Chilies Poems

Garden of Chilies

madhouse of a ménage à trois —
the bawdy chamber of the blitz,
where three depraved darlings conspired in pagan rituals,
their lover's lament a discordant dirge amidst,
detritus of a bygone era,
a winter's eve of wreathed blossoms and withered dreams,
in this sterile hothouse of sentiments,
tender shoots of succulents twisted in grotesque abandon,
vault where love and decay convened in diseased romance,
till the one dawn ecstasy rose like cold air,
and winter's chill singed the hard prickles of their passion,
now vacant bloom, fossil of wounds,
trailing anguished bellflowers in mournful amusement.

Tears

Is it to lubricate and protect my eyes from your flow?
Or do you intend to bring out my joy, sorrow, and rage?
By your stream-like flow to others, you show my grief, I know.
A parrot in your cage, with chilies of care, I engage

What do I suffer from? Migraine? Obsessed teeth? Kidney stones?
Is endometriosis the cause of your constant pour?
Owing to my old age, is there brokenness in my bones?
Has Destiny dug in me her perpetual pain bore?

On the death of my mother, at my innocence, I smiled.
I knew my dad's death well. Lo! You, like a waterfall, fell.
Does this mean that consciousness or awareness, that's hill-piled?
Together with you, I've many a tailless tale to tell...

Everyone who sheds you says, 'I got relieved of my pain".
Who in life, yet, I don't know, wants to cry again... again...

Black Country Communion

Are you yearning for me, dear?
Does our departure kill you too?
The environs look so blear,
Midst summer, in my eyes, there's dew...!

You might not feel it within,
There's a blazing fire in me; 
In my flesh and blood and skin,
Can you hear my sorrow-filled plea...?

Gales and storms compete,
Coal-dust wraps roses and lilies;
The wheat field is a black sheet,
Who changed the shade of these chilies?

Sobs, like coos, are heard from far,
Your voice, too, is mingled in them;
In the sky, I find no star,
Poison fills each plant root and stem...!

Seasons have changed now brightly,
Come, dear, let's forget our breaches;
Let our oneness turn knightly,
Till our goal its zenith reaches...!

The Market Sellers

An hour before dawn,
the market people arrive
then settle like nestling birds
beside the Ping river.

Girls squat over large straw hats,
hats brimful of dried chilies
or small freshwater fish.
They lay down bamboo mats
laden with okra, aubergines, mangosteens
and rambutan.

They are not from Chiang Mai
but are a Thai hill peoples,
villagers that have cycled through the night
to bring their produce here.
Carefully they wrap your choices
in newspaper bundles tied
with red raffia.

They offer this livelihood to us
with modest smiles.
A daily subsistence parceled with a grace
that can be felt as a currency, a simple act
of transference.

A few coins are exchanged.
The barter and haggle
of a busy city market is absent here
just the affable contact
of a hand to hand correspondence.

A mutual recognition
of the rivers that join us
and the oceans between.

Makeover

Making new clothes
Sewing chilies
Ironing out problems today
Tonight washing tears away
Cooking up a quarrel
Fomenting confusion
And building discord

Come and see how
Things can change
In a moment 
When you concentrate 
Bake up goodness
Except use goodwill
Strengthen your resolve
To love your brother
Still.

The Market Sellers

An hour before dawn,
the market people arrive
then settle like resting birds
beside the Ping river.

Girls squat over large straw hats,
hats brimful of dried chilies
or small freshwater fish.
They lay down bamboo mats
laden with okra, aubergines, mangosteens
and rambutan.

They are not from Chiang Mai
but are a Thai hill peoples,
villagers that have cycled through the night
to bring their produce here.
Carefully they wrap your choices
in newspaper bundles tied
with red raffia.

They offer this livelihood to us 
with modest smiles.
A daily subsistence parceled with a grace
that can be felt as a currency, a simple act
of transference.

A few coins are exchanged.
The barter and haggle 
of a busy city market is absent here
just the affable contact
of a hand to hand correspondence.

A mutual recognition
of the rivers that join us
and the oceans between.

Mexican Chicken Fajitas

red Mexican chilies 
hot jalapeno peppers
tasty refried beans
sizzling chicken fajitas
bits of fresh lettuce
scoop of onion
rolled up in a floured burrito
delicacy fit for a queen

A Market In Northern Thailand

They are not from Chiang Mai,
they are a tribal people
who speak a hill language.
They ride through the night
on bicycles to settle at dawn
beside the Ping River.

Girls' unroll rattan mats
squat beside straw hats brimful
with the tang of burgundy chilies
They have vegetables
grown in lime green waters,
parched salty anchovies,
and plump spearheads
of opalescent fish -
all these are bargained for,
bundled in newspaper,
tied with pink raffia.

