Best Curried Poems
GRAPPLING WITH GRATITUDE
Oh Gratitude,
Gentle as a butterfly.
You alight upon
my emotional reverie
to birth my questioning.
You have risen
as an inward glow
of unexpected proportions,
ready to bleed silently
into my emotional pores.
Oh Gratitude, ,
I sense your presence,
your cautious ambivalence
that yearns to express
some mystical feeling
of unknown origin.
You pull and play
inside my mind like chimes
against an autumn wind.
Oh Gratitude,
Can I truly appreciate
the acrobatic dance
so easily played,
that allows me to indulge
in nature's grand banquet?
And if so, shall I now,
in repetition, repeat phrases
that glorify and recognize
the splendor of existence;
or, do I ignore, the bounty
of a creation little understood?
Oh Gratitude,
Should I dismiss your pretentiousness,
those gaily colored brush strokes
of memory frescoes embedded
on the walls of my mind?
Or will you, gratitude,
be the expressions of thoughts
confined to a limited time;
all held in hostage to a holiday season’s
heightened senses of roasting fowl
curried with fragrant flavors?
Oh Gratitude,
When the holiday day is done
and I am appeased,
will I still commemorate
the theology of my brethren
who suggest I thank my creator
with 100 daily blessings?
CAK 11-13-2013
On Good Friday after church we eat
curried pickled fish and hot crossed buns
and drink black coffee because we share
in the painful agony of the Lord.
On Easter Sunday after church we braai *
meat and drink like fish and rejoice
in the victory over death and grave.
* (rhymes with "bye" ) - barbeque / barbecue
to be curried away in green cardamom dreams
is to float in the zest of orange spicy creams.
to fight against urges of curcuma yellow lust,
is to steady the ship and do what we must.
to bathe in the warmth of ginger drop puddles
is to swim for your life in in savory cuddles.
to blend myth in the caves of surprise
is to gather the taste that thrives in your eyes.
to climb into the mist of coriander green hills
is to sharpen the senses with pepper corn pills.
to stoke the hungry fire of a garlic grinning mouth
is to furnish the vestibule with cajun black south
to find your way home on a wintery dark day
is to remember the cinnamon that lit your way
Under Winter sky
Love-Curried-soup lets me try
Hurry home to fly.
Fengleishanren.
~Brown Rice cooked with kidney beans
Southern home flavor
Curried chicken and ginger
With pear preserve sauce
Horseradish blended
Tossed salad
Yum!
For and in Honor of Sara Kendrick
And Contest: Low Country Boil
Tale of a Squirrel's Tail
There once was a very impudent squirrel
pretending to be an innocent girl
she wore a blonde wig
tried to act so big
dancing and prancing, giving life a whirl
One day I caught her peeping at my sill
gave me an evil eye...if looks could kill
shot back with a frown
had to take her down
I'll get that meddlesome squirrel. Yes, I will
She's not naive like sweet lil Goldilocks
but was wily like a devious fox
no porridge she'd find
I spanked her behind
with the heel of my brand new rubber crocs
She screamed at me until her face turned blue
"I'll get even with you, before I'm through!"
Oh, she is quite nuts
She limps 'steada struts
Whiney baby was crying, "Boo hoo hoo."
She cursed naughty words and off she scurried
Twitching her bushy tail as she hurried
I'd no cause to fret
Rodent trap was set
Tonight I'll feast on squirrel that's been curried
^..^ ^..^
4/27/17
For Jan Allison
syllables of 10-10-5-5-10
Consuming Failure
Pay heed the dancing chickens hot plate feet
lest you believe the music makes him strut
outrunning death by curried peppers sweet
the cooling of the iron his sole treat
keep moving to avoid the final cut
pay heed the dancing chickens hot plate feet
harsh tempo of perfections searing heat
obsession with the ifs, and whens, and buts
outrunning death by curried peppers sweet
performing in the hope of winning seat
an endless line that must remain uncut
pay heed the dancing chickens hot plate feet
there is in heated battle no retreat
for some the dancer’s door will soon slam shut
outrunning death by curried peppers sweet
accept in simple failure your defeat
perfections long sought peak a muddy rut
pay heed the dancing chickens hot plate feet
outrunning death by curried peppers sweet
6/12/2015
submitted to – Villanelle’s and Terzanelle’s Only – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Shadow Hamilton
Step by step, I steadily aged with time and wisdom.
I appreciatively obliged old bones to bow before kindred, king and kingdom.
Thank you mama for cleaning my snotty scum,
thank you for caring when childish tears like rivers run,
thank you for the sweet dukunu, the roasted breadfruit and the curried coconut rundung.
Thank you mama for reading Hans Anderson, and for repeating the giant’s fee fi foe fum;
thank you for the loud years of laughter and the many more to come.
Thank you Big Dee for your bald-faced lying tongue;
thank you for being the reason I fled the gruesome ghettos of Kingston.
Thank you creator for the many astounding things you’ve done:
thank you for the death of pride, this bona fide self martyrdom;
thank you Lord for my faithful consort, my daughters and my sons.
Through these streets my mind roams like fields of wild Sweet Alyssum;
these streets like colleges spiraled from the sun stirred asylum.
Dukunu is a cake made from banana and/or corn meal, coconut milk, raisins, cinnamon, nutmeg,
brown sugar, vanilla, and eggs. The dough is wrapped in steamed banana leaves and then
boiled.
Breadfruit is a large fruit that can be boiled or baked/roasted like a potato; it taste like bread
when baked/roasted.
