One cannot be at the oven and the mill at the same time.
Related quotes
If you will learn news, you must go to the oven or the mill.
A cake is a very good test of an oven: if it browns too much on one side and not on the other, it's not your fault - you need to have your oven checked.
quote by Delia Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Oven Liet
Where the flesh goes,
The mind follows.
The body is weak.
Why she left me alone.
How she got sick.
And no one calls the phone.
Never had to cook with her around
Now I found a light in the most unexpected place
The oven.
I sit in the dark tonight
In the kitchen
With only the oven light
While I try to mend.
And I brood like a chicken with her eggs
My seat feels like it's hatching
My bottom is burning
My soul squirming like a worm
Or a snake.
Yellow.
The color of companionship.
Cowardly, fearful, impertinent.
I stare into the oven
Light.
poem by Eon Ezkiel
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The Stand-Ins
In the dream
the swastika is neon
and flashes like a strobe light
into my eyes, all colors,
all vibrations
and I see the killer in him
and he turns on an oven,
an oven, an oven, an oven,
and on a pie plate he sticks
in my Yellow Star
and then
then when it is ready for serving—
this dream goes off into the wings
and on stage The Cross appears,
with Jesus sticking to it
and He is breathing
and breathing
and He is breathing
and breathing
and then He speaks,
a kind of whisper,
and says . . .
This is the start.
This is the end.
This is a light.
This is a start.
I woke.
I did not know the hour,
an hour of night like thick scum
but I considered the dreams,
the two: Swastika, Crucifix,
and said: Oh well,
it doesn't belong to me,
if a cigar can be a cigar
then a dream can be a dream.
Right?
Right?
And went back to sleep
and another start.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Get Your Biscuits In The Oven And Your Buns In The Bed
(Kinky Friedman)
You uppity women I don't understand
Why you gotta go and try to act like a man,
But before you make your weekly visit to the shrink
You'd better occupy the kitchen, liberate the sink.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
That's what I to my baby said,
Women's liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Early every morning you're out on the street
Passing out pamphlets to everyone you meet.
You gave up your Maiden Form for Lent
And now the front of your dress has an air scoop vent.
Every single brakeman that's ever come along
Had a little woman always tellin' him that he's wrong.
Eve said to Adam, ?Here's an apple you horse?
And Delilah defoliated Samson's moss.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
That's what I to my baby said,
Women's liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Mean-hearted harpies are breaking all the laws
Tearing up their girdles and a-burning up their bras,
Now the air is dirty and the sex is clean
And your coffee makes my hair turn green.
So damn emancipated in your mind and your body,
Gonna have to cancel all your lessons in karate.
If you can't love a male chauvinist
You'd better cross me off your shopping list.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
That's what I to my baby said,
Women's liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get Your Biscuits In The Oven & Your Buns In The Bed
(kinky friedman)
You uppity women I dont understand
Why you gotta go and try to act like a man,
But before you make your weekly visit to the shrink
Youd better occupy the kitchen, liberate the sink.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
Thats what I to my baby said,
Womens liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Early every morning youre out on the street
Passing out pamphlets to everyone you meet.
You gave up your maiden form for lent
And now the front of your dress has an air scoop vent.
Every single brakeman thats ever come along
Had a little woman always tellin him that hes wrong.
Eve said to adam, heres an apple you horse
And delilah defoliated samsons moss.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
Thats what I to my baby said,
Womens liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Mean-hearted harpies are breaking all the laws
Tearing up their girdles and a-burning up their bras,
Now the air is dirty and the sex is clean
And your coffee makes my hair turn green.
So damn emancipated in your mind and your body,
Gonna have to cancel all your lessons in karate.
If you cant love a male chauvinist
Youd better cross me off your shopping list.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
Thats what I to my baby said,
Womens liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twa Sisters O' Binnorie
There were twa sisters sat in a bow'r;
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
A knight cam' there, a noble wooer,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
The eldest she was vexed sair,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And sair envìed her sister fair,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
Upon a morning fair and clear,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie !)
