The sat one doesn't understand the hungry one: for one the soup is too thin, for the other - the pearls are too small.
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Soup Of The Day
Well she thinks shes looking so cool
She thinks shes great but shes just a fool
What awful lack of class makes this kind behave this way
I look and only think of one thing to say
Soup, shes just soup
Soup of the day
Shes thin around the waistline
Thin around the brain
You see this type so many times
Time and time again
How could they really think
Theyd be treated in any other way
Everybodys looking and everybody say
Soup, shes just soup
Soup of the day
Well youd think theyd know better
That behaving in this way
They think theyre being clever
But I really have to say
Youd better think it over
Youll regret it one fine day
When the circus partys over
And you were just soup of the day
Shes just soup
Soup of the day
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thin
Thin, thin was the soup
ladled into the bowl.
It was watered down to make it last
as if it would keep them whole.
Thin, thin were the bodies
that sat 'round the table to eat.
They shared the watery sparseness of soup
with nary a piece of meat.
A time of discontent was here
and stomachs were never full.
This was the time they'd heard about,
stories that seemed so dull.
These stories were told with passion
by those who came before.
They jumped out of windows and stood in lines
saying, 'Please may I have some more? '
Thin, thin are the excuses
given by those in power.
No substance to substantiate the lies
given us hour by hour.
And so where does this leave us,
facing a 3rd world war?
For times become prosporous.
Isn't that what wars are for?
Thin, thin are the hopes now
that sanity will pervade the mind
of those who reap the profits
while our youth again will find
that they have been used as fodder
to bring our economy back.
Thin, thin are the excuses
for us being on the wrong track.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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In the morning we received some very thin coffee. For lunch we had potato soup with a few pieces of meat in it, in the evening we had a very thin meat soup with some potatoes in it.
quote by Leon Askin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You cook vegetable soup
You cook vegetable soup
and I look at you
while you cut green beans,
carrots, onions, celery, parsley
and tomatoes into two pots.
There are herbs, spices
and pepper that you are scattering
and two types of soup powder
that you throw in
and the pots steam and buzz
while I am washing the dishes
and the smell
makes me hungry
and I wonder
if the soup
are going to taste as good
as it smells.
We drink tee
and there’s medicine
that you give for flu
to me
and it’s great
to be with you
to read the look
in your beautiful eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Clothed After The Bombs
He goes hungry nd grows thin,
She goes hungry and grows thin,
But naked out of the womb the cam to the world;
And, they are now clothed after the bombs killed them! !
For they will be laid in the tombs to respect the law;
But i am just a passer by in this land of war!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Size Doesn’t Matter
I never flatter
Size doesn’t matter!
We are so small but we have come this far
Because of our wisdom that knows no bar!
We are so small but we can understand God
Because we can make our mind extremely broad!
We are so small but we can win a zillion of hearts
Because we can be kind regardless of ifs and buts!
poem by Asif Andalib
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Hunger (John 6: 1-15)
I'm nobody
I'm just a child without family
I'm nobody
And I'm hungry
So I search for the crowd
To beg for mercy
May they have some food
Other than words of enemy
I'm hungry
And there's a crowd in front of me
They are walking into the same direction
To the mountain, near Tiberias I see
They are following for one man
He sits down and begins to tell a story
Story that I never heard in my life
Where the world is felt more joyful and merry
He doesn't shout or speak loud
But the wind carries His calm voice to every
As speaking to His children in their night bed
His face looks so bright and free
From a far distance
I continue to listen to His story
And slowly
I'm not anymore so hungry
His story starts to fill my heart with warmth
His presence covers my body with safety
And for the first time of my life
I feel more love and energy
And then suddenly
He raises His head and looking around of many
He talks to His friends about something
I hope it'll be soon or I will remember that I'm hungry
He comes again to the top
And blessing the bread and fish He carries
I'm not moved when the food is shared
I know it won't enough for any
I'm nobody
And no one will notice my small body
I keep watching from distance
Even though I'm very hungry
But then somebody comes closer
And drags me into the small circle
I don't know them and they to me
But strangely I don't feel lonely
I don't know when I'll eat again
I don't remember the last time I ate properly
But it doesn't matter anymore
At least now I won't be hungry
The food is keep coming from everywhere
They continually offer it to me
And for the first time of my life
Somebody really smiles to me
That moment I start to realize something
Many cheer and laugh heard in the party
How everybody eats and talks together
They are like in one big of family
Some people said it is miracle
Some other said God is there
I'm not truly understand
But I'm glad that I am here to see
Not because the food I get
But for the strength to live
Not because the vision I find
But for hope I allowed to have
And when the crowd starts to disappear
I still standing there like in trance
Maybe I won't see Him again
But I will keep this faith with me
I'm nobody
I'm just a child without family
I'm nobody
But now I won't be anymore hungry
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Wine and Water
Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale,
He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail,
And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and fish he took was Whale,
But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail,
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine,
"I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, "It looks like rain, I think,
The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod,
Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod,
And you can't get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod,
For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God,
And water is on the Bishop's board and the Higher Thinker's shrine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Wine and Water
Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale,
He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail,
And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and fish he took was Whale,
But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail,
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine,
"I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, "It looks like rain, I think,
The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod,
Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod,
And you can't get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod,
For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God,
And water is on the Bishop's board and the Higher Thinker's shrine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The well fed person doesn't understand the hungry one.
