Before time was invented
A long time ago when our world was much bigger than it is now and had a landscape pleasing to the eye and no steep hills to climb Since seasons had not been divided into summer spring, autumn, and winter, the weather was mild and no one knew the what a day was when it rained, not too often people walked outside and took a shower.
The land was full of potatoes, carrots, and beans as for meat there was Dogger Bank with millions of cattle and wild hogs, no one was going hungry A man from Glendale was walking across a field to meet another man to see his walking cane but he wasn’t there, he looked up and said, I wish there were a set time for everything
The World paused, then shook violently and when the dust cleared there was a mountain in front of the man from Glendale he had to walk around the berg and that took time Dogger Bank was a sea full of cod, the Portuguese caught and made into bacalao they traded in time for the cold winter season and America was a continent
Categories:
bacalao, 11th grade, adventure, anti
Form: ABC
Sardines in olive oil
A shop in Lisbon exclusively sold sardines
this interested me since my Norwegian mother
had worked at a factory selling tinned sardines
I asked if they had sardines from other country
they didn't but told me in tinned bacalao they
cod fish came from Norway
I noticed sardines in olive oil with the year the tin
was made, began from 1905 to 2024
but the years from 1930 to 1943 were missing
I asked why, but no one knew, I think no one had
noticed the gap
The staff at the shop, when I told them about
my mother was charmed and gave me a couple
of sardine tins from 1944
Categories:
bacalao, absence, adventure, anti bullying,
Form: Free verse
In this rainy coldness of a night
I am drained and dry like a hanging Bacalao.
I hope it comes to pass!
As cant as I am - broken as a rib
As grey as ash is - as dim as an ar$e
Take without hesitation this crib
Burry your fingers in it and pinch this salt
Sprinkle it over my eternal wound as you - ad lib
Watch me burn out in a moment like a thunderbolt!
The crown of this banquet - a jewel
Giving this islander of isolation
A continent of frontiers in a cave of cruel
Boarding and grafting,
Waiting and longing,
I am on the keep as an Egret,
Consumed by the beast that is nibbling from within,
Eating the words in the shadow of regret.
Diving through the burning hellfire
Covered in self-inflicted lacerations of magma
And the beating heart enveloped in wire
Then an impulse in the head...[Snap!] syntagma!
Scream followed by howling
Bloody markings splashed across the wall
Stop the brawl, ante bellum, atoll, at all!
Categories:
bacalao, motivation,
Form: Free verse
Sunday Forenoon
She is listening to the Catholic mass
On TV and I’m banned from the living room
She takes her religion serious
And will be spared of any sarcastic remarks
About how the Padres are dressed and me
Wondering aloud if they believe what
They say.
We are going out for lunch, the sermon has
Made her hungry and we will have chicken
Killed in Jesus’s name, fried to perfection.
Me! I prefer Portuguese bacalao burgers
Fried to perfection, with a salad and later
drive along the promenade people watching.
Categories:
bacalao, beach, creation, deep, irony,
Form: Blank verse
What will be will be
It was raining all day he sat morosely
on the balcony, today he sits on the terrace
and is still pessimistic despite sunny weather.
He wants to go back to his cottage in Algarve
to soak up the atmosphere of what once was
say hello to the trees, birds and bees and
things that annoyed him like dog crap outside
his front door and the holes in the road
lugging firewood, sleep under three duvet and
on top of two mattresses, he is not a princess
hear dogs barking in the night and feel safe.
Last time he was home had forgotten the keys
had to break a window inside the yard to get in,
despite this, he had slept well to the choir
of howling dogs, with a belly full of wine and bacalao.
Categories:
bacalao, friend, fun, happiness,
Form: Blank verse
Driving home
Driving back to Algarve we took the long road
more cafés and restaurants by the roadside and not
so many crazy drivers.
The restaurants were full of Portuguese people on vacation
they like their lunch in this country
Grilled chicken
Grilled meat
Grille the unspeakable innards
Stewed meat
Bacalao with cream
Red wine
Fresh fish
Beans in its many variations
Water, cold from the well
The worst of the summer heat had gone good mood prevailed.
People talk in this country
at the same time.
The din of happy, eating people was symphony of summer time
a few weeks of freedom, the paying of bills could come later
I love this country called Portugal even when I’m in a hurry and
the women in front of me and the check-out person talk about
grandchildren.
Categories:
bacalao, allah, angel, anti bullying,
Form: Blank verse
Shifting population
The foyer at the new hospital was full of women
It was a cold day, and they wore coats, brown /grey
short and squat they looked like toys sprung live
and had to see a doctor promptly.
Algarvian women tend to be short and after marriage
grow sideways till they look as squares of flesh, but they
are beautiful when young what they have in common
though is a tongue they never stop talking and that is why
men spend a lot of time in cafes drink wine and play cards.
Once upon a time this was an Arab province but the beauty
of the Semitic race didn`t stick, the Moslems brought their
own women. The nearest I can compare them to are
the Norwegian people of the north, who one day got, fed up
of cold winds and no oranges, populated this place we now
called the Algarve, and her people are fond of bacalao.
Categories:
bacalao, age, allah, angel, april,
Form: Blank verse
To Be or not to be...a vegetarian
Christmas in Portugal is a dowdy affair, Supermarkets
are open most days and there is no rush, and no expectation,
the hunting for happiness, family union and all that ****.
We had bacalao for lunch today, and the fish was salted and
dried at a mysterious place called Ålesund, where the sea is
calm and deep blue and teeming with cod and the fishermen/
women wear yellow overalls, speak Norwegian but change over
to English in case we should miss something very important.
Tomorrow we are driving to Alentejo to eat pork elbows, yes meat
from the elbow of the pig, first cooked then roasted and served
potatoes and cabbage. I like the cabbage the best as it has been
cooked with the elbow- there might be a more culinary word for
a pig’s elbow- looks it up yourself. I’m pissed off with this poem,
my intention was to write something romantic about food.
Tomorrow I’m going to Alentejo to eat Pernil, which is Portuguese
for pig’s elbow, (why didn’t you say so in the first place) and I will
eat cabbage and reject the bloody meat from the feet of brutally
slaughtered animals.
Categories:
bacalao, blessing, christmas, humor,
Form: Blank verse
Foreigner In Portugal
At the local shop I met an elderly woman, mind most
of the women I meet are elderly but this one was
primordial, she dropped her bag when seeing me and
exclaimed is it true you have two hearts? Not wishing
to disappoint her. I confirmed rumours she had heard.
I even let her touch the battery just under my skin.
Nothing keeps a secret in a small village, it appeared
they knew before me, the doctor who did the job came
from farming stock, perhaps he rang someone.
Odd people live here, those who were young when I came
here have middle-aged children now, but forever
I’m referred to as the English, telling people I’m from bacalao
land is met with a smile...I’m English so there.
Categories:
bacalao, humorous,
Form: Blank verse