Since we have loaves let us not look for cakes.
Related quotes
I think there probably should be a rule that if you're talking about how many loaves of bread a bullet will go through, it's understood that you mean lengthwise loaves. Otherwise, it makes no sense.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Look What Happened When I Shared My Lunch
Off with my basket of loaves and fishes I sped
as I rushed up the hill to hear what Jesus said.
Sitting down I listened well to those words of His
for I had never heard any man speak like this.
Time went by so rapidly but I did not care
I could have stayed forever in His presence there.
As evening came all went quiet and all stood still
and many thousands were gathered upon the hill.
Then to my surprise his disciple came to me
for into my lunch basket he wanted to see.
So I showed him the five loaves and two fishes there
and he asked if I would be willing my lunch to share.
What food I had I took to Jesus willingly
and then as He gave thanks there so surprisingly
a miracle happened and my eyes opened wide
as the five loaves and two fishes were multiplied.
The multitudes were told to sit down on the ground
and my loaves and fishes were then passed around.
When all were fed twelve baskets were taken away
and five thousand people had eaten well that day.
I knew that He was the Prophet who was to come
and made my way rejoicing all the way back home.
I'll never forget the things Jesus did that day
after all the multitude had gone on their way.
For I'd learned that no gift would ever be too small
what's important is to be prepared to give Him all
I gave all to Him and recommend you do too
for wonderful blessings will result when we do.
written after reading John 6: 1-14
Having cakes as a business certainly changes things for me - I don't now sit at home doing a cake for the fun of it anymore. But it's an extremely happy and pleasureable business to run because people are generally buying cakes for celebrations.
quote by Jane Asher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Friend Jack
My friend jack eats sugar loaves
My friend jack eats sugar loaves
Sugarman hasnt got a care
Hes been traveling everywhere
Been on a voyage across an ocean
Heard the sweet sounds of wheels in motion
Hes seen hawks fly high to hail the setting sun
My friend jack eats sugar loaves
My friend jack eats sugar loaves
Sugarman hasnt got a care
Hes been traveling everywhere
Hes seen the people in the city
And the bright lights looks awful pretty
Hes followed dusty tracks into eternity
Eating sugar cain in cuba
Try to grow it in japan
On the west coast, hes real famous
Kids they call him sugar man
My friend jack
My friend jack
My friend jack
My friend jack
My friend jack eats sugar loaves
My friend jack eats sugar loaves
Sugarman hasnt got a care
Hes been traveling everywhere
Been on a voyage across an ocean
Heard the sweet sounds of wheels in motion
Hes seen hawk fly high to hail the setting sun
Eating sugar cain in cuba
Try to grow it in japan
On the west coast, hes real famous
Kids they call him sugar man
Been on a voyage across an ocean
Heard the sweet sounds of wheels in motion
Hes seen the hawk fly high to hail the setting sun
My friend jack eats sugar loaves
My friend jack eats sugar loaves
Sugarman hasnt got a care
Hes been traveling everywhere
My friend jack eats sugar loaves
My friend jack eats
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet Cakes
Sonnet Cakes
Catch a passing flock of words
Put them in a pan
To make a happy sonnet
For your favourite man.
Add a pinch of rhythm
A spoonful of rhyme
Pop them in the oven
Then wait some time
Check if they are burning
Consult with your muse
About variety in flavours,
In structure, different views.
Jolly sonnet cakes for tea
Some for you and some for me.
poem by Irene C S ClarkHogg
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Cakes, Boots and Merry-go-rounds
Violet's art cakes were fake, some say
but Violet's boots were a hoot!
She'd bought them down in Carnaby Street
and they came right up to her knees!
Now what in the heck d'ya suspect
they came right up to her knees.
She wore them into town she did
she wore them to go into town
and when she got there
there was a fair and the
merry-go-round went round and round
the merry-go-round went round.
Violet was an artiste, a very merry artiste
and when she got merry on her daddy's sherry
the cakes she made were a feast they were
the cakes she made were a feast!
poem by Ruth Walters
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To Bake One Cake
To bake a cake needs pride,
I stay and hear, stay and watch
To see what is clear on this work.
