Honor buys no meat in the market. Hope is a good breakfast but a bad supper.
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Hope is a good breakfast, but it is a bad supper.
quote by Francis Bacon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hope is a good breakfast, but it is a bad supper.
quote by Francis Bacon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Market Of Ideas...
in the market there are good apples,
luscious ones and we buy them and we do not regret
the money that we part with,
there are rotten ones, who buys them must be fools
ditto with our creations,
we think what we make are the best
in the market of ideas
we rely on the proof of the goodness when others begin to buy
what we display
we think they are best
but look at the flies, look at the the emptiness of the market place
smell the stink,
then we decide not to display at all
we keep what we make as our own
after all, it is ours, and we protect them in our homes
not for sale
but for domestic consumption
we do not wish to compete
we are home now and then we are happier this way.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Breakfast
A dinner party, coffee, tea,
Sandwich, or supper, all may be
In their way pleasant. But to me
Not one of these deserves the praise
That welcomer of new-born days,
A breakfast, merits; ever giving
Cheerful notice we are living
Another day refreshed by sleep,
When its festival we keep.
Now although I would not slight
Those kindly words we use, 'Good night,'
Yet parting words are words of sorrow,
And may not vie with sweet 'Good morrow,'
With which again our friends we greet,
When in the breakfast-room we meet,
At the social table round,
Listening to the lively sound
Of those notes which never tire,
Of urn, or kettle on the fire.
Sleepy Robert never hears
Or urn or kettle; he appears
When all have finished, one by one
Dropping off, and breakfast done.
Yet has he too his own pleasure,
His breakfast hour's his hour of leisure;
And, left alone, he reads or muses,
Or else in idle mood he uses
To sit and watch the venturous fly,
Where the sugar's pilëd high,
Clambering o'er the lumps so white,
Rocky cliffs of sweet delight.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Lunch and Dinner
I have breakfast and lunch and dinner,
Munching away forever and ever;
The religion of some is furious and solid,
Yesterday it was bigger than today
But my day is always happy with fury,
Its speed is falling everywhere,
Velocity is the vector of your liking
For you know the directions
We possess.
Our breakfast is taken in fullness,
My lunch is ever so strange
And supper chanced itself.
poem by Naveed Akram
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If you eat it up at supper, you cannot have it for breakfast.
Laugh before breakfast, you'll cry before supper.
One Meat Ball
(l. singer-h.zaret)
The little man walked up and down
To find an eating place in town
He read the menu through and through
To see what fifteen cents could do
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
He told the waiter near at hand
A simple dinner he had planned
The guests were startled one and all to hear
That waiter loudly call
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, this here gent wants one meat ball
Little man felt very bad
One meat ball was all he had
And in his dreams he hears that call
Ya gets no bread with one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, you get no bread with one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
All he could afford was one meat ball
One meat ball
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To sing before breakfast is to weep before supper.
Who Buys My Thought?
Who buys my thought buys not a bottle of honey
But strands of a hopeless future bottled up.
A future that is threatened
By mortal diseases threatened
The future of the African child.
Of eyes that look out and see an endangered tomorrow threatening an already imagined better future.
Who buys my thought buys not a haven of peace and bliss
But of battling thoughts.
Thoughts of what the future would be
The tomorrow of the African child.
Who buys my thought buys a strenous desire for a better tomorrow
A better tomorrow for the African child
Who buys my thought?
poem by Mabel C. Mozie
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For Molly, Concerning God
Is God the one who eats the meat
off the bones of dead people?
-Molly Miranda Jong-Fast, age 3 1/2
God is the one,
Molly,
whether we call him
Him,
or Her,
treeform or spewing
volcano,
Vesuvius or vulva,
penis-rock,
or reindeer-on-cave-wall,
God is the one
who eats
our meat,
Molly,
& we yield
our meat
up willingly.
Meat is our
element,
meat is our
lesson.
When our bodies fill
with each other,
when our blood swells
in our organs
aching for another,
body of meat,
heart of meat,
soul of meat,
we are only doing
what God wants
us to—
meat joining meat
to become insubstantial air,
meat fusing
with meat
to make
a small wonder
like you.
