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Feast To Eat And Enjoy
Feast!
So delicious are these offerings,
For only you prepared.
Feast and eat.
Until your heart is contented.
Relax.
And take the weight off your feet.
Unbridled and free,
From each and every discourse presented.
Whether disguised in debated argument or not,
To undermine your dining done.
With purposes to have that stopped.
Feast!
So delicious are these offerings,
For only you prepared.
Be daring and selective,
As it is your wish to nourish...
Upon that which feeds your encouragement.
Feast to eat and enjoy.
Nothing tasted to you presented,
Has been created to disappoint, displease...
Or leave you to become agitated or annoyed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wedding Feast
Brother dear brother,I came as quickly as I could
The Digital Haze is broken,The Banished Ones r gone 4 good, gone 4 good"
Now there must b a wedding/Now there must b a feast
A feast, a feast/A smorgasbord at least
A brunch, a munch/Of cake if just a piece
Not just a vat of chitlins/Or turkey meat u c
We r what we eat/So we must eat a leaf
We'll dine under a tree/Unless it snows!
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The first seeding on the feast of All Saints and the last on the feast of Saint Andrew.
Faith is the ticket to the feast, not the feast.
quote by Edwin Louis Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Feast or Famine
Neither feast nor famine
should show its fickle face.
The wine for some
and for most just a trace.
A few bitter drops of bitter liquid
lapped up by their thirst
and why?
Because others must come first?
And who decides this unfair thing?
Must not be the one whose praises we sing.
And who shall stop this unfair thing?
Must not be any that call themselves King.
Neither feast nor famine
should ever be allowed.
And those that feast should hunger
and feed the starving crowd.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Consider It Done
Consider it done.
Done.
Done.
Done.
Consider it done.
Done.
Done.
Done.
Consider it done.
Done.
Done.
Done.
Consider it done.
Consider it done.
Getting near a fiscal cliff,
And knowing of it.
But...
ignoring all the warnings,
Or it there to exist...
To feed an addiction to greed,
Regardless of the risks.
Well...
Consider it done.
Your feeding.
Done.
And with a greeding.
Done.
Consider it done.
Done.
Done.
Done.
Consider it done.
The feast.
Consider it done.
That feast depleted,
With a wish for more to eat...
Is done!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Call
Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life :
Such a Way, as gives us breath :
Such a Truth, as ends all strife :
And such a Life, as killeth death.
Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength :
Such a Light, as shows a feast :
Such a Feast, as mends in length :
Such a Strength, as makes his guest.
Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart :
Such a Joy, as none can move :
Such a Love, as none can part :
Such a Heart, as joyes in love.
poem by George Herbert
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Feast Of Lights
You never write, you never call
And now you wander in the hall
You look familiar;
I barely know your face at all
We never get together at all
Until the last day of Hanukkah.
I got you a harmonica
And a bag of chocolate coins.
The only thing we have is fights,
But there's got to be a change tonight.
Please be nice on this feast of lights.
We never get together at all
Until the last day of Hanukkah.
I got you a harmonica,
And a bag of chocolate coins.
The only thing we have is fights,
But there's got to be a change tonight.
Please be nice on this feast of lights.
Please be nice on this feast of lights.
Please be nice on this feast of lights.
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Maundy Thursday
In a feast the host must receive the guests
With humility. Else he is the beast
That relegates his guests as mere beggars.
Jesus washed guests' feet on Maundy Thursday.[before the feast]
25.03.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To Infest and Manifest
Why do they glare?
Those who stop to stare...
With a bringing of their gloom,
To pollute environments everywhere.
Do they perceive themselves to be,
Rulers Of Acceptance.
Judges Of Appearances.
Police to guard values and standards...
Molding with age and on the decrease.
Why do they restrict to insist,
Those of ethnic differences...
Should from themselves be distanced quick.
With minds influenced by ignorance,
To infest and manifest.
And they feast upon with feeding misery.
Miseries denying hiding,
Insecurities.
Do they perceive themselves to be,
Rulers Of Acceptance.
Or police to guard what's valued...
Hypocritically!
And they feast upon with feeding misery.
Miseries denying hiding,
Insecurities.
To infest and manifest.
And they feast upon with feeding misery.
Miseries denying hiding,
Insecurities.
