, each stain cuts
into the trunk, rips and slices
death as a jagged feature in dark
congealed blood of waking earth,

she is still there, deep in the earth,
calling her children one fatality,
then another, through each dark
season, sinking down from surface,
still air vibrates, incantations slice
through reality, scrape and cut

to the unknown, slash and cut
to another side of the dynamic earth,
the oblivious hyacinth slices
through, refuses to be a fatality
of the season and sings to the surface,
sun shines on the purple florets dark

with pride, ardent hope, like the dark
winter nights that momentarily cut
south past the equator, only to surface
after the humid summer sweat, earth
taking in her own fatality,
battered by tiny atmospheric slices,

dark proud mares issue youth to the earth,
fatalities quickly slip past yawning cuts,
slices of vitality embrace her broad strong surface

(Winner 2005 Carl Sandburg Poetry Contest, Carl Sandburg College, Galesburg Illinois)

poem by Jane L. Carman
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Pancakes and With Baked Salmon

I do have this 'thing'
For my own homemade pancakes.
And with baked salmon!
What a treat to eat.

You are not going to get any that I make!
But here is the recipe.
You can do it just like me.

First beat an egg in a mixing bowl,
Add a tablespoon of baking powder.
A third teaspoon of salt
A full teaspoon of sugar.
And about a third cup of vegetable oil.
Beat that all together.
Now you want to add the flour.
About a cup...maybe more...
If you're serving more than two people.
I choose to use evaporated milk.
At least a cup.
Whip all this stuff up.

Heat that frying pan or griddle.
Medium to hot.
Add some olive oil if you got it.
Vegetable oil will do.
With a slice of butter added too!

OH! I almost forgot the salmon!
I use salmon steaks.
Preheat the oven 350 degrees.
After rinsing the salmon...
Rub with apple vinegar.
Salt and pepper if you please.
Lay on tin foil since this is what I use.
Add butter and a bit of oil!
Enclosed that salmon within the foil.
Baked twenty minutes.
That's all it takes!
ENJOY!

Use syrup on the pancakes.
Perhaps a little Vadalia Onion Dressing,
On the salmon.

And if you don't like this...
You definitely will love,
My brown sugar/mustard roasted chicken.
But I'm not sharing that right now!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Kalevala - Rune V

WAINAVOINEN'S LAMENTATION.

Far and wide the tidings travelled,
Far away men heard the story
Of the flight and death of Aino,
Sister dear of Youkahainen,
Fairest daughter of creation.
Wainamoinen, brave and truthful,
Straightway fell to bitter weeping,
Wept at morning, wept at evening,
Sleepless, wept the dreary night long,
That his Aino had departed,
That the maiden thus had vanished,
Thus had sunk upon the bottom
Of the blue-sea, deep and boundless.
Filled with grief, the ancient singer,
Wainamoinen of the Northland,
Heavy-hearted, sorely weeping,
Hastened to the restless waters,
This the suitor's prayer and question:
'Tell, Untamo, tell me, dreamer,
Tell me, Indolence, thy visions,
Where the water-gods may linger,
Where may rest Wellamo's maidens?'
Then Untamo, thus made answer,
Lazily he told his dreamings:
'Over there, the mermaid-dwellings,
Yonder live Wellamo's maidens,
On the headland robed in verdure,
On the forest-covered island,
In the deep, pellucid waters,
On the purple-colored sea-shore;
Yonder is the home or sea-maids,
There the maidens of Wellamo,
Live there in their sea-side chambers,
Rest within their water-caverns,
On the rocks of rainbow colors,
On the juttings of the sea-cliffs.'
Straightway hastens Wainamoinen
To a boat-house on the sea-shore,
Looks with care upon the fish-hooks,
And the lines he well considers;
Lines, and hooks, and poles, arid fish-nets,
Places in a boat of copper,
Then begins he swiftly rowing
To the forest-covered island,
To the point enrobed In verdure,
To the purple-colored headland,
Where the sea-nymphs live and linger.