Rundung is a sauce made from coconut and Jamaican herbs and spices.
I still remember mama's cooking.
It is said that one never forgets , no matter what age, now matter what stage, mama's cooking always remains,etched in my memory.
I remember her famous fried chicken, her stewed peas( hold any Jamaican man) and rice the aroma of succulent pork, not often ,but a taste to die for.
I remember her Sunday special, it was always special, as it was that time of the week for bonding, I looked forward to that, Sunday matinee on then JBC ,Sunday family chit chat.
Tales of what happened at the hospital, the gruesome,detailed tales,lol, but somewhat riveting,almost as interesting as the movies.
I remember mama's cooking. Come to think it she was always there to cook Sunday dinner, even now that I think about it, she must have been exhausted, after a long ,arduous day at the hospital, but never failing ,she was always there to cook Sunday dinner.
I remember mama's cooking.
Mama always seem to have the touch, that special touch to make everything taste delectable, anything ,Calaloo, greens of some sort, which I guess most children hated at some point,curried goat,dumplus, and her chicken soup,hmmm!!!, THAT!! I have fond memories, the cure for any and all ailments ,whatever it was ,it was just right, after all ,its my mama's cooking.
I remember mama's cooking.
She taught me how to help myself, as in the future, believe me came in very handy " A man must learn how to help himself in the kitchen," she always said.
I remember mama's cooking.
Even when at play one knew that ,by the fragrance from the kitchen that dinner was nearly ready .Funnily enough her cooking was the bench mark ,all others are judged , wifey, girlfriend, if its not up to mama's standard ,you better learn and learn quick.
She doesn't cook anymore , ( sigh ) but wherever I go ,I still remember her cooking ,my mama's cooking.
You've been a rock
When I felt vulnerable and unsteady
You've been a comfort
When I felt weary and downcast
You've been a balm
When I was in agony and distrust
When those I counted as friends betrayed me
You stayed true
When others regarded my feelings as a doormat
You gently placed them in a jeweled box
When those closest to me could not vindicate me
You affirmed my intelligence and sanity
When others dismissed me as less than human
You regarded me as more than just a man
When others took more than they gave
You gave more than you took.
A greater portion of comfort
Was derived from the fact that
You were only
A one hour drive
A mere train ride
Away
But now
Life inflicts yet another reminder
That the best things never last
Although it is for the best
It is a bitter, painful pill to ingest
Although it is a comparatively short distance
Shorter than the Oregon Trail
It is a far distance
Far from your jokes, you’re your sisterly scolding
As well as your shami kebab. curried okra, and chai
Although I am happy for you
And although I wish you much success and joy
My heart is tearing at the very seams
Of your own mending
And while your map can lead you to your destination,
My abundant tears, like Hansel's breadcrumbs
Can easily lead you back to me, when G-d is willing
For you have been more than a friend
You have been a sister
Though you have the courage
To keep bulls at bay
You have the tenderness of a lady
And the wisdom to know when to use both
Where yonder can I find your duplicate?
Whereabouts may I find your twin?
For there is no one I know of quite like you
And your absence will be a void
As craterous as the Grand Canyon
Therefore keep me in your heart
Even in the tiniest nook
And never forget me, sister
For as sure as the sun in the sky
And the blood in my veins
I will always remember you
In my heart.
Life is the same, yet lived differently
Under the azure of the sunny, crisp
For the seconds that birthed
Minutes that earned
Hours that gifted
Days that created moments
Months that yielded
Years that counted under the
Solar, I thank the Creator whom
Curried me through times and
The family that holds firm my hands to
Friends whose shoulders solid wrenched
Fans who inspired courage
I celebrate you in Love
Waiting for chips*
Hungry at noon
Vinegar, salt
Use a fork not a spoon
Eat by the sea
Where the waves are unhurried
Peas that are mushed
Sauce that is curried
Two slices of bread
A chip butty create
Overloading my buds
Luscious carbohydrate
There are pies. There are peas
There is gravy and fish
Loading it all on your tray
Pile it up as you wish..
Unwrap from the paper
Don't decant to a plate
'Saves washing up'
And besides it tastes great
The angels in heaven
Look downward in awe..
As the humans devour
Much of what they adore
One of life's simple pleasures
Take a peek, there are many
Eating chips by the sea
Can't be beaten by any
Jinjagoliath
2nd July 2023
*in the UK French fries are 'chips'
Limerick : Once a Heavy Weight was given a choice
Once a Heavy Weight was given a choice
Either to eat rice or curried lice
Mice in his training camp
Carried lice for their champ
So he ate raw rice with curried mice.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Limerick : Then this Wily Woman from Franco’s Spain – 4
Then this Wily Woman from Franco’s Spain
Married a divorcee and put Church in chain
There, she said : « Me ? Married ! »
Here, she said : « Me ? Curried ! »
Free-Maisons dubbed her : Saint Marianne* Brain !
* Marianne : symbol of the French Republic
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Ye who walks the heavens and earth
his sayings are about come to pass in me:
I love thee more…, or should I in a more approved manner say,
I love thee quite close to myself
Maybe far too close for solace, but I love thee so good,
good as curried goat and white rice cooked in coconut milk
I love thee so good, as good as sex with a clean woman
Misery from my present flee
because thou art my rejoicing
My hands brought forth the things inside,
possessions thou gavest me
I love thee quite close to myself
Maybe far too close for solace, but I love thee so sweet,
sweet as sugar cane
I love thee so sweet, sweet as honey mango
Like blue drawers and peanut porridge I love thee