Best Glutinous Poems
All dressed in green, the rose bush beams
like a child's blushing cheeks and pursed lips;
these debutants jilted by bees
forever wanting to be kissed.
A carpet of phlox giggles like a young lady
and drips over the wall like a Dali clock,
tickled by fingers of lilies and daisies
still waiting to dance, demurely frocked.
Impatiens wink at the pansy's goodbyes,
while hostas and petunias wave.
In the light of the late springtime sky
all in the garden would rave.
No need for people, they've nothing to prove
because flowers can party too!
~Through a wisteria laden arbor~
Ah, the robins are here rummaging in the grass
and they just left the blueberries over the hedge,
a glutinous embarrassment for sure, but as
deer prance so properly, I'd rather robins instead;
at least they don't consume the guests,
or should I say, permanent party participants.
Like a "who done it" dinner it's a safe bet
they'll win, if the catnip and snapdragons can't.
What's the purpose of being pretty;
ogled and cut by people and eaten by deer -
it's the talk of the party and nasty.
Gossip is (don't tell) that our favorite guests aren't here,
the honey and the bumbles do tickle and tease
and though perhaps used, we're left pleased.
Modern/Contemporary Sonnet (mixed meter-slant rhyme-uneven line length)
Gung Hay Fat Choy, black and white it seems
Oh, it is nothing but Happy New year in Chinese
Call it Lantern festival, pleasant spring festival
Celebrations of 15 days, each one ritualized.
Celebrate, the freedom from that beast Nian
Who swallowed humans in a single bite,
Scare him away with crackers and red color
On this day of GuNian, “ Pass over the Nian”
Offer prayers, to the ancestors and all Gods
Feed the Dogs well as it is dogs’ birthday
Visit friends and relatives to pay respects
Prepare drinks from vegetables, eat noodles
Fish for long life and success in life.
Hang colorful lanterns, eat glutinous rice balls
Enjoy with family welcoming the New Year.
+++
January 18, 2015
Form: Free Verse
In an age of the world, that was much like our own
The seeds of indifference, were rampantly sown
Compassion forgotten and equality unknown
The bounty of Earth was for one land alone
A land with such power, it bent to it's will
The tired, the hungry, the weak, and the ill
With a thirst so unyielding, It could never lye still
Though it's cup never empty,could never be filled
It spread like an inferno. yet raged like the sea
protesters were bloodied so most chose to flee
While begging for mercy, that was not to be
From a glutinous people who chose not to see
These people stood idle, did nothing to stop
Their king's hands were scarlet, But they each held a drop
For the ways of the righteous they would not adopt
They watched the world sinking, but they were on top
Soon there was nothing, no time to atone
The world was returned, to the ages of stone
And all that was learned, would never be known
A world turned to ruin, for one land alone
Heavily laden boats, rectangular sails billowing
Under seas of low cloud, braving the fierce Yangtze;
Held between snowcapped mountains, earth and sky
Indistinguishable from steaming mist and rolling fog;
A long drawn straggle of Grey Geese plummeting down
From breathless, rarefied air to stumble awkwardly onto
Plum coloured mudbanks; an unrestrained, excitable
Cacophony of frenzied honking! Then wild monkeys
Provoked into howling each side of the river.
There, at the juncture with Longjin Brook, stilted homes,
Half-hidden by bamboo groves, crouch at the waters
Edge; maidens will come to wash clothes
Whirling wooden batons, twittering like golden swallows;
Fragrant wildflowers enhance their sweetness.
At drab, pale, first-morning light, fishermen cast
Nets over the cooling, placid blue waters;
The fish that swim here are said to be the finest
In the province.
We will exchange Black Carp and Blunt-Snout Bream,
Wrapped in moist bamboo leaf, for glutinous rice
With the clans that tend the terraces inside the fertile
River valley...
Does not the Emperor insist upon good commerce?
If you are dissatisfied as a peasant
You can take the ancient "old tea horse road"
And burden your back with heavy bales stacked high
On a rail;
The road will take you all the way from Zigui
To Tibet...or even further perhaps,
And sombre ravens will soar overhead and taunt your
Every footstep.