The wonder of you
is that you push
our questions
along into
the future—
so that I know
again
the wonder of meat
through you,
the wonder of meat
turning to philosophy,
the wonder of meat
transubstantiated
into poetry,
the wonder of
sky-blue meat
in your roundest eyes,
the wonder of
dawn-colored meat
in your cheeks & palms,
the wonder of meat
becoming
air.
You
are my theorem,
my proof,
my meaty metaphysics,
my little questioner,
my small Socrates
of the nursery-schoolyard.
To think that
such wonder
can come from meat!
Well then,
if God is hungry—
let Him eat,
let Her eat.
poem by Erica Jong
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Now I Have My Eyes On Dinner
When I say I am seeking something substantial in my life?
Why does that make you laugh to see me at a flea market?
I am seeking something that doesn't need to be high maintenanced...
Looking for wrinkles to moisturized.
To get nipped and tucked when bags begin to sag.
'And...
You are going to find that at a flea market? '
OH yes.
Some people don't know quality to throw it away.
Just like that.
Maybe recently divorced?
Or separated?
'You are talking about being at flea market,
Right! '
Ab-so-yes indeed-lutely!
And today must be my lucky day.
Because I am looking at a bargain.
A steal that's too genuine to leave.
And...
What do you think I've discovered?
'A day you found something priceless? '
Is there such a thing...
Of hoping to spend every moment,
With something so priceless...
To wish it is available?
'What can I say?
Your discovery is as good as mine? '
Are you sure you don't want to look around?
'What makes you think I haven't been doing just that?
I was hoping to see those candleholders you purchased,
Last week...
Again.'
So you had your eyes on 'them' too?
'Very much so.
Now I have my eyes on dinner! '
With breakfast?
'And lunch? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Writing ought either to be the manufacture of stories for which there is a market demand -- a business as safe and commendable as making soap or breakfast foods -- or it should be an art, which is always a search for something for which there is no market demand, something new and untried, where the values are intrinsic and have nothing to do with standardized values.
quote by Willa Sibert Cather
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And I Feel So Guilty
today she buys a rotten apple
she says it is hard for her to notice
the market is crowded and she is in a hurry
she also buys canned goods in bulk
whose dates on the label have already expired
she says it is hard for her to notice
the mall is crowded and she is in a hurry
she has this usual style of repeating lines
when caught in the midst of her stupidities
but i do not let any stone unturned and i
ask her why she is in a hurry
she is in a hurry to be back home
she says she misses me
she says she is cooking dinner for me
she says she is stupid enough to have ever loved me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One of the funny things about the stock market is that every time one person buys, another sells, and both think they are astute.
quote by William Feather
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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March of the Wheelchairs
In Dakota land lunch is dinner
and dinner supper while lunch is lunch,
as traditions from farmlands go.
Now breakfast is at 6, lunch at 9
dinner at noon, lunch at 3
supper at 7, everything timed.
Day in and day out, better not be late.
Weather fickle, eating ain’t!
Farm traditions, genetics ‘grained.
No surprise, nursing meals,
wheelchairs marching, internal time,
largo moves, staccato fades.
Day in, day out…they’re not late
Wheelchairs marching, marching in
farm traditions, genetics ‘grained.
Weather fickle….eating ain’t!
Hope God keeps the schedule,
or has… a special dining hall.
As these Wheelchairs… arrive
Suppertime
Supper time
I should set the table
cause its supper time
Somehow Im not able
cause that man omine
Aint comin home no more
Supper time
Kids will soon be yellin
For their supper time
Howll I keep from tellin
Them that man omine
Aint comin home no more?
Howll I keep explainin when they ask me where hes gone?
Howll I keep from cryin when I bring their supper on?
How can I remind them to pray at their humble board?
How can I be thankful when they start to thank the lord
Lord!
Supper time
I should set the table
cause its supper time
Somehow Im not able
cause that man omine
Aint comin home no more
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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