Wine and Water
Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale,
He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail,
And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and fish he took was Whale,
But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail,
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine,
"I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, "It looks like rain, I think,
The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod,
Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod,
And you can't get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod,
For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God,
And water is on the Bishop's board and the Higher Thinker's shrine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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A satisfied man doesn't understand the feeling of a hungry man.
Nowhere To Hide
You might not understand the way I write because I write for me
This is my selfish exploit, my medicine, for the acid-
This is how I choose to drown my sorrows, I hid them, quid
In a sea of deeper sorrow, that goes deeper still... can't you see
Sorrow for sorrow, can't you see, this my strategy
To chasten the pain with an ever greater pain
To drive out the darkness by further causing all light to wain
To float in a sea of all I truly am
For surely this, this really is me, All I am, All I can
Muster is my fake face, but the monster
Dripping in darkness and blood, he lurks just under that mask
I know him, he is not gone, and he is hungry
Hungry, hungry, hungry, always inside
Hungry, hungry, hungry, left with nowhere to hide
Hungry, hungry, hungry, waiting to devour
This very hour I realize I've always been running
But I get nowhere, because I am already nowhere
And nowhere is certainly no place to hide.
poem by David Knox
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Small Wire
My faith
is a great weight
hung on a small wire,
as doth the spider
hang her baby on a thin web,
as doth the vine,
twiggy and wooden,
hold up grapes
like eyeballs,
as many angels
dance on the head of a pin.
God does not need
too much wire to keep Him there,
just a thin vein,
with blood pushing back and forth in it,
and some love.
As it has been said:
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.
So if you have only a thin wire,
God does not mind.
He will enter your hands
as easily as ten cents used to
bring forth a Coke.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Banana Soup
If juice can be extracted from a potato,
Like a tomato or carrot...
Why can't that happen to a banana?
Although it can be argued that potato juice,
Can be heated and called soup.
Banana soup doesn't sound too appealing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It Really Doesn't Matter
You say your ugly, i say it doesn't matter.
You say you have a dark past,
i say it doesn't matter.
You say theirs overwhelming responsibility,
i say it doesn't matter.
I don't believe in walking away when things get hard.
In fact they are my spark to continue my march.
Through thick and thin where to begin.
You say you don't have a way.
I say it doesn't matter.
You say that you cant give back what you would like.
I say it doesn't matter.
You say, you say oh it really doesn't matter,
I live one day at a time.
Choices will be made that will save the day
but hurt me financially.
It doesn't matter Choice will be made
that will set me back in my expectations.
It doesn't matter,
It really doesn't matter.
Its well worth it.
To see the beauty that
you have placed before me.
Oh how its worth it.
To settle down and not be looking to be found.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Just Because
Just because you did
Doesn't mean that you should
Just because you can
Doesn't mean that you could
Just because you are able
Doesn't mean you would
Just because you sat
Doesn't mean you should‘ve stood.
Just because you spoke
Doesn't mean that you thought
Just because you looked
Doesn't mean that you sought
Just because you argued
Doesn't mean that you fought
Just because you dreamed
Doesn't mean that you wished not.
Just because you cried
Doesn't mean that you wept
Just because you had
Doesn't mean that you kept
Just because you cleaned
Doesn't mean that you swept
Just because you said yes
Doesn't mean that you accept.
Just because you gathered
Doesn't mean that you own
Just because you gave up
Doesn't mean that you were alone
Just because you saw
Doesn't mean that you were shown
Just because you expiate
Doesn't mean you should atone.
Just because your old
Doesn't mean that you have flaws
Just because you won
Doesn't mean you have to applause
Just because you waited
Doesn't mean that you paused
Just because you were you
Doesn't mean anything, because.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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In Dark Shadows.
the pepper pot
towards the nun
on her right.
The salt follows
once more given
a gentle shove.
To understand
another’s need
without them asking,
an elderly nun
had said.
A nun is reading
from a high desk
in the refectory.
Some book on Cromwell,
a life, back whenever when.
She sips her soup,
the French soup spoon
held in her right hand.
The nun on her left
passes the water jug.
Offers to pour.
Sister Felicity nods
and smiles.
The nun pours
a liberal amount
then puts down the jug.
Opposite an elderly nun
dribbles soup,
her shaky hand
missing the target.
Nan did that.
How can one forget?
She remembers
her grandmother’s
slow decline;
the slippery slope
down to the side ward
in the dank hospital.
Onion soup. Too hot.
She blows to cool.
Sunlight reaches down
through high windows.
Worlds explode
in dark shadows.
poem by Terry Collett
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Coming Back....
would like to come back as a candle,
a bowl of soup held by hungry hands.
a simple wooden crutch for the crippled,
a bedpan for the aged.
a blanket for the homeless,
a small fire for the cold.
and the sound of a mother's voice,
quieting the child afraid.
a leaf, a turtle, perhaps a drink of water,
a tear that needs to be cried...
the straw that forms the sparrow's nest,
i could ask for nothing more!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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When a person doesn't understand something, he feels internal discord: however he doesn't search for that discord in himself, as he should, but searches outside of himself. Thence a war develops with that which he doesn't understand.
quote by Anton Chekhov
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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