She cried upon her sister dear,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
`O sister, sister, tak' my hand,'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
`And let's go down to the river-strand,'
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
She's ta'en her by the lily hand,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And down they went to the river-strand
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
The youngest stood upon a stane,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
The eldest cam' and pushed her in,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
'O sister, sister, reach your hand!'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'And ye sall be heir o' half my land'--
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
'O sister, reach me but your glove!'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'And sweet William sall be your love'--
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
Till she cam' to the mouth o' yon mill-dam,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie
Out then cam' the miller's son
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And saw the fair maid swimmin' in,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
'O father, father, draw your dam!'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'There's either a mermaid or a swan,'
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
The miller quickly drew the dam,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And there he found a drown'd womàn,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
Round about her middle sma'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
There went a gouden girdle bra'
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
All amang her yellow hair
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
A string o' pearls was twisted rare,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
On her fingers lily-white,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
The jewel-rings were shining bright,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And by there cam' a harper fine,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
Harpèd to nobles when they dine,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And when he looked that lady on,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
He sigh'd and made a heavy moan,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
He's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And wi' them strung his harp sae rare,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
He went into her father's hall,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And played his harp before them all,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And sune the harp sang loud and clear,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
`Fareweel, my father and mither dear!'
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And neist when the harp began to sing,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'Twas 'Fareweel, sweetheart!' said the string,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And then as plain as plain could be,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'There sits my sister wha drownèd me!
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.'
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have been taking my daily walk round the island, and visited the sugar mill and the threshing mill again.
quote by Fanny Kemble
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Camp-Oven
WE DON’T keep a grand piano in our hut beside the creek,
And I’m pretty certain Hannah couldn’t bang it, anyhow,
But we’ve got one box of music, and I’d rather hear its squeak
Than the daisiest cantata that’s been fashioned up to now.
It’s an old camp-oven merely, with a handle made of wire,
But no organ built could nearly compensate to me for it
When I come off graft and find it playing tunes before the fire,
And I’m feeling sort of vacant, but just wonder fully fit.
In its sizzle, sizzle, sizzle,
There’s a thousand little airs,
And no man can sit and grizzle
’Bout his troubles and his cares
While the flames are gaily winding,
And the tea is down to brew,
And the old camp-oven’s grinding
All the reels he ever knew.
When the wet winds meet and whip me in the early winter nights,
And the hissing hailstones clip me all the way across the flat,
As I battle for’ards, water-logged, toward the beckoning lights,
There is always there a welcome to console a chap for that.
For my little wife is beaming brisk and bright beside the lamp,
And the old camp-oven’s going. Gosh! I feel just like a kid
As I peel and sluice so slippy, and I hear the storm winds vamp
To the singing of the oven when the missus lifts the lid.
There’s a sizzle and a splutter
And a whirr of many harps;
Where’s the instrument can utter
Such a maze of flats and sharps?
Not for me the great creations
When the old camp-oven plays
‘Home Sweet Home,’ with variations,
At the end of working days.
In the evenings dim and hazy, stretched outside along a butt,
Feeling reasonably lazy, blowing clouds that curl and climb,
I can hear the old camp-oven on the logs before the hut
Ripping out a mellow chorus that just suits the place and time.
If we strike it in the ranges, or The Windmill turns out well,
I suppose there’ll be some changes, and I’ll want to make things gee;
But the time will never happen when I’ll be so steep a swell
That the old camp-oven’s measure won’t be melody to me.
’Neath its bubble, bubble, bubble,
There’s the lilt of jigs and reels;
All the common kind of trouble
That the horney-handed feels
Is wiped out in half a minute
By the restfulness it brings,
And the peaceful rapture in it
When the old camp-oven sings.
poem by Edward George Dyson
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Just as radical heirs apparent are said to lay aside all inconvenient revolutionary opinions when they come to the throne, it was believed that Mr. Mill in Parliament would be an entirely different person from Mr. Mill in his study.
quote by Millicent Fawcett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letters
I was thinking of letters,
We all have a lot in our life
A few good - a few sad
But mostly run of the mill-
I suppose that's my fault
For writing to run of the mill people.
I've never had a letter
I really wanted
It might come one day
But then, it will be just too late,
And that's when I don't want it.
poem by Spike Milligan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stand Together(song)
Fresh out the oven
and baked like new
I do a wake and bake
for all of you
I become pleasant
and present
Aware of the peasant
who are always neglected
and some how uneffected
Able to live survive
Revive
No divide
Will reside
if we all just stand together
Alright...just stand together
(I will be on your side)
Just stand together
(I'll give you support)
Just stand together
Comin' fresh out of the oven
woke up to some lovin'
I declared my time to you
I was hoping that we grew
together not apart
It felt right from the start
Livin' in this crazy world
trying to get ahead
But everything always
seems dead
Shells that bleed
With the ability to move
and act
The streets are pact
Cause love is lost
cause we don't
stand together
Alright....Just stand together
poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
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Intriguing Creations
Canvas sails of the windmill, secured to their whips,
Circle around on slow orbital trips.
No hurrying to speed the day’s hours away,
The winds hold them captive, they have to obey.
The blades catch the currents that travel along,
Turning continuously, powerful and strong.
