Our minds are like our stomachs; they are whetted by the change of their food, and variety supplies both with fresh appetites.
quote by Quintilian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our minds are like our stomaches; they are whetted by the change of their food, and variety supplies both with fresh appetite.
quote by Marcus Fabius Quintilian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whose design is this?
How, if food is without spice?
How, if life goes without spice?
Spice is variety.
Variety is option for change.
The left out one is cursed
And the one acquired is blessed.
The user is ever jubilant.
12.0.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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We Cry for Food and They Give Us Bullets
Food! Food! Food!
It is all that we need
It is all that we need
to calm down our spirits!
It is food that fills
that fills the empty pangs
of our stomachs,
pangs that make us yawn
but cannot sleep
that make us gulp
but cannot vomit,
that make our saliva
taste sour and acidic!
We cry for food
like the helpless little children
with the art to attract attention
by our street demonstrations.
Yes, we cry for food like little children
to calm down our spirits,
that the cry cannot at all be neglected
for it is food,
it is food that soothes our spirits.
But you give us bullets
on the streets where we stage
our cry for food
You give us bullets
instead of food.
But even bullets cannot silence
our cry for food
for as long as we`re hungry
we shall be like little children
that will ever cry for food.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Upon Them It Is Shining Brighter
The results of the experiment,
Have finally been reviewed.
And it doesn't seem they thrill.
Fresh testing has been implemented,
And those currently in protest...
Seem to be experiencing adverse affects.
Hopefully they will come to see the light.
Since upon them it is shining brighter.
And their appetites for change will nourish.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Intro
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
You are now entering the harmonic door
song performed by by Gorillaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every man hath a general desire of his own happiness; and likewise a variety of particular affections, passions, and appetites to particular external objects.
quote by Joseph Butler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Overweight with Food
Are you just a tub of lard and
Vastly overweight?
Do you think that when you die you'll
Need a piano crate
To act as coffin for your frame? -
Chosen as you die in shame, with
Only you to take the blame
For years of eating much the same:
A daily calorific fest
Gourmands of your ilk digest!
Is your heart in final fling and
Nearly set to burst?
Are your arteries bunged and clogged and
Feeling now the worst
For wear? - your aneurysm fit to blow
While blood as thick as rising dough
Cries 'Halt! ' to any hope of flow:
A dreadful state to put on show
In front of any nurse!
Best you hail a hearse.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Mind Food
Mind food collects in my stomach,
And so I am an esper, the powerful one,
Who injects beliefs into disillusioned minds
For the spirits I request.
It takes a kilo year, a thousand years,
To abstain from powers so great,
Like a needler in the head and mind;
It needs too much mind food.
Minds of intelligence can grok, and spill
Valuable thoughts as well.
Minds need to be understood by scars
That feed into other minds - this is my religion.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Prior To Variety
Believe what you wish,
But you must admit...
Prior to variety adding to the spice of one's life,
There seemed to have been less conflict.
And very few objected,
To the limits of selections that fed appetites.
Now everyone ignites incited to fight,
Over whose delusions should be justified in spotlight.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Is It Purely Coincidental
Is it purely coincidental,
Those of like minds...
Come to find themselves at odds,
Because it is disbelieved...
Their minds can not be that connected,
To agree?
And even if blinded by a similar insight,
They refuse to see themselves...
On the right side of day,
After sleeping all night...
To awaken with the same craving,
With a wish to fulfill familiar appetites.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Market Day
There’s a market in our town, two days a week.
It’s nice to have a browse and take a quick peek.
There’s a riot of colours up and down the street,
And mouth-watering smells from all the food to eat.
There’s an explosion of different sights and sounds,
And dozens of people are leisurely milling around.
At the market, there’s always a great atmosphere,
And there’s nothing for sale there which is too dear.
A mobile van serves up spicy German bratwurst,
Plus a variety of different drinks to quench your thirst.
On one stall, they sell leather purses and handbags:
Cheap ones, plus designer ones, for the would-be WAGs.
In his mobile truck, a rotund butcher chops up some meat:
He promises his customers that his prices can’t be beat.
There’s a stall which sells low price pet supplies.
This is always a big attraction for the penny wise.
Hoping that none of his food will end up in the waste,
The Mediterranean food stall holder offers a free taste.
