Said the frying pay to the kettle, Stand off, black bottom.
Related quotes
The frying-pan says to the kettle, ""Avaunt, black brows!""
The frying-pan said to the kettle, ""Avaunt, black brows!""
Honestly Speaking My Dear
you have a sharp knife with you
so i will keep a little distance
poor innocent onions, lousy green tomatoes,
foul garlic chopped into microscopic
pieces, and a frying pan overheated like a bull
fuming with smoke from the oil
what is that temperature honey?
oh, you are angry again to the world
of work, you are bored to the law
of routine, you are at it again in your
atlantic ocean of sighs and mysterious
turbulent ways, surge and upsurge.
I do not ask for reasons.
I let you boil up like water inside
that kettle that sings the songs
of madness, a warning that all
must shut up or be stabbed with
your unexplainable silence.
nothing sunny side up, everything
hard boiled with the black soot of
sulfur settling at the bottom of the egg.
honestly speaking, i do not mind at all.
it is at the time when you are so angry
that you become so silent,
and i like it that way. I can think some more.
Deeper and probing. Perhaps, i shall
soon find the answer in the hot oil overheated
inside that frying pan.
No one wants to be fried alive,
you know that well enough.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Brunt Of The Heat
A frying cake blamed a frying pan
And the frying pan, the frying cake
For the brunt of heat they bore from the stove
Like a woman and his son’s wife do.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cinder Alley
Lovely lovely carol sue
I see the heel of the father
Crush the head of the serpent for you
An that beast who found
His way up to your room
You know the one the one
Whos colors are never true
Yeah you do
Yet all the while neath
His banner you did stand
neath the shadow of his wing
Do you remember
Sorrow stands near an close at hand
Sorrow stands an in sorrows hand
The burning ember
Hell come a cinder
Fire call the kettle black
The dark can only hinder it
It will not hold you back
Nor tear you asunder
And the good shepherd
Lo he left all the others
An went to look for you
Yes an he did find thee
An with bruised hands
He did unbind thee
Brought you out
Into the light of day
Hell come a cinder
Fire call the kettle black
The dark can only hinder it
It will not hold you back
Nor tear you asunder
O come and stand with me mother
As we wait for the masters voice
An head that way together
Hell come a cinder
Fire call the kettle black
The dark can only hinder it
It will not hold you back
Nor tear you asunder
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pot And Kettle
Come close to me, dear Annie, while I bind a lover's knot.
A tale of burning love between a kettle and a pot.
The pot was stalwart iron and the kettle trusty tin,
And though their sides were black with smoke they bubbled love within.
Forget that kettle, Jamie, and that pot of boiling broth,
I know a dismal story of a candle and a moth.
For while your pot is boiling and while your kettle sings
My moth makes love to candle flame and burns away his wings.
Your moth, I envy, Annie, that died by candle flame,
But here are two more lovers, unto no damage came.
There was a cuckoo loved a clock and found her always true.
For every hour they told their hearts, 'Ring! ting! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'
As the pot boiled for the kettle, as the kettle for the pot,
So boils my love within me till my breast is glowing hot.
As the moth died for the candle, so could I die for you.
And my fond heart beats time with yours and cries, 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'
poem by Robert Graves
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Canadian Folksong
The doors are shut, the windows fast;
Outside the gust is driving past,
Outside the shivering ivy clings,
While on the hob the kettle sings.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.
The streams are hushed up where they flowed,
The ponds are frozen along the road,
The cattle are housed in shed and byre,
While singeth the kettle on the fire.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.
The fisherman on the bay in his boat
Shivers and buttons up his coat;
The traveler stops at the tavern door,
And the kettle answers the chimney’s roar.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.
The firelight dances upon the wall,
Footsteps are heard in the outer hall;
A kiss and a welcome that fill the room,
And the kettle sings in the glimmer and gloom.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Ocean, The
i got a thing for fish with no eyes
Who swim deep in the sea
With nothing to see
I've got a thing for mountians of sand
Left all to their own
To quietly stand
Won't you help me now...
Take me to the bottom of...
Take me to the bottom of...
Take me to the bottom of...the ocean
I got a thing for mermaiden tails
Swim naked with me
Your hair of seaweed
I got a thing for sunken shipwrecks
With booty of gold
I don't care if it's wet
Won't you help me now...
Take me to the bottom of...
Take me to the bottom of...
Take me to the bottom of...the ocean
I don't need no air.
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ocean
I got a thing for fish with no eyes
Who swim deep in the sea
With nothing to see
Ive got a thing for mountians of sand
Left all to their own
To quietly stand
Wont you help me now...
Take me to the bottom of...
Take me to the bottom of...
Take me to the bottom of...the ocean
I got a thing for mermaiden tails
Swim naked with me
Your hair of seaweed
I got a thing for sunken shipwrecks
With booty of gold
I dont care if its wet
Wont you help me now...
Take me to the bottom of...
Take me to the bottom of...
Take me to the bottom of...the ocean
I dont need no air.
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Kept On The Bottom Relate
Those kept on the bottom keep keeping on.