[...] Read more

poem by Elias Lönnrot
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This Is No Fish Story

We had been up and down Redwood Creek
For what seemed to me to be all day
Watching my grandfather fish for salmon
We started at the mouth of the river

Hiked over sand rocks and slippery green moss
The only reason I was there was
The fried chicken and potato salad
My grandmother made the night before

Lunch seemed so far away
My grandfather was out of sight
He had worked his way upstream
When we heard him yell 'FISH ON! '

My grandmother who had been hanging back with me
Left me in the sand
I had to move fast to catch up
Moving around large pieces of driftwood

He had certainly hooked something
His rod bending if half then straightening
As he let line out
With the reel's drag on

I knew how to fish
I just didn't like to
I had no patience
I wasn't like bird hunting

If I got bored bird hunting
When I was by myself
With just my dog
I could take a shot anyway

Just for practice
To get the dog used to the noise
Because I had no patience
At the age of twelve

I had never seen so much line out before
He kept backing further up the wide beach
It looked to me as if the fish knew the way
And was headed back to the ocean

Hook in his mouth
My guess was he was no longer
In the mood for spawning
He had my grandfather on

[...] Read more

poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Babys Got Sauce

Cooling out cooling out
Waiting form my lady got the special sauce thats why shes my baby my baby
My baby
And of course Ill do anything for her anything she wants
Its sure honey sure
Got a sharp mouth a sharp tongue gimme gimme gimme some
Dont take to that gimme gimme none
You got to work desere it earn it to own it
Once you got never ever going to leave it alone dont take wise cracking or
Forgetting never been stood up
She does the stepping
My baby got sauce
Your baby aint sweet like mine
She got sauce
Your baby aint sweet like mine
She got sauce...
Thats some funky lemonade you got going there babe
Is it special for me
Did you make it today
Ill always stop by if you like me to
Ill do anything that you could ever want for me to do
A kis for some of this
A smile and its done
Miss Im your mister
My sisters your sister
My mothers your mother fathers your father
It all started when I kissed her it was love at first sight
Better when it started
I aint broken hearted but baby
I need some time alone with the crew to do the stupid things that we used to do
Upon this she dropped me
With a frying pan
This is love Im not gonna leave it
My babys got sauce
Your baby aint sweet like mine
My babys got sauc eand of course as a matter of course she does what she
Wants to cause shes the boss
Please dont tell my friends about the situation
They think Im on some extended vacation
I dont get out to see my boys anymore
Only time I leave the house is to go to the store for what she wants what she
Wants what she wants me for
What could she want this time
Im all hers
She aint even hardly mine
Believe me what she do at night I dont know
I could guess it aint right
She got me waiting comes in late and Im trying not to raise my voice
Negotiating it
Shell win the argument

[...] Read more

song performed by G. Love & Special Sauce
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A Poem Served To Order

PHI BETA KAPPA, JUNE 26, 1873

THE Caliph ordered up his cook,
And, scowling with a fearful look
That meant,--We stand no gammon,--
'To-morrow, just at two,' he said,
'Hassan, our cook, will lose his head,
Or serve us up a salmon.'

'Great sire,' the trembling chef replied,
'Lord of the Earth and all beside,
Sun, Moon, and Stars, and so on
(Look in Eothen,-there you'll find
A list of titles. Never mind;
I have n't time to go on

'Great sire,' and so forth, thus he spoke,
'Your Highness must intend a joke;
It doesn't stand to reason
For one to order salmon brought,
Unless that fish is sometimes caught,
And also is in season.

'Our luck of late is shocking bad,
In fact, the latest catch we had
(We kept the matter shady),
But, hauling in our nets,--alack!
We found no salmon, but a sack
That held your honored Lady!'

'Allah is great!' the Caliph said,
'My poor Zuleika, you are dead,
I once took interest in you.'
'Perhaps, my Lord, you'd like to know
We cut the lines and let her go.'
'Allah be praised! Continue.'

'It is n't hard one's hook to bait,
And, squatting down, to watch and wait,
To see the cork go under;
At last suppose you've got your bite,
You twitch away with all your might,--
You've hooked an eel, by thunder!'

The Caliph patted Hassan's head
'Slave, thou hast spoken well,' he said,
'And won thy master's favor.
Yes; since what happened t' other morn
The salmon of the Golden Horn
Might have a doubtful flavor.

[...] Read more

poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Lorenzo De Lardy

DALILAH DE DARDY adored
The very correctest of cards,
LORENZO DE LARDY, a lord -
He was one of Her Majesty's Guards.

DALILAH DE DARDY was fat,
DALILAH DE DARDY was old -
(No doubt in the world about that)
But DALILAH DE DARDY had gold.

LORENZO DE LARDY was tall,
The flower of maidenly pets,
Young ladies would love at his call,
But LORENZO DE LARDY had debts.

His money-position was queer,
And one of his favourite freaks
Was to hide himself three times a year,
In Paris, for several weeks.