There are crisps and cakes stacked in crates,
Which are not long off of their sell by date.
From yet another stall, drifts an amazing perfumed smell.
They sell a variety of novelty soap and bath bombs as well.
A Jeweller displays a variety of items made of silver and gold.
He also buys any old unwanted jewellery, if it is being sold.
Then, of course, there’s the doughnut man –
Of this particular stall, I’m a very big fan!
Each market trader has their own unique call,
Trying to attract the customers to their stall.
They brave all weathers – the heat and the freezing cold,
Hoping that, by the close of day, their wares will be sold.
At the end of the day, there are real bargains to be found,
Such as a box of mixed fruit or veg for only a pound.
Come late afternoon, they pack up after a long day.
They load up their vans and are soon on their way.
When they have all gone, all that is left is a space,
And, of the market, there isn’t left a single trace.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Syrup Sponge
Pour a pint of cream
Upon my spongy bulge!
Scoop me with a
Hefty spoon;
Taste my essence -
Do you swoon?
Feed your self-esteem; indulge
In me until you burst -
Death by syrup sponge - you're cursed!
And as the count in inches gain
Upon your weary waist, the strain
Will tell, but you'll not care -
Steeped in sponge, you're unaware!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food
food food food food food food
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Salad is Incompatible with Life
Yes, my waist is fifty inches -
Big for me because I'm short.
And yes, I like my cheddar cheese
When partnered with a vintage port.
Okay, okay, that double cream
Is always served with pud,
And cake and biscuits with my tea
Are just no bloody good
For my poor hardened arteries,
But see my point of view,
Please dear wifey if you please,
A Salad makes me spew!
I'd rather eat a bowl of air
Than crunch away on greens;
Drink water from the toilet bowl
Or nibble on my jeans!
But salad! Are you there?
You know it makes me snappy -
So let me fill my face with grub,
Stay fat, and die young happy!
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Freshness is Beauty
Not fresh is she now to her spouse.
She is often put to the disuse,
Much to her disgust and despair.
Beauty deteriorating without use.
Fresh is still she, to other men
And hence appears a beauty
But guarded from any misuse,
Beauty decaying for want of use.
Fresh to him are other women
In whom he finds fresh beauty.
But he is fretted from straying,
Beauty suffering behind the bar.
Change of things – Beauty strives.
Change of mates – Passion lasts.
21.06.96
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Many people submit to excessive appetites without realizing that they do not need to eat so much food.
quote by Kate Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some food
Some food is
Medicine...
Medicine is some food...
Some food is poison...
Some food is Tenson...
Some food is Fear...
Some food is lovely...
Some food is Bland...
Some food is sweety...
Some food is spicy...
Some food is nothing...
Food is not only food
A good eatable medicine...
At only some food...
Some food...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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In things to be seen at once, much variety makes confusion, another vice of beauty. In things that are not seen at once, and have no respect one to another, great variety is commendable, provided this variety transgress not the rules of optics and geometry.
quote by Christopher Wren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shifting To Drift Like Swift Winds
That which remains to sustain limelight,
Becomes less bright over a time...
To find a dimming intentionally done.
Although the message stays,
Just as sharp and tight to deliver...
To those awaiting to feed their appetites.
People seeking fads,
Are not interested in longevity.
With those fads changing amongst us...
Just as fast as a storm comes and passes,
For minds to rid and forget the intent of it.
As if to use a remote to preview an array of channels,
To peruse and cruise through lives lived...
Treated as breezes shifting to drift,
Like swift winds blowing that finally end.
And with a touching of a button flipping to switch,
From one thing to another to experience their druthers...
Which do not sit to stick for too long,
To ensure any importance is effectively erased.
And does not prolong,
An awaiting replacement that guarantees...
A variety of increasing nonsense.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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LOVE: A word properly applied to our delight in particular kinds of food; sometimes metaphorically spoken of the favorite objects of all our appetites.
quote by Henry Fielding
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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060610E dining with friends
after we emptied our thoughts
we are tired and hungry for food
at far end of the hall a promise
an array of very delicious dishes
almost likes of las vegas buffet
awesome i could smell it already
we twiddle our thumbs in line
contemplating which is the best
me, i go for fresh tropical fruits
sea food is always a temptation
boiled blue crabs and fresh oysters
i can still taste the ocean pearls
poem by Manonton Dalan
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