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What The Chimney Sang
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Woman stopped, as her babe she tossed,
And thought of the one she had long since lost,
And said, as her teardrops back she forced,
'I hate the wind in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Children said, as they closer drew,
'`Tis some witch that is cleaving the black night through,
`Tis a fairy trumpet that just then blew,
And we fear the wind in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Man, as he sat on his hearth below,
Said to himself, 'It will surely snow,
And fuel is dear and wages low,
And I`ll stop the leak in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
But the Poet listened and smiled, for he
Was Man and Woman and Child, all three,
And said, 'It is God`s own harmony,
This wind we hear in the chimney.'
poem by Francis Bret Harte
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Mocking Bird, Mocking Man
he is sometimes
tempted to mimic a mockingbird
that mimics him
most of the times
on top of the tree fronting
his window where he
faces the sun and moon
the mockingbird mocks him the moment he mocks it
and he in turn mocks the mockingbird that mocks him when he mocks it
both of them are bored
and have nothing good to do
they mock each other
morning noon and nigh time
bird man bird, man bird man bird
in truth the man wants to be a mockingbird
in truth the mockingbird wants to be a man
the problem is
no one is talking and no one is listening
no one wants to be himself/itself forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Perfume Factory
The poor sooty chimney cleaner who shouts from a top;
' Oh! These trampled flowers cry irksomely
But the inhuman machines never stop the rotation
And crush the soft petals vigorously.
My vigilance is in vain as I am totally helpless
And the proprietor is useless.'
To my poet friend Duncan.Wyllie
* [ Where it goes the human fragrance? ]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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When a miller fights with a chimney sweep, the miller gets black and the chimney sweep gets white.
How Time Mocks Us All
HOW TIME MOCKS US ALL
How Time mocks us all
The dead- remembered in ways unwanted.
Not remembered at all.
Descendants living in different worlds.
Does G-d Remember and Care?
Time mocks us all
Slowly we become
The music of another distant melody
For us forever unheard.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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An Epigram From Homer
Pay me my price, potters! and I will sing.
Attend, O Pallas! and with lifted arm
Protect their oven; let the cups and all
The sacred vessels black well, and, baked
With good success, yield them both fair renown
And profit, whether in the market sold
Or streets, and let no strife ensue between us.
But, oh ye potters! if with shameless front
Ye falsify your promise, then I leave
No mischief uninvoked to avenge the wrong.
Come, Syntrips, Smaragus, Sabactes, come,
And Asbetus, nor let your direst dread,
Omodamus, delay! Fire seize your house,
May neither house nor vestibule escape,
May ye lament to see confusion mar
And mingle the whole labor of your hands,
And may a sound fill all your oven, such
As of a horse grinding his provender,
While all your pots and flagons bounce within.
Come hither, also, daughter of the sun,
Circe the sorceress, and with thy drugs
Poison themselves, and all that they have made
Of centaurs, as well those who died beneath
The club of Hercules, as who escaped,
And stamp their crockery to dust; down fall
Their chimney; let them see it with their eyes
And howl to see the ruin of their art,
While I rejoice; and if a potter stoop
To peep into his furnace, may the fire
Flash in his face and scorch it, that all men
Observe, thenceforth, equity and good faith.
poem by William Cowper
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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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Santa Baby
Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me
Ive been an awful good girl
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight
Santa baby, an out-of-space convertible too, light blue
Ill wait up for you dear
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight
Think of all the fun Ive missed
Think of all the fellas that I havent kissed
Next year I could be oh so good
If youd check off my christmas list
Boo doo bee doo
Santa honey, I wanna yacht and really thats
Not a lot
Ive been an angel all year
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight
Santa cutie, theres one thing I really do need, the deed
To a platinum mine
Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight
Santa baby, Im filling my stocking with a duplex, and checks
Sign your x on the line
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight
Come and trim my christmas tree
With some decorations bought at tiffanys
I really do believe in you
Lets see if you believe in me
Boo doo bee doo
Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring
I dont mean a phone
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight
Hurry down the chimney tonight
Hurry down the chimney tonight
song performed by by Madonna
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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Infection
burned up pictures and hot painful thoughts
instead of my brain it's my heart that rots
bacteria fester and infections abound
I try to scream but no one can hear a sound
I tell myself it's going to be okay
I tell myself it's going to be fine
but i spend my today obsessing over tomorrow
happiness smothered by aching tons of sorrow
they're building up and strangling me
the tears of mine that others cannot see
things run together like a river with no rocks
colors blend and the resulting black mocks
mocks my sorrow and turns it bright
and that sick way is how I see the light.