Offer us a cake when it is sweet,
Savoury dishes need to wait.
My superb lunch needs a dessert,
Why do cooks especially provide us?
Because we are rich, and our cakes,
Our cakes are poor, just far too away.
The caking and baking needs time,
And money costs a fortune, like pain.
To then make a lake of water,
It needs you and the real deal of riches.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Chocolate Love
You are the sweetness
In the choclolate I eat,
I find thoughts about you
melting away like the chocolate
The taste lingering in my mind,
To chew like the cud like
The cows in my shed,
I savour to the thoughts
Of your my love to you,
You beat of all queens,
Chocolate of all chocolate,
Cakes of all cakes,
Plums of all the plums,
When will I really taste
Your lips, caress you
Fondle your parts so secretly
Kept chaste by you
And have the bliss
Of eating a swiss chocolate.
poem by Ravikiran Arakkal
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Loaves put awry into the oven come out crooked.
If you have two loaves of bread, sell one and buy a lily.
If stars were loaves, many people would sleep out.
An oven whose door does not shut does not bake its loaves.
If I had two loaves of bread, I would sell one and buy hyacinths, for they would feed my soul.
Jesus worked many miracles
multiplying loaves and fish
but did not make bread from stones
quote by by John Celes
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Interlude
When I have baked white cakes
And grated green almonds to spread on them;
When I have picked the green crowns from the strawberries
And piled them, cone-pointed, in a blue and yellow platter;
When I have smoothed the seam of the linen I have been working;
What then?
To-morrow it will be the same:
Cakes and strawberries,
And needles in and out of cloth
If the sun is beautiful on bricks and pewter,
How much more beautiful is the moon,
Slanting down the gauffered branches of a plum-tree;
The moon
Wavering across a bed of tulips;
The moon,
Still,
Upon your face.
You shine, Beloved,
You and the moon.
But which is the reflection?
The clock is striking eleven.
I think, when we have shut and barred the door,
The night will be dark
Outside.
poem by Amy Lowell
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A Lad
There is a lad over here woth five barley loaves and two fish,
So buy me bread from him that i may eat;
For the shining lmp is seen afar!
And i have to prepare my love tonight for my lover.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Full Moon Song to parents.
This year autumn full moon festival
My father and mom did not appear.
Oh, my father, I think you got arrival.
Have you met mom on the moon?
She liked to live there as I was told.
Most of the human beings want to go
The place where is the beautiful moon.
Now you and mom are going together.
Every year we have enjoyed moon cakes.
I forgot let you bring one or two to mom.
She was fond of eating those with yokes.
Now you and mom can eat at the moon.
Please don’t be worry having not brought.
We will yearly send you delicious moon cakes.
I ne’er forget your hard works to bring me up.
It’s a little bit on my lost for your pass-away.
We are separated onto two different worlds,
Yet we can communicate in our inner souls.
Father, would you protect your grand children.
They are having the same blood like yours.
Many people tell me you can feel what we think.
It is because we have your blood in our brains.
We hope you will be happy every day with mom.
You are mom are always in our minds every day.
poem by Albert Wong
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Where God sends babbies he sends penny loaves.
The Face
The Face
On my walk along the old lane I came across a tree that
has on its trunk the outline of a sad pastry chef’s face,
of one who has just burnt his cakes; and has to open his
shop, now he had to rush out, buy up pastries in other
places; theirs, of course, will not be as good as his own,
but he got to have something to sell. He’ll grind up his
burnt cakes put the crumble in tiny paper bags and sell
them to children on their way to school, or old folks who
are going to the park to feed the ducks; ten cent a bag.
His wife’s fault, she came to the bakery - they haven’t
been married long- they kissed, canoodled; ok, we get
the picture. He has made it clear that she mustn’t upset
him during baking hours, he isn’t mad at her, not since
she told him she had a bun in the oven herself.
And the tree, it’s an olive tree- silvery in winter light- is
silent but there is a stir of a smile in the air.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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