Many days didn't pass him before
He fanned himself into a flame,
For a beautiful "DAM DU COMPTWORE,"
And this was her singular name:

ALICE EULALIE CORALINE
EUPHROSINE COLOMBINA THERESE
JULIETTE STEPHANIE CELESTINE
CHARLOTTE RUSSE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE.

She booked all the orders and tin,
Accoutred in showy fal-lal,
At a two-fifty Restaurant, in
The glittering Palais Royal.

He'd gaze in her orbit of blue,
Her hand he would tenderly squeeze,
But the words of her tongue that he knew
Were limited strictly to these:

"CORALINE CELESTINE EULALIE,
Houp le! Je vous aime, oui, mossoo,
Combien donnez moi aujourd'hui
Bonjour, Mademoiselle, parlez voo."

MADEMOISELLE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE
Was a witty and beautiful miss,
Extremely correct in her ways,
But her English consisted of this:

[...] Read more

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Pleasures

a smooth flow of chivas regal
inside my throat lingering
but only for a while,

a white flower carried by this vine
on its soft tendrils crawling an iron fence
a trellis as lean-on

a salmon sushi bathed in soy bean sauce
and a fingerfull of wasabe
inside my tongue the chili running
towards me throat lingering and
rising in my nostrils in my brain

hot green tea that i sip
slowly
chopstick on top of a teriyake
a bowl of seafood ramen
its flavors rising to the lamps
of the ceiling

i face you and you face me
at this moment
we nod to make another sip
of life
we face each other again
remembering a promise.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Silver Platter

the silver platter is what your family gives you
your father makes it and you mother polishes it
and you are given what you need
in your life
some fruits and bread and meat and water
that you need in your journey when they start sending you away and
when they finally leave you
as what this world demands, the usual flow of life and the fading
death, and you find yourself still
thinking and coping and running and stopping and resting and running and walking and curling and stretching what
is all there,
then everything is consumed, the silver platter has nothing, tarnished
and you begin to worry
what used to be is not anymore,
you think life ends just like that,
no

reality bites now, like a snake, or a rabid dog, and you despise the
silver platter
its lasting effect on you, how it made you weak and unthinking,
complacent
and unable to grow your trees and eat the fruits
to raise your goats and eat their meat
to live your own life
and be strong yourself in the darkness that comes
when you still want to play

it is not too late, take the silver platter and throw it away
or bury it
lest another one comes and takes it and be another victim
of its temporary glow that almost killed you

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Things Do Not Seem To Be Them After A Careful Seeing

a spoon
and a fork and they seem to appear
with food on a silver platter

when we talk we talk like poets now
after years

a spoon is no longer just a spoon
and neither is the fork
and neither is the food the food that we
eat on the table
and neither is the silver platter a mere
silver platter as it seems to be

for a spoon may be me and i may also be
a tongue and i could be a tongue to your
fork, a protrusion that stabs me like a knife
and the silver platter could be our mind
a garden where we put every seed
and the table and the cloth that covers it
with leaves and flowers
myabe our worlds, covered and uncovered
with some intricate designs

this could be our world now. a world of poems
where everything is a roll of sensitive skin
a mind so fertile with its array of metaphors
and similes and

exaggerations, and these make us so happy
we tiptoe, we choose the word, we equate
every object to a meaning, we dance to a lot
of its nuances, and then we touch and then

we are so silent. we choose not to hurt.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Spreading Haddock

First pre-heat the oven at 350degrees.
Take approximately 3lbs of fresh haddock,
Season it..
With a compound seasoning of salt
Oregano, pepper/red pepper, garlic powder,
Onion powder, and celery salt.

Gently rub these ingredients into the awaiting haddock!

One baking dish is needed.
Pour one full cup of water/maybe more into dish.
Sprinkle Basil onto the water. YES...B-A-S-I-L.!
Lay that haddock down.
If you have bread crumbs...
Now is the opportunity to crumb this haddock!
Get a stick of butter.
Slice thin butter slices...
And place them on that haddock.
Final touch before slipping this into the oven...
Toss some parsley...on the haddock!
Cover with aluminum foil.
Place this dish into the over for about 30mins!

Next!

Romaine makes the beginnings of a good salad!
Get some fresh Romaine. Wash it.
Get a platter and chop this thing up!
Tomatoes? Fresh? Get 'em! Dice 'em if you wanna!
One large Vadalia Onion. One Green Pepper.
And one jar of Roasted Peppers.
Slice this mess up into a mix.
Yes...
Of course,
Put it on the platter. Remember? Presentation!

There's never been a time for haddock,
As it's time for haddock now!
It should be caressing the kitchen...
And your taste buds by now!
Take it out of the oven.
Let it cool for about 10-15 minutes!

