Cultural Peppery Appropriations

Black pepper is abundant in Western dishes
but native to India’s Malabar coast.
While South America is home to Cayenne paper,
but crucial to Indian cuisine.

Shall we thank India’s Krishna
and the Quechua’s Wiracocha?
For these gods tolerated appropriations
done with savory greed.

— by Sabio Lantz, 5/29/2023

Prompt: D’Verse Poets asks us to write a 44 word poem using the word “pepper”.

Our quirky passions

I’m reading yet another book on ancient scripts,
while my friend devours 16th century philosophy,
a different buddy makes beer, and another geocaches.
My wife loves piano, crafts and romcoms.

Yet another pal is a disillusioned career-missionary
whose joined me in a local stand-up comedy class.
We have a classmate whose Jesus delivered her from crack
and another whose immersion in astrology is her solace.

We all use stories and hobbies to color our lives!
A good day would be when we all recognize our commonalities
of humor, fascination, awe and passions,
and meanwhile stop valorizing our quirky preferences.

— Sabio Lantz, March 2023

Skin

Skin

Last night
under my covers
my feet rubbed together
and I was temporarily shocked
to realize that I was dwelling
inside a soft, smooth layer of skin.

— Sabio Lantz, 2/23/2023

Question for reader: Can you share a moment when the obvious and ordinary have appeared before you as startling?

Time

Time

Another beach

No here & now

No denying past and future

An explosion of view

Past beaches, this beach, future beaches

This blur of ordinary sameness

Indistinguishably continuous & huge !

— by Sabio, February 2023, Costa Rica

An Explanations: Some poets write so vaguely as to create verbal Rorschach ink blocks — begging only personal interpretations, with the author’s intention unclear. Such vague poetry is my least favorite. Yet I realize this poem is probably such an Ink Blot. So, to minimize the plethora of misunderstanding (as I do have intent), I will give an explanation of the thoughts I had walking down that Costa Rica beach where I snapped the above generic photo. [and please, try to react to the main idea of the poem, and not some comment about beaches you like or your travels].

I’ve walked down many beaches all over the world (America East and West, Indonesia, Tahiti, New Zealand, Japan, Iceland and more). When looking out at the ocean, most of those beaches look undistinguishable from the others. Like many of you, I love these walks — and during that Costa Rica walk I was peaceful, rested and reflective. But amidst my daydreaming calm, I had a sudden expansive wave come over me which this poem tries to capture.

Western-marketed Buddhism tells us to be “here and now” — in the present. But for me, then, there was no present, there was no past, there was no future only a huge continuum — a blur of all beaches flooded me. I was not trying to be in the present. I was not denying past and future, I was being exploded by a view of all time due to the blur of all these same memories and savoring the huge surrender to the ordinary. When the ordinary is enough, the mind smiles.

Question to readers: Did my explanation change your interpretation of the poem?

For our children

Our bodies fall apart making room for you,
while yours fall apart for yours.
And we gather and store up for you,
so you may gather up more for yours.
Then one of history’s hurricanes
leaves no trace of our hubris.

— by Sabio Lantz, 10/2022

IF

If I am not gifted heaven
by the gate-keeping gods
who scorn all disbelief,
then may at least one of them
allow me a region in their Purgatory
to indulge my soul in unexplored sins:

There I can wallow in impulsive hatred,
fruitless envy and righteous distain.
There I can brag of my hypocrisy
while playing on the hopes and fears of others
for glories all my own.

And then may the true believers above,
who passed through those restrictive gates,
look down on me and be reassured,
that orthodoxy matters more than virtues.

— by Sabio Lantz, 10/2022

This poem was inspired by a poem by the same name written by the American-Polish poet Czeslaw Milosz (1911-2004) written around 2000. Below I copy its opening:

IF
If I cannot ascent to Paradise —
clearly those circles are too high for me —
I would like to spend time in one of the regions of Purgatory
gaining liberation from the phantoms of my mind,
whose power, though I never trusted it completely,
I remember very well. …

– Czeslw Milosz

A Puzzling Challenge

Finish my little WORDLE.
It’s not really a very big hurdle.

In the comments add your fun rendition
with the solution’s one-line definition.

Please don’t just type the word,
that’d be absurd.

I left a cute sample
as a seasoned example.

— Sabio Lantz, 4/4/2022

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Prompt: In response to d’Verse Poet’s quadrille challenge (a 42-word poem) by msjadli, I made this nerdy “poem” which is pointing to the Wordle puzzle above. If you don’t know the rules for Wordle, you can find them here. I’m curious to see your responses.