poem by Kate Austin
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Santa Baby
Santa baby
Just slip a sable under the tree for me
Been an awful good girl
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight
Santa baby
A 54-convertable too, light blue
I'll wait up for you, dear
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight
Think of all the fun I've missed
Think of all the fellows that I haven't kissed
Next year I could be just as good
If you'll check out my Christmas list
Santa baby I want a yacht and really that's not a lot
Been an angel all year
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight
Santa honey
One little thing I really need, the deed
To a platinum mine
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight
Santa cutie
Fill my stocking with a duplex and cheques
Sign your X on the line
Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight
Come and trim my Christmas tree
With some decorations bought from Tiffany's
I really do believe in you
Let's see if you believe in me
Santa baby
Forgot to mention one little thing, a ring
I don't mean on the phone
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight
Hurry down the chimney tonight
Hurry
Tonight
song performed by by Kylie Minogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Santa Baby
Written by eartha kitt
Santa baby,
Just slip a sable under the tree
For me
Been an awful good girl
Santa baby,
So hurry down the chimney tonight
Santa baby,
A 54 convertible too
Light blue
Ill wait up for you, dear
Santa baby,
So hurry down the chimney tonight
Think of all the fun Ive missed
Think of all the fellas that I havent kissed
Next year I could be just as good
If youll check off my christmas list
Santa baby,
I want a yacht and really thats not
A lot
Been an angel all year
Santa baby,
So hurry down the chimney tonight
Santa honey,
One little thing I really need
The deed
To a platinum mine
Santa baby,
So hurry down the chimney tonight
Santa cutie,
And fill my stocking with a duplex
And checks
Sign your x on the line
Santa baby,
So hurry down the chimney tonight
Come and trim my christmas tree
With some decorations bought at tiffanys
I really do believe in you
Lets see if you believe in me
Santa baby,
Forgot to mention one little thing
A ring
I dont mean on the phone
Santa baby,
So hurry down the chimney tonight
Hurry down the chimney tonight
Hurry...tonight
song performed by by Vonda Shepard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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She who dances with the chimney sweeper will eventually end up black.
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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A Vase at the Pottery
The potter's daughter; like her father's craftsmanship
very beautiful to her *pinafore dress and the pigtails.
He sniffs when I ring the bicycle bell
during my routine delivery of their daily bread.
He knows my boss well; the pot bellied baker
and they are good drinking partners.
Baker's son goes to a high school
and very smarter than me.
Oh! I am an orphan who sleeps on a sooty mat
near the oven.
But she likes me very much
and I gave her a birthday present a stealing bun.
Postscript
*Because of her pinafore dress and the pigtails
she was attracted to me (on her school days)
and still struggle in life.
Dedication to the wild flowers whatever blossom & deteriorate
mysteriously in the wilderness.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Hears The Storm
There was a time in former years-
While my roof-tree was his-
When I should have been distressed by fears
At such a night as this!
I should have murmured anxiously,
'The prickling rain strikes cold;
His road is bare of hedge or tree,
And he is getting old.'
But now the fitful chimney-roar,
The drone of Thorncombe trees,
The Froom in flood upon the moor,
The mud of Mellstock Leaze,
The candle slanting sooty-wick'd,
The thuds upon the thatch,
The eaves drops on the window flicked,
The clanking garden-hatch,
And what they mean to wayfarers,
I scarcely heed or mind;
He has won that storm-tight roof of hers
Which Earth grants all her kind.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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She Hears the Storm
There was a time in former years--
While my roof-tree was his--
When I should have been distressed by fears
At such a night as this!
I should have murmured anxiously,
'The prickling rain strikes cold;
His road is bare of hedge or tree,
And he is getting old.'
But now the fitful chimney-roar,
The drone of Thorncombe trees,
The Froom in flood upon the moor,
The mud of Mellstock Leaze,
The candle slanting sooty-wick'd,
The thuds upon the thatch,
The eaves drops on the window flicked,
The clanking garden-hatch,
And what they mean to wayfarers,
I scarcely heed or mind;
He has won that storm-tight roof of hers
Which Earth grants all her kind.
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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