Look at that platter!
Now look at that haddock!
Put that haddock on top of those lucious vegetables!
Take some virgin oil! Yes...make it 'virgin'.
At this point you just want a hint of oil.
NOW...
If you really are serious about your taste buds...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The House Of Dust: Part 03: 07: Porcelain

You see that porcelain ranged there in the window—
Platters and soup-plates done with pale pink rosebuds,
And tiny violets, and wreaths of ivy?
See how the pattern clings to the gleaming edges!
They're works of art—minutely seen and felt,
Each petal done devoutly. Is it failure
To spend your blood like this?

Study them . . . you will see there, in the porcelain,
If you stare hard enough, a sort of swimming
Of lights and shadows, ghosts within a crystal—
My brain unfolding! There you'll see me sitting
Day after day, close to a certain window,
Looking down, sometimes, to see the people . . .

Sometimes my wife comes there to speak to me . . .
Sometimes the grey cat waves his tail around me . . .
Goldfish swim in a bowl, glisten in sunlight,
Dilate to a gorgeous size, blow delicate bubbles,
Drowse among dark green weeds. On rainy days,
You'll see a gas-light shedding light behind me—
An eye-shade round my forehead. There I sit,
Twirling the tiny brushes in my paint-cups,
Painting the pale pink rosebuds, minute violets,
Exquisite wreaths of dark green ivy leaves.
On this leaf, goes a dream I dreamed last night
Of two soft-patterned toads—I thought them stones,
Until they hopped! And then a great black spider,—
Tarantula, perhaps, a hideous thing,—
It crossed the room in one tremendous leap.
Here,—as I coil the stems between two leaves,—
It is as if, dwindling to atomy size,
I cried the secret between two universes . . .
A friend of mine took hasheesh once, and said
Just as he fell asleep he had a dream,—
Though with his eyes wide open,—
And felt, or saw, or knew himself a part
Of marvelous slowly-wreathing intricate patterns,
Plane upon plane, depth upon coiling depth,
Amazing leaves, folding one on another,
Voluted grasses, twists and curves and spirals—
All of it darkly moving . . . as for me,
I need no hasheesh for it—it's too easy!
Soon as I shut my eyes I set out walking
In a monstrous jungle of monstrous pale pink roseleaves,
Violets purple as death, dripping with water,
And ivy-leaves as big as clouds above me.

Here, in a simple pattern of separate violets—
With scalloped edges gilded—here you have me

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Porcelain

Porcelain
Are you wasting away in your skin
Are you missing the love of your kin
Drifting and floating and fading away

Porcelain
Do you smell like a girl when you smile
Can you bear not to share with your child
Drifting and floating and fading away

Little lune
All day
Little lune

Porcelain
Do you carry the moon in your womb
Someone said that you're fading too soon
Drifting and floating and fading away

Porcelain
Are you wasting away in your skin
Are you missing the love of your kin
Nodding and melting and fading away

Little lune
All day
Little lune...

song performed by Red Hot Chili Peppers from Californication
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The Ballade of the Glutton

I'm greedy by nature, and often in vain
Have lingered too long o'er the succulent hare,
Accepting the jelly, ignoring the pain,
Intent on receiving far more than my share.
I worship the plover's egg, tasty and rare,
And idolize fanciful French fricasses;
But what, darling dainties, with you can compare,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas?

I ask for real turtle, again and again--
Observe the Lord Mayor's John Thomases stare!
For kitchen-recitals to Susan and Jane,
And powdered impertinence, what do I care?
I sit down to eat, and I vow and declare,
I'd honour a dish were it made of stewed bees,
Though loyal to you, should you chance to be there,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.

I cherish a chef, be he Grecian or Dane;
I even can relish a collop of bear;
I love ev'ry calf--if it boasts a fine brain--
And melt at a pullet, or even a pair.
Though gold's on the table and stately the fare,
I greet a grand entree with almost a sneeze
If you, dearest dainties, are sweet on the air--
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.

L'envoi:

O Redcoats of England, who struggle and dare,
Your glory's a morsel no glutton can please;
My yearning is all for a soft-cushioned chair,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.

poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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The Salmon Are Swimming Upriver

The salmon are swimming upriver in the cold gray damp of the dawn
To the gravel beds of the rapids to dig out their spawning beds to spawn
November is their breeding season in the cold and wet Northern Fall
When yesterday's flood is subsiding they are answering to Nature's call.