Those kept on the bottom keep keeping on.
Those kept on the bottom keep keeping on.
Those kept on the bottom,
Relate.
Keeping patience for them,
Has a message to send.
'Cause,
People feel more pinned in.
'Cause,
Struggles for them don't end.
'Cause,
Promises don't pay the rent.
Or decisions not to eat,
Because they wish to look thin.
Those kept on the bottom relate.
Those kept on the bottom relate.
Those kept on the bottom relate.
Those kept on the bottom,
Relate.
Those kept on the bottom keep keeping on.
Those kept on the bottom keep keeping on.
Those kept on the bottom keep keeping on.
Those kept on the bottom,
Relate.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In the Frying Pan!
IN the frying pan!
Frying;
Cooking with the art of love,
In style;
And like y
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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There was an Old Man who, when little,
Fell casually into a Kettle;
But, growing too stout,
He could never get out,
So he passed all his life in that Kettle.
quote by by Edward Lear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why don't you talk, and go straight, and let all be well?
quote by Black Kettle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bottom
Lift your head up from the clouds
I know that you're shaking
Breaking down
How could you leave me
Garbage can
Never want to be your understand
Help me
Help me
Help me
Help me
Lord can you help me get this weight off my shoulders
Can you help me I think I'm getting older
The pain that you left me deep within
How can I live living in sin
And you know that I've tried
And you know
Lord knows I've tried every day of my life
Sitting at the bottom, sitting at the bottom with you
Sitting at the bottom with you
I'm just sitting at the bottom with you
I'm just sitting at the bottom, sitting at the bottom
How many times I gotta say
That you're never ever gonna get your way
Down in the gutter as I decay
Where you gonna leave me
Let me be
Help me
Help me
Help me
Help me understand
And you know that I've tried
Don't you know
Lord knows I've tried every day of my life
Sitting at the bottom, I'm sitting at the bottom with you
I'm just sitting at the bottom with you
Now I'm sitting at the bottom with you
I'm just sitting at the bottom, sitting at the bottom with you
[x2]
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words will never hurt me
[x2]
Sticks and stones breaking my bones
No your words aren't never gonna hurt me
And you know that I've tried
And you know
Lord knows I've tried every day of my life
Sitting at the bottom, sitting at the bottom with you
I'm just sitting at the bottom with you
Now i'm sitting at the bottom with you
I'm just sitting at the bottom with you
I'm just sitting at the bottom with you
song performed by by Puddle Of Mudd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The pot calls the kettle black.
quote by Miguel de Cervantes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0285 A Pretty Kettle of Wish
Meltdown. A new kettle urgently
required for the gas stove. Men
love an excuse to wander around
the Aladdin’s cave of an ironmongers
the older the better.
Shock-horror. Rattly, thin as
they can get away with, and outrageously,
the same price as technology’s
masterpieces of electric jug…
long gone, the solid kettle which sits
so friendly on the hob of open fire…
So it’s off to the Oxfam thriftshop.
a short prayer to the goddess
of the hearth (Hestia, in case
you wonder, poetically) – and lo
and behold, abracadabra, hey presto –
a Designer Kettle in all its glory –
solid, shining, copper-flashed-bottom,
two-note whistle in two-tone brass,
chromium-bright finish, ingenious
spout-opener, handle in clever cool plastic, the whole
a vision, part Futurist image fit for a painting,
part evoking a Mussolini-era steel helmet, and
a theft at the price.
The two-tone whistle packed up the first week
despite prodding and poking its gleaming brass;
the spout-lifter burned the fingers – I had
to grow a long thumbnail to survive;
the gleaming surface scratched when cleaned;
the copper bottom crumbled off;
the short spout made filling a teapot
dangerous on two counts: the steam, and
the aim, endangering the hands.
Was it designed by a woman
or a man? You’ve guessed it. Who’s
the more practical?
The debatable poetic conclusion
of this poet: men go for
form; women go for content.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Kettle
There’s many a house of grandeur,
With turret, tower and dome,
That knows not peace or comfort,
And does not prove a home.
I do not ask for splendour
To crown my daily lot,
But this I ask – a kitchen
Where the kettles always hot.
If things are not all ship-shape,
I do not fume or fret,
A little clean disorder
Does not my nerves upset.
But one thing is essential,
Or seems so in my thought,
And that’s a tidy kitchen
Where the kettle’s always hot.
In my Aunt Hattie’s household,
Though skies outside are drear,
Though times are dark and troubled,
You’ll always find good cheer.
And in her quaint old kitchen –
The very homiest spot –
The kettle’s always singing,
The water’s always hot.
And if you have a headache,
Whate’er the hour may be,
There is no tedious waiting
To get your cup of tea.
I don’t know how she does it –
Some magic she has caught –
For the kitchen’s cool in summer,
Yet the kettle’s always hot.
Oh, there’s naught else so dreary
In household kingdom found
As a cold and sullen kettle
That does not make a sound.
And I think that love is lacking
In the hearts in such a spot,
Or the kettle would be singing
And the water would be hot.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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