Tuesday, December 30, 2014


Food for thought !
Over what has been lost.
 
Days of long ago - filled with much flavour,
Foods exotic – for the discerning palate to savour.
 
There was Beef Wellington to enjoy.
Delicious, Lobster Thermador – Oh Boy !
 
There was exotic Japanese cuisine.
Much Chinese food to be seen.
 
There was Italian, Greek, Mexican,
Korean, Canadian and American.
 
All, to an adventurer, what a treat !
With French, Indian, English to meet.
 
In those days of long-ago – oh the pleasures
it stored in memories hoard - what treasures.
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Time erases all that once was, it no longer is.
For today’s survival – the main biz,
 
as one comes down, downsizing to simplicity –
is to become creative, live off the majesty
 
of one’s own  creations - a grilled cheese with sweet
mixed pickles, tomatoes, egg and a delicious meat.
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Taste buds - still alive – have not forgot
to savour food and enjoy food for thought
 
that fills ones stomach and his soul – not
to regret or forget all that he once got -
 
with some of what yet may not be lost
if one could only get up, could afford the cost
 
that could change the state of the  economy
he now lives, as he lives in a state of autonomy
 
on egg salad sandwiches permeated with salt,
pepper, onion powder, cayenne pepper, garlic salt,
 
cayenne pepper, fresh garlic butter on buttermilk bread.
this, to fill my stomach, taste buds to savour, fill my head.
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It is down to this for a fifties, sixties, seventies man
who now creates a soup with his own, aged, hand.
 
It’s base, begins with Campbell’s tomato and tomato basil
soups with red peppers, cayenne pepper, so much so, nasal
 
drips, begins to run as weeping eyes start to flow
over the pork and beans you will now know
 
have been added too, along with beaches and cream
corn, rice, fresh garlic, ginger root, pasta, what a dream
 
for this one’s palate to sample before it goes down,
through the gullet, into the stomach, to one’s  crown
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Another dish – by these hands – to fill the days, the week
is a salad that consists of all the vegetable I did seek.
 
Cauliflower, broccoli, celery, red, green, yellow peppers,
cucumbers, onions, radishes, mushrooms, garlic, cheese,
 
honey ham, ginger root, avocados, brussel sprouts, tomatoes
drowned in Kraft’s golden Italian dressing - is how it goes
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The final cuisine created to sustain this old soul,
throughout weeks, months as they rapidly go
 
by, into the ether of life’s swiftly, decaying hours,
- hours lost to what we once were – no longer ours.
 
It is a sauce for my spaghetti dinner
that will run the eyes, the nose and inner
 
recesses of the soul as you come to know
the power, the combination of these ingredient will show.
 
My laziness dictates, a base to be created with
Classico and Prago spaghetti sauce – there is no myth
 
here, as Campbell’s tomato, tomato basil soups are added.
Then red, green, yellow, jalapeño peppers sautéed, will tell
 
- as mushrooms, beef tenderloin , bacon are sautéed as well –
as fresh and canned tomatoes, garlic, ginger root add smell
 
and taste, as do the onions and sages that are added.
 
all the way down and into the pit
as one will, to supper, bravely sit.
 
A fire extinguisher is what you will need
as upon my spaghetti sauce you decide to feed.
 
B. J. “A ” 2
November 7th 2004

A field mouse
 
Sunday September 26th, a very nice day, for a change.
A very long walk, in the warmth of the sun, I arranged.
 As usual, that walk would have to be taken on my own.
Along the Coquitlam river I did go, as usual; alone.
 
Long into my journey, on the black top path, a field mouse
did scurry, in no particular hurry, lost, looking for his house,
or maybe a new home as he crossed my path and into my hand,
where he laid quietly as I continued to crossed this land.
 
Miles from where he joined me on my journey – to life
he came – I noticed, he might be injured, as I set him down
noticing that his left, hind leg was dragging on the ground.
I picked him up and in the palm of my hand he knew no strife.
 
We went on for a couple of more miles, I set him down, let him be
as he came to life again, seemed much better, wanted to be free.
Off into the tall grasses he ran, never looked back at me
not a thought ?, him, never again to hold, to comfort, to see.
 
Where might he be today ?
 
B. J. “A ” 2
October 9th 2004