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The Difference Between A Rooster And A Man
on the grass i see this rooster wearing a thick red comb,
tall for its lowly status, and well muscled as may be gleaned from the
thickness of its black, red and white feathers
how can he notice me stopping by to observe it
when its attention is focused on two slender hens
one is red the other white getting near it
and without any inhibition at all he copulated on each
of those two slender hens, quickly as a quickie
i can imagine in a few days, the two hens cackle with
lots of eggs for the owner now prepared with a big basket
to bring the produce to a crowded market
if i as a man does what a rooster does, you very well know
what happens next
it will be the people of this republic v. ric
and his dismissal from the government service
it makes me think however, on the other hand, the happiness of
the owner selling more eggs in the market because the rooster
had been kind and obliging to the two hens and the other hens in the yard
what about it God?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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3 Fingers of Bananas And 4 Boiled Eggs
This is just the beginning and,
This is just like the beginning!
With 3 fingers of bananas and 4 boiled eggs to eat.
I know what i need and,
I know what i buy;
You know what you need and,
You know what you buy;
But, the market out there is for the wise and the fool.
This man said this!
And that woman said that;
This man did this!
And that woman did that;
This boy did this!
And that girl did that;
But, let the water go through it to satisfy you!
For, i have 3 bananas and 4 boiled eggs to eat.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Meditations Upon An Egg
1.
The egg's no chick by falling from the hen;
Nor man a Christian, till he's born again.
The egg's at first contained in the shell;
Men, afore grace, in sins and darkness dwell.
The egg, when laid, by warmth is made a chicken,
And Christ, by grace, those dead in sin doth quicken.
The egg, when first a chick, the shell's its prison;
So's flesh to the soul, who yet with Christ is risen.
The shell doth crack, the chick doth chirp and peep,
The flesh decays, as men do pray and weep.
The shell doth break, the chick's at liberty,
The flesh falls off, the soul mounts up on high
But both do not enjoy the self-same plight;
The soul is safe, the chick now fears the kite.
2.
But chicks from rotten eggs do not proceed,
Nor is a hypocrite a saint indeed.
The rotten egg, though underneath the hen,
If crack'd, stinks, and is loathsome unto men.
Nor doth her warmth make what is rotten sound;
What's rotten, rotten will at last be found.
The hypocrite, sin has him in possession,
He is a rotten egg under profession.
3.
Some eggs bring cockatrices; and some men
Seem hatch'd and brooded in the viper's den.
Some eggs bring wild-fowls; and some men there be
As wild as are the wildest fowls that flee.
Some eggs bring spiders, and some men appear
More venom'd than the worst of spiders are.[16]
Some eggs bring piss-ants, and some seem to me
As much for trifles as the piss-ants be.
Thus divers eggs do produce divers shapes,
As like some men as monkeys are like apes.
But this is but an egg, were it a chick,
Here had been legs, and wings, and bones to pick.
poem by John Bunyan
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A person who sells eggs doesn't start a fight in the market.
Green Eggs & Ham
I do not like green eggs and ham
I do not like them
Sam, I am
I do not like them here or there
I do not like them anywhere
I do not like them in a boat
I would not, could not, with a goat
I will not eat them in the rain
I do not like them on a train
I do not like them in a box
I will not eat them with a fox
I do not like them in a house
I would not, could not, with a mouse
I do not like green eggs and ham
I do not like them
Sam, I am
Green eggs and ham
Green eggs and ham
Dont like green eggs and ham
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do You Know Anything About Crows?
crows steal eggs from another nest,
plop them on the ground and then feed,
it's pretty basic what they do,
they take from others what they need.
many an egg has been dropped in these times,
and I'm not talking about nickels and dimes,
so many nest eggs ripped from those trying to save,
the market place, an infantile grave.
who are these crows that steal?
what real estate of theirs is real?
computerized theft is such a sight,
when crows operate in broad day light.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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The Sailor and the Market Man
'I ask you to see reason'
Says the sailor who is stern;
'You know full well that from the sea
A living I must earn;
I'll bother you to shake on it,
I haven't got all day;
Come on now make your mind up,
It ain't a lot to pay! '
'My friend, your price is far too high'
The market-man declares,
'Go find another buyer now
Who'll rid you of your wares.