The salmon are swimming upriver by Nature they are duty bound
They jump waterfalls on their journey to get to their high breeding ground
Their urge for to breed is upon them their numbers they must multiply
To insure the survival of their species their natural urges they cannot deny.

The salmon are swimming against the current a hundred kilometres or more
To the high gravel beds of the river that journey to the Atlantic shore
They risk the gaff and spear of the poacher so that their species will survive
And the main reason for their survival is their natural sexual drive.

The salmon upriver are swimming with the chill of late Fall in the air
Through old fields and along by hedgerows by cold winds of their foliage stripped bare
They swim on against the strong currents without even one thought of fear
Of the fate that might even await them death by the poacher's gaff or spear

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Tale Of Meenkumar

Long long ago
Man used to live on the bank of the ocean
There were many lakes and rivers surrounding the ocean
The banks of the rivers and lakes were full of trees
Many forests were there
Those were deep forests
In the forests there were many wild animals
Man lived on the bank of the ocean
Because of the danger of the wild animals
Except farmers, fishermen, craftspeople abode there
Fishermen knew fishes were the saviors of their life
So they didn't catch fish every time
They didn't catch fish unless it was necessary
They didn't kill the fry and not even the pregnant fish
There was the Meen kingdom in the oceans
What is Meen?
It is a kind of fish
They used to rule the kingdom of the oceans
One day, one Meen prince came out of the palace because of forgetfulness of mind
He was roaming and came at a place full of mosses and rocks
There were many big and small fishes
One big Salmon fish was delighted to see the beauty of the Meen prince
He felt greed to eat him
Meen prince escaped when he saw the salmon swimming towards him
Meen prince hid himself under the rocks
Salmon knew that Meen cannot stay for a long time there
When he would come, he would catch him and eat
It would be a wonderful dinner for him
Meen prince passed the night by hiding under the rocky place
Early in the morning, fishermen came to catch fish
Meen prince saw a child fisherman
He requested him to save his life
Finally the fishermen encircled the Salmon fish and caught it
Meen thanked the child fisherman and luckily returned to the palace
This was the tale of Meenkumar....

poem by Z.I. Mahmud
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I Like Tomato Sauce

i like tomato sauce
and so i keep lots of
and different kinds of
tomato sauces inside
the ref and when i open
it one night i thought
tomato sauce are also
water and i am in a trance
of some sort or something
i drink tomato sauce
and i remember you:

saucy, so saucy
i thought i am floating
in the river filled with
tomato sauce, yes,

my point is: be proud
i always think of you.

saucy, yes, so saucy.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Frim Fram Sauce

I dont want french fried potatoes,
Red ripe tomatoes,
Im never satisfied.
I want the frim fram sauce with the ausen fay
With chafafa on the side.
I dont want pork chops and bacon,
That wont awaken
My appetite inside.
I want the frim fram sauce with the ausen fay
With chafafa on the side.
A fella really got to eat
And a fella should eat right.
Five will get you ten
Im gonna feed myself right tonight.
I dont want fish cakes and rye bread,
You heard what I said.
Waiter, please serve mine fried
I want the frim fram sauce with the ausen fay
With chafafa on the side.
~interlude~
A fella really got to eat
And a fella should eat right.
Five will get you ten
Im gonna feed myself right tonight.
I dont want fish cakes and rye bread,
You heard what I said.
Waiter, please serve mine fried
I want the frim fram sauce with the ausen fay
With chafafa on the side.
(now if you dont have it, just bring me a check for the water!)

song performed by Nat King Cole
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The Frim Fram Sauce

(joe ricardel, redd evans)
I dont want french fried potatoes,
Red ripe tomatoes,
Im never satisfied.
I want the frim fram sauce with the ausen fay
With chafafa on the side.
I dont want pork chops and bacon,
That wont awaken
My appetite inside.
I want the frim fram sauce with the ausen fay
With chafafa on the side.
A fella really got to eat
And a fella should eat right.
Five will get you ten
Im gonna feed myself right tonight.
I dont want fish cakes and rye bread,
You heard what I said.
Waiter, please serve mine fried
I want the frim fram sauce with the ausen fay
With chafafa on the side.
~interlude~
A fella really got to eat
And a fella should eat right.
Five will get you ten
Im gonna feed myself right tonight.
I dont want fish cakes and rye bread,
You heard what I said.
Waiter, please serve mine fried
I want the frim fram sauce with the ausen fay
With chafafa on the side.
(now if you dont have it, just bring me a check for the water!)

song performed by Nat King Cole
Added by Lucian Velea
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