My Own EATER Article, Just For Fun.
Author Archives: boriscanzano
Hello! My name's Boris. I'm a writer, chef, musician and Italian-American. I like to write just about anything creative--poetry, prose, songs, jokes, scenes and whatever else I need to. Stop reading now.
Fine. Words and food have both been lifelong interests. By the time I was five I was off the kids' menu. In middle school I won an award for being the best at grammar. I won the spelling bee as well, just so you know.
Please check out my website that you are on right now. A little bit of it is serious, some of it tastes good and some of it is just practice. There's a lot more writing stuff I can show you but you have to ask really nice.
A Breville Hot Wok Instagram Reel, Just For Fun
Super Bowl Spots
A couple friends (who operate a production company) and I were given the opportunity to pitch some ideas for a Chevy Super Bowl commercial this year. We didn’t get the bid this time but to be honest it’s better than what they ended up going with
King of the Queen City
Vacant furloughed foundries
Corpses of great industry
Among Victorian tree-
Houses and towers concrete
Endless suburban expanse
And mirror dwellings line-dance
From one another they stand
Only ten feet in distance
Together they shut windows
As November carries snow
Home is where the heart will grow
Weary-strong of winter’s throes
Rusted, hardened, drinking folk
Have long outlasted the cold
A man come from Buffalo,
Or, the truest soul you know
With My Feet on the Scum-An Homage to Walt Whitman
I wonder from the floor of the gleaming golden surface
and the broken blue sky,
The unbounded oxygen and burning flotsam,
And I Imagine too my floating form, my flat-paddle soles
o’er the break of the waves,
The sea foam that collects on my toes, the mist that
masks my scent from the water,
The weeds that kiss my feet, and there ones that wrap
my ankle,
The gulls that dip their legs, the gulls that plunge
and pull up their meal.
Has anyone ever seen the bottom?
From the middle of the sun?
From the deck of the ship transcending the tides?
From the dead of the shore?
From the turret of the palace above the break wall?
The gleaming golden sun that is hard to see
doesn’t need me—and I don’t need it.
I will stand with my feet on the scum,
In solitude with the fish and the blue and the bottom
of things
With my cheek turned up waiting to be caught
l’uccelo e l’onda/the bird and the wave
“L’uccelo e L’onda”
Fanciulla onda,
grande cresci più
sotto l’uccello
che ti guarda giù
Lo prova solo
bagnare nel blu
i suoi piedi,
niente di più
“The Bird and the Wave”
Maiden wave,
larger you grow
underneath the bird
that watches you below
It tries only
to bathe in the blue
Its feet
and nothing more
Missing Teeth
“How did you lose them?
Each and every tooth?”
“Well, I told a lie,
a real big one,
it almost couldn’t get through!”
“And?”
“And out they flew!”
“But if you have no teeth,
how can I understand you?”
“Well, you see,
with no teeth in the mouth,
the tongue speaks plain truth!”
Camp Stories
Wood splinters buried
in the soles
of soft feet
like old fencing nails
now earthed inches deep
preserved from pre-war construction.
The empty mill-lot barn
brittle as its worried tale
told like telephone static
in the warm night fog,
the haunts regale.
untitled
Sky shaded sertraline
and the clouds covering
our streaks
across the rock
We cant look down
at the eyes on the shoreline,
they can see us
from the docks
through the pill blue
Between,
Tiny on the cliff,
like the birds
they fish from the sky.
It felt
like I was standing
on the other side of the world.
we are all a flock of grazing sheep
Sometimes I lie
by the fence
just where
it stops growing
in thickets
and I watch them take
entire mouthfuls of a field of love
Boris Canzano's Writing Portfolio & Receptacle 