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Kettle boils like my anger
As the kettle boils.
So does my anger.
My anger is reder than the heat.
Its not just the heat of the moment.
The kettle is getting hot.
My anger nor depression will cease.
Its like some kind of disease.
As the kettle boils I melt.
In the heat of the depression.
And the mist of the anger
poem by Amy Kerswell
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Pot And Kettle
Come close to me, dear Annie, while I bind a lover's knot.
A tale of burning love between a kettle and a pot.
The pot was stalwart iron and the kettle trusty tin,
And though their sides were black with smoke they bubbled love within.
Forget that kettle, Jamie, and that pot of boiling broth,
I know a dismal story of a candle and a moth.
For while your pot is boiling and while your kettle sings
My moth makes love to candle flame and burns away his wings.
Your moth, I envy, Annie, that died by candle flame,
But here are two more lovers, unto no damage came.
There was a cuckoo loved a clock and found her always true.
For every hour they told their hearts, 'Ring! ting! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'
As the pot boiled for the kettle, as the kettle for the pot,
So boils my love within me till my breast is glowing hot.
As the moth died for the candle, so could I die for you.
And my fond heart beats time with yours and cries, 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'
poem by Robert Graves
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Canadian Folksong
The doors are shut, the windows fast;
Outside the gust is driving past,
Outside the shivering ivy clings,
While on the hob the kettle sings.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.
The streams are hushed up where they flowed,
The ponds are frozen along the road,
The cattle are housed in shed and byre,
While singeth the kettle on the fire.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.
The fisherman on the bay in his boat
Shivers and buttons up his coat;
The traveler stops at the tavern door,
And the kettle answers the chimney’s roar.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.
The firelight dances upon the wall,
Footsteps are heard in the outer hall;
A kiss and a welcome that fill the room,
And the kettle sings in the glimmer and gloom.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Beauty In You Boils Like Wine Yet You Are So Divine
You are eternal so is love
Everything is for change but not beauty of my love..
Beauty in you is admired by all
Here i'm as adorable not for all..
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
Beauty is you that's true
Honey.. it's true mirror never lies you..
I never lie but can lie for you and
For your happiness can die for you..
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
Beauty is sacred so are you
Beauty is priceless so in you
You are precious but not for the world
Can bet anything to make you my world
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
Beautiful is you not my life
Your beauty is immortal not my eyes
Oh Mine...
Your beauty is the way to heaven
Show me way to your heart which is next to seven..
Take me the way i am and
make me the way you want..
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
You are my love worth to die for
You are my freedom worth to fight for..
I made my guts to compromise
Beauty in you is worth a sacrifice..
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
My words can sail but are not for sale
Can sacrifice in love to make you my fairy tale..
This song of mine is only for you my sunshine
I can sing this song specially for you my divine..
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
I've signed your name on each dropp of my sweat and
Will dream of you till the last day of my breath..
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine..
poem by Dr Vinay Sirigere
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There was an Old Man who, when little,
Fell casually into a Kettle;
But, growing too stout,
He could never get out,
So he passed all his life in that Kettle.
quote by by Edward Lear
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Pipe Dreams
i read it all
every word
and i still don't understand a thing
what had you heard
what had you heard
was it love
was it take another walk in the dark
you'll never learn
i'd pray to god if there was heaven
but heaven seems so very far from here
and it all boils down to the same thing
just a yin and a yang or a couple of pipe dreams
and it all boils down to the same old pain
whether you win or you lose isn't gonna change a single thing
i stood in line and a thought crossed my mind
i had been dreaming but i didn't mind
i signed the line and the woman looked right through me
she didn't smile
i'd pray to god if there was heaven
but heaven seems so very far from here
and it all boils down to the same old thing
just a yin and a yang or a couple of pipe dreams
and it all boils down to the same old pain
whether you win or you lose isn't gonna change a single thing
i'd pray to god if there was heaven
but heaven seems so very far from here
and it all boils down to the same old thing
just a yin and a yang or a couple of pipe dreams
and it all boils down to the same old pain
whether you win or you lose isn't gonna change a single thing
and it all boils down to the same old fear
just a link in a chain
just a puppet on a string
and it all boils down to the same old pain
whether you win or lose
whether you win or lose
whether you win or lose
whether you win or lose
song performed by by Travis from The Invisible Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Kettle
There’s many a house of grandeur,
With turret, tower and dome,
That knows not peace or comfort,
And does not prove a home.
I do not ask for splendour
To crown my daily lot,
But this I ask – a kitchen
Where the kettles always hot.
If things are not all ship-shape,
I do not fume or fret,
A little clean disorder
Does not my nerves upset.
But one thing is essential,
Or seems so in my thought,
And that’s a tidy kitchen
Where the kettle’s always hot.
In my Aunt Hattie’s household,
Though skies outside are drear,
Though times are dark and troubled,
You’ll always find good cheer.
And in her quaint old kitchen –
The very homiest spot –
The kettle’s always singing,
The water’s always hot.
And if you have a headache,
Whate’er the hour may be,
There is no tedious waiting
To get your cup of tea.