To infest and manifest.
And they feast upon with feeding misery.
To infest.
And manifest.
And they feast upon with feeding misery.
To infest.
And manifest.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Spread Like Lilies
come little sparrows
hop about all freely
under my laid tables
daily feast upon crumbs
of this our heavenly
daily bread spread like lilies
of God’s harvest fields
sparrows do not spin or weave
freely feast enjoy stay believe.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Men are paltry fed
All women like men’s talks,
At least in one to one talks.
The bolder ones with them walk.
They blush in incidental touches.
They relish motive touches.
It is the end of it for women
Like pudding after feast.
It is the beginning for men
Like soup ahead of feast.
Men are left starving.
25.04.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Butterflies Are Good (taste A Little Like Chicken)
Butterflies are real good
I like God’s butterflies
I so really, truly do
Beautiful, iridescent wings
Of brilliant rainbow hue
Carmine reds, deep purples
And unbelievable blues
I feast my eyes upon
Their most incredible views
I feast not only my eyes
But also my belly too
For they taste absolutely scrumptious
In my salad and in my stew
poem by David Whalen
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Of the Seven Deadly Sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back--in many ways it is a feast fit for a king. The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself. The skeleton at the feast is you.
Frederick Buechner in Wishful Thinking (1973)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The gift and the feast
The cost of the gift must not be compared
With the cost of the feast thrown, by the host.
The feast stands for the host's potentials.
The gift stands for the guests' limitations.
26.04.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Pain and Feasts
The pain in my body
Is pulsating -
Screaming!
Alarming!
And yet I have
to go out and feast
I must shallow the palliatives
from songs, art, prayer and dance
I must lock my pain
In the box of oblivion
Until the day is done.
Let me beautify all around me
With my smiles and laughter
Let me fully feast and celebrate
With friends and loved ones
Till the day is done.
And when the day is done,
Let me listen to the murmurs
And tortures of my bodily pain
And let me swing my cradle
With the wings of joy
Gleaned from the life
of merry field feasts.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Doubting Thomas
For years I've fed this feral cat at 4 a.m.,
a crouching mound of fur, Satanic black, with yellow eyes
that never blink. I call him 'Doubting Thomas.'
I place his can of Fancy Feast five feet or so from him.
He doesn't stir till I go in the house
and douse the porch light.
Then he leaps and cleans the can
and saunters off till 4 a.m. the following morning
when he's back again, eyes ablaze, crouching.
This pact I have with Doubting Thomas
helps me realize how God must feel
eons after the Big Bang.
Some folks, you see, aren't certain God lit that match.
Some believe the Big Bang just happened.
Out of nothing they believe something came to be.
I think the cat I feed at 4 a.m. agrees with them.
I'm sure he'd tell you Fancy Feast always was,
always will be and always will remain the same.
I wonder what that cat will do the day I die
when he arrives at 4 a.m. and finds the can
from yesterday empty where he left it.
There's no mystery as to what he'll do.
He'll find another porch like mine where every morning
without a bang Fancy Feast just happens.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Fishing On The Bayou
Everyday the fishing pole called, hook smiled.
Everyday the bayous melted my eyes anew...
With watercolors vapid, vagrant, hyacinth-call.
And the bass waited, finning defiantly, smiling.
Sitting on that wharf, wanting that night's feast,
Realizing the feast was already before me...
What beauty to relish with seasoning of years.
What years to relish, already seasoned...
poem by Elysabeth Faslund
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The Vine
The wine of Love is music,
And the feast of Love is song:
And when Love sits down to the banquet,
Love sits long:
Sits long and arises drunken,
But not with the feast and the wine;
He reeleth with his own heart,
That great, rich Vine.
poem by James Thomson
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I Meant It
To you it was funny
When they were using my money,
And now you're so far in debt...
You may as well stay there!
It wouldn't be cost effective to bail you out!
'Feast or famine? '
You talking to me?
You sat on pews to pray.
Drove many a day past me
Without a nod or a sign that we had met.
That you are going through a 'phase'
Is something I regret...
Like the time you left me stranded.
Knowning I was damn near on my hands and knees!
I'll take the feast...
You can have the famine!
And the empty space you say I left in your heart!
Remember?
You left me.
I just agreed not to give a damn.
And I meant it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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