But I will remain where I am, in the
Village On The Water
Nestled deep within the Three Gorges;
My life, the endless horizon stretched beyond,
Held in balance as if it were Shaseng
The Shadow Play Stone;
And each new morning awakening to slow,
Chiming bells.
Are we dying to get a taste of the American Dream that we've got fat and glutinous, deep fried in greed.
Are we dying to feast on a God given intervention, with gnarled hands waiting to connect with the customer service extension.
Are we all so obsessed with consuming the world, that we've forgot what it's like on the outside of a store.
Waiting to receive a gadget or the next best thing, Christmas came twice and we didn't have to wait through Halloween.
28 March 2010
Glutinous Rice Cake
Just perfect to prepare on special occasion
Where bonding represents this kind of dessert
A tradition that passed through generation
Cooking this food is always a pert
Experienced to cook a mawkish sticky rice
Wherein body language is in rhythm with stirring
Endure the hardship of stirring using ladle as a device
Each family member in alternately stirring to add a zing
Cook sticky rice with the pandan leaves
Mixing coconut milk and brown sugar in a hot caldron
Stir the mixture of rice and coconut milk until it cleave
Share eating a sticky rice cake with the family with blessing the whole year round
pondered
I discovered the season's called FALL,
'cause ambition skips casting’s call.
rain and darkness
grumpy bark-ness
I sink like a skiff in a squall
pleaded
Doctor! Doctor! Diagnosis?
It feels fatal — What? Psychosis!!!
extreme lethargy
has it’s way with me
Doctor says it’s the dreaded... HOUSITOSIS!
prescribed
Get off your butt you silly old fool!
Go to the gym! Use a power tool!
Get on with life
Don’t ***** at the wife
—sawbones, (I'm thinking), ain’t cool
partay!
Plopping my butt on a bike, I went for a strenuous ride
Bike didn’t melt in the rain, nor did my glutinous hide.
loco potion
locomotion
Now I pamper my health, with beer and munchies deep fried!
I am from bobby pins and countless bottles of Aqua Net hairspray.
From yellow blankets and pink satin, Russian Pointe shoes.
I am from the yellow house with the brick red roof on the corner of the street.
I am from the sprawling orange tree and its sweet smelling blossoms and the mile-high Oleander bushes housing hundreds of pesky orange caterpillars.
I am from annual Thanksgiving reunions and southern belles. From Gaetano LaMarca and Prince Pasta.
I am from “When I was your age…” and the Thanksgiving talent shows that Aunt Laura always seemed to coax me into participating in.
I am from “Tomorrow is another day” and “5…6…7…8!”
I am from the body and blood of Christ and the musty incense of Easter vigil mass.
I am from sticky and sweet monkey bread and unbearable, soggy, and glutinous southern casseroles.
I am from the WOP’s of New England and the Jet Ski that sent my grandmother tumbling into the ocean and the origin of Prince Pasta Wednesdays.
I am from towers of elaborate handcrafted Clarice Cliff china and the antique armoires that hold a million memories of the past and a million more to come.
to a sweet navel of glutinous oracle
sticks the fairytale makeup
because the model caressed the tree
since the model recognizes the apple
as the model eats the grass
a carrot from Hollywood paradise
a green salad with organic smelly
Blue flowers plucked
Nyona bak chang** moments;
Satisfying rice cakes
By this old fence
Echoes of giggles;
Laughter mocks schoolyard
Road diversion
Roundabout detour;
Long cul de sac
Wedding festivities
Details and stuff;
Final agenda looms
Joy wears a face
Celebration evokes;
Certain gratification
Flame of the Forest tree
Nice shady bough;
Rain drops seeping
This old site
Venue of past demeanours;
Regret and guilt linger
Windy day
Hair reconfigured;
Unkempt spikes
In sure fashion
Nothing stays the same;
Change interferes
Wind howling
A haunting refrain;
Ghostly echoes cry
New instance
Go the distance;
Ply resistance
Do not be
Afraid of fear;
It's just an old gripe
Old apartments
Need a facelift;
Time weathers pains
Leon Enriquez
03 August 2014
Singapore
(Notes: Nyona bak chang** --
The word "Nyona" means a Straits born Chinese lady
with the social graces of a genteel sort, who are
known as a Nyona from a distinct group called the
Peranakans, who have a mixed heritage of Chinese and
Malay customs and traditions. This is today a dying breed.