Moving the mechanism of sprockets rotating,
Crushing the corn and then flour creating.
What a joy when you see one, they stand proud and tall.
A relic of times when the miller would haul
Jute sacks full of wheat, which he would then kibble,
In that dusty old place, where the mice came to nibble.
The Smock Mill, the Post Mill and the Tower Mill well knew,
The procedure of grinding the grain fine and true.
But these intriguing creations are now hard to find,
As the old time traditions are now left far behind.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The King's Daughter
WE WERE ten maidens in the green corn,
Small red leaves in the mill-water:
Fairer maidens never were born,
Apples of gold for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens by a well-head,
Small white birds in the mill-water:
Sweeter maidens never were wed,
Rings of red for the king’s daughter.
The first to spin, the second to sing,
Seeds of wheat in the mill-water;
The third may was a goodly thing,
White bread and brown for the king’s daughter.
The fourth to sew and the fifth to play,
Fair green weed in the mill-water;
The sixth may was a goodly may,
White wine and red for the king’s daughter.
The seventh to woo, the eighth to wed,
Fair thin reeds in the mill-water;
The ninth had gold work on her head,
Honey in the comb for the king’s daughter.
The ninth had gold work round her hair,
Fallen flowers in the mill-water;
The tenth may was goodly and fair,
Golden gloves for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens in a field green,
Fallen fruit in the mill-water;
Fairer maidens never have been,
Golden sleeves for the king’s daughter.
By there comes the king’s young son,
A little wind in the mill-water;
“Out of ten maidens ye’ll grant me one,”
A crown of red for the king’s daughter.
“Out of ten mays ye’ll give me the best,”
A little rain in the mill-water;
A bed of yellow straw for all the rest,
A bed of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en out the goodliest,
Rain that rains in the mill-water;
A comb of yellow shell for all the rest,
A comb of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s made her bed to the goodliest,
Wind and hail in the mill-water;
A grass girdle for all the rest,
A girdle of arms for the king’s daughter.
He’s set his heart to the goodliest,
Snow that snows in the mill-water;
Nine little kisses for all the rest,
An hundredfold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en his leave at the goodliest,
Broken boats in the mill-water;
Golden gifts for all the rest,
Sorrow of heart for the king’s daughter.
“Ye’ll make a grave for my fair body,”
Running rain in the mill-water;
“And ye’ll streek my brother at the side of me,”
The pains of hell for the king’s daughter.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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I put instant coffee in a microwave oven and almost went back in time.
quote by Steven Wright
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry TIme is Precious
Time is precious, time is sweet,
Time flies by on Hermes feet.
The ode is long, an epic too,
Ballads and sonnets cause much to do;
What should a muse therefore try
To please the ear and catch the eye?
A Rubia, perhaps, the thing for you
Or even better, try Haiku.
Time is precious, time does fly,
Time stops not until we die.
poem by Mill Field
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A Song Of The Seasons
Sing a song of Spring-time,
The world is going round,
Blown by the south wind:
Listen to its sound.
'Gurgle' goes the mill-wheel,
'Cluck' clucks the hen;
And it's O for a pretty girl
To kiss in the glen.
Sing a song of Summer,
The world is nearly still,
The mill-pond has gone to sleep,
And so has the mill.
Shall we go a-sailing,
Or shall we take a ride,
Or dream the afternoon away
Here, side by side?
Sing a song of Autumn,
The world is going back;
They glean in the corn-field,
And stamp on the stack.
Our boy, Charlie,
Tall, strong, and light:
He shoots all the day
And dances all the night.
Sing a song of Winter,
The world stops dead;
Under snowy coverlid
Flowers lie abed.
There's hunting for the young ones
And wine for the old,
And a sexton in the churchyard
Digging in the cold.
poem by William Cosmo Monkhouse
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Simile of the Cider Mill
We are like apples - Each rolls
Around taking its own course
But all eventually have the juice
Squeezed out - Some are thrown out
Before reaching the mill - those with worms
And rot make a bad taste - Some
With richness of soil minerals
Make a fine drink How do we grow? Do we ask
Why there is a mill
Or who is to take a drink?
poem by George Beecher
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The Mill
WINDING and grinding
Round goes the mill:
Winding and grinding
Should never stand still.
Ask not if neighbor
Grind great or small:
Spare not your labor,
Grind your wheat all.
Winding and grinding round goes the mill:
Winding and grinding should never stand still.
Winding and grinding
Work through the day,
Grief never minding--
Grind it away!
What though tears dropping
Rust as they fall?
Have no wheel stopping--
Work comforts all.
Winding and grinding round goes the mill:
Winding and grinding should never stand still.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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