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Biscuits and Bread
Though moulded of the same dough,
were all cast of a different mould,
most rise soft and springy as bread,
other misfits end up as biscuits instead,
yet none wants to be the thing that they were born and bred,
to be,
and it baffles me, the irony,
that though there's time for each,
in any ordinary bakery,
bread soon tries to harden,
and winds up stale instead,
and biscuits crumble, become brittle,
soon as they try to soften,
and be bread.
poem by Kevin Gachuma Waithaka
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spiritual Famine
There is a famine within the land, as men hunger to understand,
The deeper issues of men’s ways, in these ever changing days.
It’s a famine of a spiritual kind, starving the heart and the mind,
In times that steadily darken, God’s Word men will not hearken.
Instead they lean upon creeds, to fill the deeper spiritual needs,
Needs from within their soul; which makes man spiritually whole.
Though religious they hunger still, as creed is not the Lord’s will,
The Lord’s ways are much higher, and Relationship is His desire.
Fellowship’s what the soul requires, to fulfill its deepest desires,
Man’s creed alone doesn’t equip, the heart for God’s fellowship.
That is why God sent His Son, to be The Mediator for everyone,
Who leaves behind empty creed, for Christ alone fills their need.
We are fed The Word of God, as Christ leads with staff and rod,
Feeding our soul with God’s Truth, with abundant lives as proof.
Avoiding famine we chose instead, His diet of life giving bread,
Following the words of Christ, the Living Truth and Bread of Life.
As the famine grips this world, Eternal Truths we need to herald,
Warning all seduced by mammon, they’ll be defeated by famine.
Only The Word of God can lead, to the prosperity we truly need,
And The Lord’s eternal prosperity, starts at the Cross of Calvary.
(Copyright ©03/2008)
The caged lust
A stale wife is not a stale woman.
A stale husband is not a stale man.
Woman is a magnet to a stranger.
Man is a bullet to a stranger.
12.03.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cowper
Famine victims in Africa! !
Onions, opinions, millions, billions, trillions, zillions;
But expressing my views with what i've seen around,
However, this hardships of the famine are now seen on your Television sets as well.
Surgery can lead to disfiguration,
And like the muse of the famine victims of Africa! !
But, i am Cowper who wants to put in my help for the others;
Because, this famine in Africa is so severe.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The man who has bread to eat does not appreciate the severity of a famine.
People who have bread to eat do not appreciate the severity of a famine.
A person who steals bread during a famine is not treated as a thief.
quote by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ignore Them
Ignore idiots who remark on some people
As odd and stale, without them being so.
Their idiocy remains to this day a triumph
To the senses, as we neglect them until we smile.
Understood by some, the individual laughs
From these small boys retained a soul.
The ignorance is huge, far too quiet are smiles,
Let the bread be spread with butter and jam.
The bread contains a problem of oversweetness,
They shall sicken of this retarding their young selves,
And leaving the damage of the year to the parents.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Denarii
Two hundred denarii worth of bread for my lover,
For there is famine in her land;
And i have a way to bring her closer to me,
For her liberty needs my peace.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Serve Fresh Bread Daily (1)
Anointed has a priest to be
Through holy oil the truth to see
Secrets of God they understand
Revealed to them in Jesus’ hand
But some still try to preach of sin
Without God’s Holy Ghost within
Using sweet words none to offend
They’ll only speak of God as friend
A God who’s heart’s so full of peace
His grace and love will never cease
They’ll take great care to choose each word
An angry God is seldom heard
With such stale bread they’ll feed God’s church
No wonder sheep through hunger search
For pastures green, by Jesus led
To a priest not spiritually dead
No priest should preach to fill their purse
Otherwise they’ll reap God’s curse Eze.34: 2
If Christ The Lord we’ll truly please
We’ll seek His face upon our knees
No child of God is mocked for long
Eating stale bread, washed down with song
The Lord sees well His children’s plight
From these shepherds, they’ll take their flight
So priest of God be not deceived
Speak the truth so God’s not grieved
Give through His Son your spiritual best
Then stand aside; He’ll do the rest
When called, you’ll know these words are true
That God awaits much fruit from you –Jn.15: 2
So from the flock that none should fall
Let’s make The Lord our one and all…PTO…
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Matter Of Crust
Some bread, you can get bargain-priced
And every loaf you buy begins with a singular slice
But you know it will go stale again
Always does, its just a question of when
Ive lived long enough to have learned
The longer it stays in the toaster, the more it gets burned
But that cant happen to us
Because its always been a matter of crust
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bread Hair
Im a wigged-out daddy with bread on top
I dig an easy-bake granny with a whiskey mop
If you love me, you neednt the whole wheat crop
cause they had a useless battle andll never stop
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Youre drivin all my hope away
Im a pumpernickel-do for you, dough you do
Use a yarmulka of hallah bread if youre a jew
I belong to cayope*, I be the wheat for you
Yeast and flour, bake an hour, its annoying shampoo
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Drivin all my hope away
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Youre drivin all my hope away
Thats a gone rug, buddy
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Those Whom the Bells Are Tolling ... (Apropos the Children Of War and Famine)
The acid rains have come and gone
Leaving nuclear winters
Chasing the autumns of our lives.