I don’t know how she does it –
Some magic she has caught –
For the kitchen’s cool in summer,
Yet the kettle’s always hot.
Oh, there’s naught else so dreary
In household kingdom found
As a cold and sullen kettle
That does not make a sound.
And I think that love is lacking
In the hearts in such a spot,
Or the kettle would be singing
And the water would be hot.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A Farm's Diary In Winter
In the frozen life of this farm
animals dwell in the golden hay
flowers sprout in fields like Siberian
clouds float as summer ducks on a lake
time flows as an under water ice cavern
snow drops as if leaves in fall
hoofs of deer feet sink as snow descends
stew boils as fire ruptures beneath the kettle
the snow covers the road as if it was a bed
sunlight spreads over the snow as it arise
poem by Montel Maggitt
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Keth Caterers from Dandenong
In my simple kitchen
Food is still warm
And I have a secret Recipe
That's the cleanliness.
Cuisine really Asian and bit spicy
But please don't worry.
When the water's boiling
I pour you a fine Sri Lankan blend Tea
Of Broken Orange pekoe
Into your tiny porcelain cups.
And I am sure you go home happily
But the weekends your crazy wallets cry
Let's go there once again.
I am sorry these days little lull
As I was pregnant and temporary shut the windows
When my little Rascal comes to the town
Your kettle boils again!
*To my daughter Tharindu and Son-in-law Kelum for their determination, where they reside in Australia.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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But I can tell you that the issue, on one side, boils down to money - a lot of money. And it boils down to people and their connections with this money, and that's the portion that, even with this book, has not been mentioned to this day.
quote by Sibel Edmonds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inside
I missed what she said
Did I hear her wrong?
I cant seem to have
Anything last that long
Or am I a jerk?
With no sense of what
Makes them warm up?
My life boils down to what I am
Living my life for what I can,
There I go again.
But maybe Im gaining what I need.
Ability to throw them aside,
Keep it inside.
Im writing again,
And out of ideas.
When I see her face,
Im filled up to here.
But what do I get?
I just let her pass.
I just let her pass
My life boils down to what I am
Living my life for what I can,
There I go again.
But maybe Im gaining what I need.
Ability to throw them aside,
Keep it inside.
My life boils down to what I am
Living my life for what I can,
There I go again.
But maybe Im gaining what I need.
Ability to throw them aside,
Keep it inside.
song performed by by Unsung Zeros
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heat It In The Kettle
Mix and blend before you can,
Feed me!
Heat it in the kettle then,
Feed me love!
Mix and blend before you can,
Feed me!
Heat it in the kettle then,
Feed me love!
Mix and blend before you can,
Put in the potatoes.
Mix and blend before you can,
Add the tomatoes.
Heat it in the kettle then...
Use chopped beef.
Or any kind of meat.
Take that homemade bread out of the oven.
Thickly slice.
Butter it nice.
Take that homemade bread out of the oven.
Thickly slice.
Butter it nice.
Mix and blend before you can,
Feed me!
Heat it in the kettle then,
Feed me love!
Take that homemade bread out of the oven.
Thickly slice.
Butter it nice.
Mix and blend before you can,
Put in the potatoes.
Add the tomatoes.
Use chopped beef.
Or any kind of meat.
Heat it in the kettle then
Heat it in the kettle then
Heat it in the kettle then...
Feed me love!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Ballad of Aberdeen (Mild Green Vipers)
The mild green vipers of Aberdeen
Are often heard but seldom seen.
They hiss like a kettle when it boils
And crush small rodents in their coils,
They slither through the summer grasses
Invisible to whoever passes,
Few mortal folk have ever seen
The mild green vipers of Aberdeen,
But many hear their wicked hiss
And shake in terror because of this.
You'll never guess where they have been
Unless you ask the Scottish Queen.
She'll smile and tell you very slowly
In the name of all that is Pure and Holy
That nothing lives that's so obscene
As the mild green vipers of Aberdeen.
Long, long ago, it says in fable
King Arthur's Knights of the old Round Table
Sent them to Scotland as a jest
To put the Haggises to rest.
So now you know from the Scottish Queen
About those vipers mild and green.
Do not presume that you are clever
Or you won't see them - never ever!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Song About Myself
I.
There was a naughty boy,
A naughty boy was he,
He would not stop at home,
He could not quiet be-
He took
In his knapsack
A book
Full of vowels
And a shirt
With some towels,
A slight cap
For night cap,
A hair brush,
Comb ditto,
New stockings
For old ones
Would split O!
This knapsack
Tight at's back
He rivetted close
And followed his nose
To the north,
To the north,
And follow'd his nose
To the north.
II.
There was a naughty boy
And a naughty boy was he,
For nothing would he do
But scribble poetry-
He took
An ink stand
In his hand
And a pen
Big as ten
In the other,
And away
In a pother
He ran
To the mountains
And fountains
And ghostes
And postes
And witches
And ditches
And wrote
In his coat
When the weather
Was cool,
Fear of gout,
And without
When the weather
Was warm-
Och the charm
When we choose
To follow one's nose
To the north,
To the north,
To follow one's nose
To the north!