I know the fish you bring to sell
Are fat and fresh and sound,
But I must make a living too
By watching every pound.'
The sailor and the market-man
They argue every day,
As if there's no tomorrow,
And each must have his say.
The sailor and the market-man
At odds they'll always be,
Until they've taken all
The little fishes from the sea.
Written Dec 1994
poem by John Carter Brown
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Teaching a Jew to deal in the market is like teaching grandmother to eat her eggs.
Bring em All In
Bring em all in, bringem all in, bring em all in,
Bring em all in, bring em all into my heart
Bring em all in, bring em all in, bring em all in
Bring em all in, bring em all into my heart
Bring the little fishes
Bring the sharks
Bring em from the brightness
Bring em from the dark
Bring em from the caverns
Bring em from the heights
Bring em from the shadows
Stand em in the light
Bring em out of purdah
Bring em out of store
Bring em out of hiding
Lay them at my door
Bring the unforgiven
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gum-Gatherer
There overtook me and drew me in
To his down-hill, early-morning stride,
And set me five miles on my road
Better than if he had had me ride,
A man with a swinging bag for'load
And half the bag wound round his hand.
We talked like barking above the din
Of water we walked along beside.
And for my telling him where I'd been
And where I lived in mountain land
To be coming home the way I was,
He told me a little about himself.
He came from higher up in the pass
Where the grist of the new-beginning brooks
Is blocks split off the mountain mass --
And hop. eless grist enough it looks
Ever to grind to soil for grass.
(The way it is will do for moss.)
There he had built his stolen shack.
It had to be a stolen shack
Because of the fears of fire and logs
That trouble the sleep of lumber folk:
Visions of half the world burned black
And the sun shrunken yellow in smoke.
We know who when they come to town
Bring berries under the wagon seat,
Or a basket of eggs between their feet;
What this man brought in a cotton sack
Was gum, the gum of the mountain spruce.
He showed me lumps of the scented stuff
Like uncut jewels, dull and rough
It comes to market golden brown;
But turns to pink between the teeth.
I told him this is a pleasant life
To set your breast to the bark of trees
That all your days are dim beneath,
And reaching up with a little knife,
To loose the resin and take it down
And bring it to market when you please
poem by Robert Frost
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Putting all the eggs in one basket
Every time I leave
Mother always reminds me
This: do not put all your eggs
In one basket,
Because when I fall
All the eggs will break and I will be left with
Nothing.
Even a nincompoop understands that.
Oh mama! I do not have those many eggs
And she does not have any basket,
We sure both, have nothing to lose.
Thanks for the reminder, anyway.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I think the market is always going to be around. The goal is not to say, let's get rid of the market, because the market does render a huge number of services, and I don't want to have a fight about the price of something every time I buy a book or a bottle of water.
quote by Susan George
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Continued - II
Oracle of the market! thence you drew
The taste which stamped you guide of the inept. -
A North-sea pilot, Hildebrand yclept,
A sturdy and a briny, once men knew.
He loved small beer, and for that copious brew,
To roll ingurgitation till he slept,
Rations exchanged with flavour for the adept:
And merrily plied him captain, mate and crew.
At last this dancer to the Polar star
Sank, washed out within, and overboard was pitched,
To drink the sea and pilot him to land.
O captain-critic! printed, neatly stitched,
Know while the pillory-eggs fly fast, they are
Not eggs, but the drowned soul of Hildebrand.
poem by George Meredith
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Of the Cuckoo
Thou booby, say'st thou nothing but cuckoo?
The robin and the wren can thee outdo.
They to us play thoróugh their little throats,
Not one, but sundry pretty tuneful notes.
But thou hast fellows, some like thee can do
Little but suck our eggs, and sing cuckoo.