Our lives cross here.
A few coins dropped into an open palm,
nods and smiles by a river,
a common currency bridging
alien worlds.

Anna Millers Takanawa-Shop

ANNA MILLER’S TAKANAWA-SHOP

Merriam-Webster defines chili as a thick sauce of meat and chilies.

His coworker hungers
for American food - pizza, burgers;
no sushi, please.

Home away from home in the belly
of Tokyo, my husband orders —

“I’ll have the chili.”

Two I.B.M. techs relax and unwind
from their workday. Soon their specialty
is served. (Anna Miller’s known for their pies.)

They both nearly drown in hot soup
as they snorkel the deep
peering beneath the shallows
looking for signs
of thickness and beans.               Asks

“This is chili? Where are the beans?”

The waitress bends
over and counts,

“One chili bean,

two chili bean,

three chili bean,”

her wrinkled lips serious.

as the rumble of the coworker’s cheeks,
the shaking of his American suit ripple
under his chin.

My husband asks, “But where’s the sauce?”

The waitress takes her hand,
moving it just above the bowl
in circular magic,

“and chili sauce!”

the eruption of Mount Asama
as she moves tiny feet
to another customer.

6/29/2019

A Poem By a Confusionist

Green Salad and white Carpet 
Red Chilies and Black magic 
Falling Rain the vibgayar 
What is this? Absurdity?

Blind Eyes Blind Heart
Black Tea and again black magic
Tea spoon, sugar for an ant 
Cane for an Elephant
What is this? Reality?

Clever Horse racing, Clever ass Hardship
Clever Man Killing, Clever girl weeping
God is great Of course, God is dead!
What is this? Confusion?

Intelligent minds Dirty Lands 
Wise Men More War
Mysteries, Mischievous, Godly and foolish 
What the  is this?

I am here I am there I am boy
I am clever, I am helpless
I am spiritual, I am cunning less
I am helpful,  I am a tomb and 
I am  Jesus 
I am What I am!

Can'T Say

I can’t say
where life begins
and death takes over:

Oh! I know of birth
and funerals--
what the church says
and what my gut
further tells me…

but my heart often
wanders above wings,
parting shadows
to a place alone
where I encounter
a loving presence
my feeling no need
to define...

I have read those volumes 
both blessed and cursed

tongued caramel ecstasy 
and licked the sacrificial fires
(sweat-making chilies 
and artery clogging rinds of life)

but remain 
mostly confounded
though comforted somewhat
by the little I know
and concisely name--

admitting more of me
has always existed outside 
my libraries of 
leather diaries
and embossed references….

Hot Sauce

The restaurant was Vietnamese
And so, for its clients to please,
On each table there sat
Bottles filled with sauce that
Would make someone like me start to sneeze.

For some cultures like heat in their food
Thus for zestiness, they might include
Certain chilies or spice,
Sometimes sprinkled on twice,
So a torridness they will exude.

Though some patrons such heat will exalt
And use hot sauce, perhaps, by default,
I like flavor, not heat
Yet my meal’s not complete
‘Til it has a few shakes of the salt.

Our Poor Mother

She sits on prison shelf
legs broken and aching
ears pierced with thorns
eyes full of rolling tears
back bent due to torture
heart eaten raw with chilies
head covered with bandages
body wrapped in dirty rags
her spirit caked into powder
but her  will to live is unbeaten
many live in Sub Saharan Africa

Aubergine

The French expression is exquisite, 
fat succulent globes glowing darkly,
but if you're looking for length look  
to the East, although they lack girth.
Yet the Greeks do it best
sleek glossy orbs, rubbed with
olive oil then laid in their bed and 
immersed in an effusion of 
ripe succulent Roma slowly 
simmered with garlic, oregano  
and perhaps a few chilies, if you like it
hot and then covered with a thick 
white sauce béchamel and lasciviously 
savoured with a mature rich red.

Jaew

Goes in hot. Comes out hot.
But this may be more than the casual student
Will want to know.

Mom’s grinding chilies for me in Modesto.
Red, green, a dash of fresh cilantro,
Fermented shrimp sauce and a pinch of salt
Between her mortar and pestle.

Dabbing a sticky ball of khao nhio
Into the tiny ceramic saucer, I know 

She’s a sorceress
In her kitchen 

Trying to find a way to say
She loves me, hoping my prodigal tongue 
Is still Lao enough
To understand what her broken English cannot convey.

My eyes are cisterns of tears after 30 years.
I should say “mak phet” and grab some cold milk
But with a smile through the pain I stammer 
“Saep lai, Mae, delicious, Mom. 
  Saep lai, hak Mae lai lai.”

“Don’t talk, just eat,” she says between her tears.

• Short Chilies Poems
• Famous Chilies Poems
• Best Chilies Poems
• Read Chilies Poems
• Long Chilies Poems
• Chilies Quotes