III.
There was a naughty boy
And a naughty boy was he,
He kept little fishes
In washing tubs three
In spite
Of the might
Of the maid
Nor afraid
Of his Granny-good-
He often would
Hurly burly
Get up early
And go
By hook or crook
To the brook
And bring home
Miller's thumb,
Tittlebat
Not over fat,
Minnows small
As the stall
Of a glove,
Not above
The size
Of a nice
Little baby's
Little fingers-
O he made
'Twas his trade
Of fish a pretty kettle
A kettle-
A kettle
Of fish a pretty kettle
A kettle!
IV.
There was a naughty boy,
And a naughty boy was he,
He ran away to Scotland
The people for to see-
There he found
That the ground
Was as hard,
That a yard
Was as long,
That a song
Was as merry,
That a cherry
Was as red,
That lead
Was as weighty,
That fourscore
Was as eighty,
That a door
Was as wooden
As in England-
So he stood in his shoes
And he wonder'd,
He wonder'd,
He stood in his
Shoes and he wonder'd.
poem by John Keats
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Mimics in a kitchenette
A spoon in the rack
Beside sugar and salt jars.
Spoon mutters;
'I love both of you and you're like twins
But it complicates me without tasting you
How do I jump to the old Master's
Cup of Tea?
Kettle whistles and the Master still asleep.'
Parrot in the cage whispers;
'On holidays Master won't wake up early.'
Then who poured water into the kettle? '
'Don't you know Master brought a sweet *bride last night.'
[*A job agency has supplied a house-maid from a rural village.]
It is sad to grow old but nice to ripen.
-Brigitte Bardot
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A winter mornings window
A winter mornings window
~
The early hour of a winters morning
While the world still sleeps sound
The window framed in a ring of frost
Reveals amber beacons of street lights
Leading the mind to wander away
Up streets and roads masked in shadow
A kettle boils to stir the mind
Back to reality for the briefest of moments
The slight half sleeping clarity
Of a mind awake in the unsocial hour
Peaceful and undisturbed in its thinking
Then back to the vacancy of night
The cloud covered sky above
No stars, not even the lights off a plane
Just a grey black kind of nothing
Dimly lit by the amber beacons
Of the street lights below
A warm cup in hand warming
Helps drift the body to a tired state
Ready to dream and think about
Something, somewhere, another time
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Polly puts the kettle on
Polly puts the kettle on
Snakes rattle on insane
Round the kettle rattle on
All she puts is in vain
Polly bottles water deep
The taps mocks her ‘bravo’
But water steam stubborn peeps
The dishes clatter NO
‘The steam’s too high
Up on a ceiling
It winds too nigh
To a broken feeling’
‘What’ asks Polly
‘Hiss’ say snakes
‘What’s at stake
When kettles break? ’
‘What? ! ’ screams Polly
‘Hiss’ snakes curl
‘Ha ha ha ha ha ah
You bottle a whirl
My fair lady! ’
‘Why? ’ shouts Polly
‘Hiss’ snakes hide
Dragging down the water deep
‘Who? ’ asks Polly
The steam still glides
A broken feeling leaps
With heart in utter fear
‘Don’t ask for your daddy
He’s not ever here
My fair lady! ’
‘How? ’ stammers Polly
‘Has it happened?
Oh what a mistake to make!
To ever put the kettle on
When I’m not ready for the tea
My fingers are burnt
They swell in pain
I’ll just have to learn
Not to do that again! ’
See also Pollyteaparty by the same author
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Housewife's Choice - Kettle To Popocatépetl
Day day follows, Time despoiling,
tea-breaks bravely boredom foiling.
Bubbles boiling in the kettle
test their mettle ‘gainst the metal.
Atoms, constantly turmoiling,
pressure steam which soars uncoiling
till mist vapour cools to settle.
Tea leaves seethe as soft stream rises
soothing stress, green taste surprises,
tension melts though sugar, milk
added betray all Chinese silk,
treason seems to swallow. Wise is
she whose grace competes with Isis.
Feeling fair, in finer fettle
harrassed housewife from harsh toiling
desists, dame dainty, nothing soiling,
blushing Nature often nettles,
lips, fingertips, paints pink as petal.
She'd seize Sherlock, Conan Doyling,
J. K. Rowling, or, gargoyling,
romance - Popocatépetl -
or turn to T.V., mind resettles.
Thus each livelong day, self-oiling,
turns on kitchen kettle boiling.
first version Kettle to Popocatépetl 3rd August 2006
(3 March 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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One Of These Things First
I could have been a sailor, could have been a cook
A real live lover, could have been a book.
I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock
As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock.
I could be
Here and now
I would be, I should be
But how?
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first.
I could have been your pillar, could have been your door
I could have stayed beside you, could have stayed for more.
Could have been your statue, could have been your friend,
A whole long lifetime could have been the end.
I could be yours so true
I would be, I should be through and through
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first.
I could have been a whistle, could have been a flute
A real live giver, could have been a boot.
I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock
As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock.
I could be even here
I would be, I should be so near
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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