The James Web Telescope

Even after badly wounded, bears continue to fight ferociously. This inspired Old Norse “berserkers”, bear warriors, known for their frenzied battle styles. These “Berserkers” (bear-shirts) and ancient Chinese women shamans both dressed in bear skins to tap into the Bear’s celestial power.

And tonight, the day before the Chinese New Year, my scope polished, I begin my hunt for the Great Bear. The frigid conditions in the dead darkness around me will help me track him down with my sights on his neck. But the Bear will be only the beginning of my hunt, for I will search deeper in the cold woods for origins of the Universe.

A frozen eye into space
wisps of solar winds hitting my shields
probing the bear’s hibernating secrets.

— Sabio Lantz, January 31, 2022

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Prompt: Frank, at d’Verse Poets, challenges us to write a Haibun about Winter. Quickly, before more folks misunderstand this, it is about the Space Telescope. The first star it will inspect is in the neck of Ursa Major (The Great Bear) — the Big Dipper area. Wheew, I wanted to head off lofty readings. OK, my third edit– people still aren’t getting it, so I changed the title from “The Winter Bear” to “James Webb Telescope”

Sources:

• James Webb Space Telescope targets Ursa Major
• Chinese women shamans
• Berserkers

The Itch

I itch, you scratch –
It may indeed seem rash.

You may simply explain
that I am attention-seeking
on a cellular plane.

And neither of us
has very much to gain.
But is that really
so damn insane?

— Sabio Lantz, 1/29/2022

Ukraine and Taiwan

It has always struck me as rather strange,
that shivers only begin after you’re warm and safe,
finally out of the bitter cold.

Well, tonight the news makes me wonder
if it’s only when the bombing stops
that a child finally cries.

— Sabio Lantz, 1/24/22

Prompt: D’verse poets challenges us to write a quadrille (a 44-word poem) using some form of the word “shiver”. My world is relatively safe – only two murders in my neighborhood here in America lately. But news for much of the world is far worse over the last years. The corona virus is raging, but worse, are wars elsewhere innocents suffer horribly: Syria, Yemen, Burma, Yemen, Somalia, Ethiopia and many others. But two possible new ones are looming in today’s news. Ukraine and Taiwan. That “inspired” this poem.

I get it:

I get it:
In a push for vaccinations
the administration
has made some exaggerations.

I understand,
that immigrants with no skills,
are pouring in
while you are paying the bills.

Yet may I beg
that we ALL understand
our unfed people
need a hand.

And if delta
has its way,
it is ALL of us
who will have to pay.

— Sabio Lantz, 8/7/2021

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Prompt: Open Link Night, d’Verse Poets

The Neighbor’s Goose

Their pet goose is plump and proud.
It looks incredibly savory even though
others tell me its a chicken.
But to me, it is a damn goose!

Perfect, like their rich, green lawn
their two-car garage and
their spotless unused grill
next to their untouched tree house.

It is a goose,
not like my dirty egg-laying hens,
next our garage packed with bikes,
skate boards and cheap camping equipment.

I sometimes dream of having a goose like theirs,
accept tonight as we sit around the TV
laughing at comedies after our camping trip
where we fried them chickens’ eggs.

by Sabio Lantz, 7/28/21

Note: This is fiction built on a montage of my realities (including the joys my wife brings me). It is based on the Persian proverb above for d’Verse Poets challenge. Dedicated to my Persian on-line virtual student, Majid.

The Game of Go

The Game of Go

Some say “Life is a game”.
If you disagree, it may be
that you over estimate life
or under estimate games.

Learn the game of Go
to watch unknowns unfold.
Or immerse in another culture,
and watch common sense dissolve.

Or write a Quadrille.

— Sabio Lantz, February 2021
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Prompt: Whimsygizmo @d’Verse poets, asks us to play a little game: write exactly 44-words (a “Quadrille”), put them into verses and call them a “poem”.

The Gorilla & The Invitation

The Gorilla & The Invitation

We usually miss the invitation —
like a huge hairy gorilla
strolling through our basketball passes —
because we are rehearsing our next monologue
or daydreaming about everything else
but the person we are “talking to”.

The invitation seems to hide
— in a phrase —
— in a sentence —
— in a gesture —
but it is not subtle,
no more subtle than the gorilla.
For if we cared, we could easily see
the shy but loud invitation
into a world other than our own.

“I went to the store yesterday,
even though I really wasn’t in the mood.“

then without even a millisecond delay:

“Oh really! I went to the store yesterday too,
it is my daughter’s birthday tomorrow!”

Sabio Lantz, February 2021

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Prompt: (coming)
Note: If you didn’t click on the link, it probably means you tend to not see gorillas.