Drying bones, wrapped in a parched skins
Silhouette the inept horizons
Of the desert's edge.
Famine, the silent emissary of death
Carpets the naked altar of life:
Hunger tutoring the sacrificial lambs.
In hued shadows of distant dawns, ships
Sail to the moon: leaving death frowning
At the evils that men do. Indeed time grows
Weary of crystallized tears reflecting hope:
An endangered species chasing remnants of beings
Festering int the vortex of holocaust winds, life
Growing stale in swollen wombs. Indeed, births
have become still born exercises.
Famine chooses the choicest lambs;
Warlords crouch and count the spoils.
poem by Millard Lowe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Man can and must prevent the tragedy of famine in the future instead of merely trying with pious regret to salvage the human wreckage of the famine, as he has so often done in the past.
quote by Norman Borlaug
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bread is wiser
Butter is richer than bread
But can’t replace bread.
But butter is better with bread
For which is not sad the bread.
Wives are not wiser than bread.
05.02.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Feathers on head
The one who sings on God does so for one’s bread.
The one who spells gospel does so for one’s bread.
The one who serves God does so for one’s bread.
You give them bread and keep them on your head.
16.01.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. Interlude IV.
When the long murmur of applause
That greeted the Musician's lay
Had slowly buzzed itself away,
And the long talk of Spectre Ships
That followed died upon their lips
And came unto a natural pause,
'These tales you tell are one and all
Of the Old World,' the Poet said,
'Flowers gathered from a crumbling wall,
Dead leaves that rustle as they fall;
Let me present you in their stead
Something of our New England earth,
A tale which, though of no great worth,
Has still this merit, that it yields
A certain freshness of the fields,
A sweetness as of home-made bread.'
The Student answered: 'Be discreet;
For if the flour be fresh and sound,
And if the bread be light and sweet,
Who careth in what mill 't was ground,
Or of what oven felt the heat,
Unless, as old Cervantes said,
You are looking after better bread
Than any that is made of wheat?
You know that people nowadays
To what is old give little praise;
All must be new in prose and verse:
They want hot bread, or something worse,
Fresh every morning, and half baked;
The wholesome bread of yesterday,
Too stale for them, is thrown away,
Nor is their thirst with water slaked.
As oft we see the sky in May
Threaten to rain, and yet not rain,
The Poet's face, before so gay,
Was clouded with a look of pain,
But suddenly brightened up again;
And without further let or stay
He told his tale of yesterday.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Washed Animals
After ablutions and breakfast, the cattle are raised
To be fine helpers in the family farm so to speak.
Turning the radio to a desirable station our keeping
Is alerted by the frowning of a gentlemanly farmer.
From the supermarket a produce is used for excellence
To remain in the morning of salutations and remembrance.
The cattle grow everyday to enlighten and disburden,
This pouring out of wine into the jug of the golden variety
Is stale action, stale thought and stale wording.
We as cleanliness must reach a proper income
By instigating and stating the sum of money.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Picture Of Greed
on one hand
he carries a
big loaf of bread
on the other
he carries a
basket
of the same
loaf of bread
on his head
is another
basket of
the same loaf
of bread
a little child
spreads his
hands for
a loaf of bread
then he speeds
his way
as he bites
a loaf of
bread in
his mouth
the little child
follows him
and there he
is closing the
door of his
house all
made of bread
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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