The word "bak chang" means a cooked food product
made from glutinous rice with a centre filled with
sweet pork meat, spices and sauce, and chestnuts, packed in
long leaves in the shape of a pyramid tied with strings.
Such delicacies are steamed until the aroma fills the
air and makes you desirous to eat these tasty morsels.
The natural tinge of blue colour on the glutinous rice comes
from the "blue flowers" freshly picked for use in these rice cakes.
My maternal grandmother was a Nyona lady who had
a big heart, a warm smile and who loved me very dearly.
I miss her smile though she died when I was only four.)
Salty
12/07/2018
Lovely luscious lips
Perfect pink pleasure
Devine deliciousness drips
Tantalising tasty treasure
Sticky sweet sensuous
Aroma arouses olfactory
Feminine feline fabulous
Glutinous orgasmic glory
Who will cry for the little boy,
Whose wails are heard resounding inside the man.
The man whose ever unhealing wounds are clothed in pride,
These mortal scars he wears beneath his flesh
To him are medals of honour
testimonies to his character
Though his visage is a prominent countenance of pride
He is ailed by a phantom of a little whelp
a wailing boy who stands at the threshold of time
ever hurling his lamentations to the man
with accusatory tones in little grievous voices
accursed day the mother's nipple he purged
with tiny bites and little nibbles his mute protests understood
and from his suckling lips his nourishment rid of with haste,
& left after the mother's guttural wails, a glutinous white trail of sweet aliment.
in persuit of new tastes, urged to crawl away from those who knew him
needing to quench his dry life with spirits and to lick his wounds in solitude
the boy's mistake his haste attitude to become a man
Ever and forever more so, suckling from a bottle's tip the said spirits, the malignant acids,
remedies to calm his demons, heart hardened and his will to live humbled, now with each sip he impugns his need to exist, sipping these pernicious aliments to tenderly nourish his grave and coax his days shorter.
bear not amiss the abhorant, dreaded days ere
when harsh lines marked the path he progressed,
in the keeping of a world with vile intentions this lone boy
with no loving hand to stroke a tender flame on his fragile emotions
accursed day when ignorancy ailed one such as he, to hate blindly
pride and arrogance his eventual downfall ever stirring him to ignorancy.
hate he suckled as nourishment from the nipples of a mother whose bosom coursed with old hate.
robbed of her maidenhood, violated absent care, then the spawn to disdain and loathe unfurl out of the desecrated womb, a gift from nemesis
woe ye the day he bid his own counsil unworthy to heed
ignorant of benevolence his creeping demise unfurl
heart unchanging ever frozen in the frame of the babe
Red ripe is my fruit
Plump and bursting with resentment
Oozing remorse and regret
My pain Ready for you to harvest
I have waited patiently
For your uncontrollable urge
To feast upon my agony
And devour my shame
Your greedy appetite
For my suffering is insatiable
Feed your glutinous desires
As you sink your teeth deep
Into my cold flesh
Taste my bittersweet discontent
As you ingest my poisoned hatred
And choke upon the shards
Of my broken heart and shattered dreams
Now that you have consumed
The essence of my pain
I’m nothing but a hollow core
Return my ravaged remains
Back into the soil of Eden's garden
So that I may be absorbed
Back into the earth
And the seed of mans sins
Can now take root
MASS
I flow along the ground, a gross glutinous mass as sticky as treacle.
My body is liquid and my blood is runny, one with the mud.
Soon there is no border, just a huge mess like some waste from the stinking sewer.
Ive become a goo just like burnt toffee and god don’t I smell. Im quite happy just lying here content to be lazy acting like a turd.
A poetaster I will always be
Renowned throughout eternity
For wonky metres and dodgy rhymes
Amongst my other versifying crimes
Like dull images and dreary words
Not to the liking of animals and birds
Whom Orpheus charmed with lyrics rare
While my efforts they just cannot bear
McGonagall is the master to whom I bow down
The man who merits the peerless crown
Of poetry so ludicrously solemn
That it earns derision in any newspaper column
His Forth Bridge production garners distinction
For drawing down mockery on its versification.
I must thank the website to which I belong
In allowing me to keep singing my song
That honour I bestow upon Poetry Soup
With its generosity towards my glutinous gloop