Chestnut’s Life

Chestnut’s Life

Color Spaces

I was conceived
in an indiscriminate flash,
before time ticked.
Yet it took a meaningless eternity,
before I was born nameless from suns.
Then, after an aimless childhood,
life on earth found me,
ate me,
and built empires.

In 1931, the British empire
released Gandhi from prison
while the French incarcerated me
in the euphemistic XYZ color space–
where human cones were used,
to tag my wavelength
and tame all of our names.

Crayola called me “Indian Red”
but that was before 1999
when “Chestnut” was felt more polite.

Then in 2021, my dangerous name
was defended by an angry mob
at the White House.

But fortunately, they lost,
and I remain “Chestnut” for now —
#954535, if your prefer —
the witchy code used
to project me on your screen,
when I am not being reflected
off of beautiful hair and skin.

— by Sabio Lantz, February 2021

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Prompt: Mish, at d’Verse Poets, challenged us to write a poem from the perspective of a color. On my poetic color palette I mixed, science, history and politics but with the final stroke being aesthetics. It has been at least one pandemic since I’ve visited d’Verse — ’tis nice to see folks.

Real Hope

Real Hope

Hopes fixed on a crucifix,
or mighty Shiva’s stone.
No gods respect such requests.
The disease leaves us all alone

to embrace the only magic there is,
the only solace we can find:
the love of those around us —
which some may call divine.

— by Sabio Lantz May 2020

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Prompt:  d’Verse has another call for a “quadrille” (a 44 word poem) with the idea of “fix”.  Seeing the superstitious nonsense that abounds during the pandemic inspired me to jot down this poem. I used this poem to replace one I put here in January but which tens of thousands of deaths later is outdated.

Bless Me

Bless Me

In the US, sneezes receive a “bless you”.
But the Japanese say nothing at all.
I thought Americans were much more thoughtful
until I saw that, though far more concerning,
my coughs, belches, farts and roaring stomach
go totally ignored and unblessed by all.

— by Sabio Lantz, January 2020

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Prompt: De Jackson, @ d’Verse Poets, asks us to write a 44 word poem using a form of the work “roar”.

Awkward Beginning in Japan

Awkward Beginning in Japan

For ten years I had been immersed in South Asian culture and languages. I studied both Hindi and Urdu, drummed in a traditional dance troupe, cooked Asian food and studied Indian religion and anthropology. On returning from a year of study in Pakistan and India, I stopped for a short three-week vacation in Japan but I decided to stay and join a Zen temple and start studying Japanese.

I only did one week of Japanese language school before stopping because I found it slow, boring and expensive. But I did learn one very valuable lesson in that week. From the very start, I was constantly comparing Hindi with the Japanese language. In class when I made a Japanese grammar mistake, I would often say, “Oh, I made that mistake because in Hindi we say ….”. Constantly making excuses for myself irritated the other students until finally a bold, blunt colleague was kind enough to confront me saying, “Sabio, we don’t give a shit about Hindi, this is Japan.” And that harsh lesson has served me well in life.

Building a log raft
Safely crossing a rough stream
now he must leave it.
——-   (a Buddhist Parable)

— by Sabio Lantz, January 2020

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Prompt: Bjorn, at d’Verse Poets, asks us to write a haibun about beginnings and new starts.

Ideas that Stick

Ideas that Stick

During my otherwise normal morning shower
a remaining bit of my youth’s Marxism
broke off my back and slid into the tub.

The world’s masses, having no water,
yet alone steaming, safe, abundant water,
crowded in a forgotten corner of my mind
and looked on with envy.
But across my corpus callosum
were classrooms full of academics
glaring at me through their fantasies.

Meanwhile, as my generation’s votes expand,
we suck down the hopes of millennials,
as they ironically compete unashamed
to build convincing deepfake videos
that will feed those masses with ideas
that may not fall off in the shower.

–by Sabio Lantz, November 2019

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Prompt: It is Open Link time at d’Verse Poets, hosted by Grace, where we post any poem we desire.  Here are links to two thing some readers may not be familiar with:

(1) Corpus Callosum: The part of the brain that allows the two hemispheres to communicate cooperatively.

(2) Deepfake: AI used to create images or videos to trick to viewer.

Life

Life

That which grows, multiplies
and invades while laughing
with tears.

Mindlessly striving
for successful
duplication.

Ending only
in pathetic
death.

Repeat
Repeat
Repeat

— by Sabio Lantz, November 2019

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Kim, at d’Verse Poets, asks us to write a series of Tercets which are “about something that grows or multiplies and is in some way invasive.” She then lists a who group of plant and animal species, as if any form of life escapes that description — including us. I’m not sure how to write like Plath or Hughes — both of which are difficult for me to enjoy.