It dawned on me this morning grand;
A breeze came from the sea.
My mind was full of thoughts sublime,
As zephyrs hissed in double time
At thirteen knots across the land–
I viewed a tree;
And realized, right then, that I’m
Influenced by the Taipei breeze–
And overawed by shifting trees.
As the water boils in a pot, divided down the middle—
One side spicy, the other mild. Good things go in:
Fresh Cabbage and Green Onions one side, hot peppers and smoky bacon on the other.
As the water boils like a typhoon, sealing in mysterious flavors and essences, the conversation lingers—lighthearted and lively like steam from the pot, dramatic and mysterious.
But the water never ceases to boil.
30 Clams make their way into the mild side to flavor the magical broth. Thinly shredded beef goes into the wild side—water turbulently boiling. It boils, roils and works its magic.
A large metal ladle serves up portions, which are promptly imbibed. Conversation boils like the mighty and mysterious hot-pot. Instant noodles on the hot side, more cabbage, onions, clams, and bok choi on the mild one. A few prawns…
The mushrooms and taro root are tempered by the water’s action. Spinachy greens mingle with the dank and dour mushrooms..
Clams and fresh squeezed lemons add needed zest.:
Pig’s blood on the spicy side—
Better than it sounds.
A few onions get the show on the road once again.
While the rising steam from the water fills the room like a conversation,
Spirits are high and people are getting full,
Until one remarks that her head is full of food.
The water doesn’t stop boiling though. Beansprouts, black pepper, green onions and hot peppers. A dash of salt for flavor.
10/26/12 Taipei, TW
This morning, on us, heavy island rain fell down.
Like pellets made of lead it pounded, smashed, and loudly sounded.
A wake-up call that we could simply not ignore.
I rose, and opened all the windows for to see.
The scent, it came a merrily breezin’ thru the rooms,
Like violets on a summer day it cleansed my restful mind.
With all the things that needed to be done that day upon my fearful conscience,
I paused, and wrote this poem down for all to read.
The purifying feeling that the downpour had,
Not only cleared my soul, but purified the precious water.
An element that, purified thru condensation,
Becomes a building block of life itself for us to drink.
O’ purifying island rain, I praise thy glory–ever.
I always stand in awe when you fall down upon us.
Your precious droplets plummet, back to gritty Earth returning.
We give rise, and bless the balance, you restore us!
10/23/12 Taipei, TW
About the Poet David Cassick Jr, Scott Labrecque
2012: MFA in English Composition & Rhetoric from California State University, Los Angeles 2007: B.A. Degree in English Literature from University of California at Los Angeles