Thy notes do not first welcome in our spring,
Not dost thou its first tokens to us bring.
Birds less than thee by far, like prophets, do
Tell us 'tis coming, though not by cuckoo.
Nor dost thou summer have away with thee,
Though thou a yawling, bawling cuckoo be.
When thou dost cease among us to appear,
Then doth our harvest bravely crown our year.
But thou hast fellows, some like thee can do
Little but suck our eggs, and sing cuckoo.
Since cuckoos forward not our early spring,
Nor help with notes to bring our harvest in:
And since while here she only makes a noise,
So pleasing unto none as girls and boys,
The formalist we may compare her to,
For he doth suck our eggs, and sing cuckoo.
poem by John Bunyan
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Coloured Eggs
Coloued eggs for a culture,
And of he story of a rabbit that laid them!
Oh, this culture is yet to know the truth;
For rabbits do not lay eggs!
Why should they teach the children this way?
And of coloured eggs lay by rabbits;
But this culture cannot change,
For history had made them so.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Eggs Are Falling
Discover the unseen,
Learn the unknown like,
Red wine with a candle light;
A world of darkness is around us.
The line of poetry,
The marks of love;
Respectable to a muse when,
The teacher becomes a student.
Eggs are falling, eggs are falling!
A walk through the Saxon Forest with,
An art by the mile:
Eggs are falling, eggs are falling! !
Discover the unseen and know my mind,
A thought by an inch with a poem by the yard;
The blosson time of love is hear to stay.
Of blue rooms for love,
Of red rooms for roses,
Eggs are falling to where the trees blossom;
Learn the unknow with Red Wine.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Eggxample
What came first chickens or eggs?
Chickens of course!
Chickens have legs!
Chickens have feathers,
Eggs have a shell,
How would you like your eggs, done well?
This may be a 'yolk',
But consider it folk!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Egg love
Dog
Love too
Eat eggs...
Eggs is
Not love
The dog...
But...
Dog don't woory
Eat the eggs...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Grits Aint Groceries
If I dont love you baby,
Grits aint groceries,
Eggs aint poultry,
And mona lisa was a man.
All around the world
Id rather be a fly
And light on my babys head,
Ill stay with that
Woman til I die.
A toothpick in my hand,
I dig a 10-foot ditch
And ride through the jungle
Fightin lions with a switch,
Because ya know I love ya baby,
Well, you know I love you baby,
And if I dont love you baby,
Grits aint groceries,
Eggs aint poultry,
And mona lisa must-a been a man.
Well, its all around the world and I got
Blisters on my feet
A-tryin to find my baby,
A-bring her back to me.
If you see my baby,
I know shell be convinced.
If it dont send her back to me,
It just
Dont make no sense,
Because ya know I love ya baby,
Well, you know I love you baby.
If I dont love you baby,
Grits aint groceries and eggs aint poultry,
And mona lisa must-a been a man.
Well,
All around the world
I never will forget
I lost all my money, my woman and my pet,
But I got to have you baby,
I got to settle for nothin less,
Give up all my good time for the sake of happiness,
Because ya know I love ya baby,
You know,
You know I love you baby.
If I dont love you baby,
Grits aint groceries,
Eggs aint poultry,
And mona lisa must-a been a man.
I said, if I dont love you baby,
Grits aint groceries,
Eggs aint poultry,
And mona lisa must-a
Mona lisa must-a been a man.
Well,
If I dont love ya baby,
If
I dont love you baby,
If I dont love you baby,
Grits aint groceries,
And eggs aint poultry,
And mona lisa must-a been a man.
Mona lisa must-a been a man.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turtle Teachers
TURTLE TEACHERS
Having laid her eggs upon a distant beach,
the turtle hurries quickly to the friendly ocean;
she cannot navigate the land, like those who teach,
producing mirror images for self-promotion.
A turtle may spend no more than an hour on a beach where she lays her eggs and then abandon her eggs, returning to the ocean.
3/30/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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