Korma Karma

Korma Karma
by Gideon Burton

The spices sleep in dryness first, hold back
their sweet and heat, restrained in piquant peace.
But cumin is a comin', oil cracks
and spits at onion, garlic; turmeric will grease
the saucy sauce a mellowed, yolky hue.
Then comes the cardamom and cinnamon.
The coriander, ginger, cloves construe
masala's mysteries. A Solomon
could not unweave the embered cooling burn,
foreshadowed by the vapored summons, smooth
upon the patient palate. I must learn
the map, must memorize this gravy's groove.
      My senses sense what wisdom tells in force:
      Good karma brings sweet korma in its course.
  

Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - pyrogenic

Varanasi

I wrote this sonnet based only upon vague impressions about the Ganges and its geographical and cultural settings. Then, years later, I visited Varanasi and went out on the Ganges river to explore the ghats and watch the pilgrims bathing and the ashes of corpses floating alongside the tea lights set afloat. I decided my sonnet pegged it. Nice when that works out.

Varanasi
by Gideon Burton


Is this the thin descent? The liquid way
of gossamer and fear? The curry blows,
the crocodiles upset the Ganges flow
enough–not quite enough–to breathe the play
of wind with daylight. All that Muslims pray
ascends in minarets of spice below
the smear of yellow-gray that ebbs and grows,
that closes over India to stay.
The echo of the desert comes to rest
against the twining granite idols, mute
and patient on their broken bases. White
absorbs whatever we had stated best,
and salmon tigers prey upon our brute
reflections, sharpened past the point of spite.


Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Image: flickr - pyjama