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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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A Purple Hat Box
I had worries, worries had me,
so I packed ‘em up and stowed 'em away.
I kept the worries at bay, you might say.
The trouble was they bugged me,
they screamed and itched and tugged me!
So I put them in a box.
It was a deep, purple hat box.
Some days I'd forget about them,
but then I'd remember and peep inside.
The worries glared at me with their big pop eyes!
They laughed at me, taunted me,
they were wild.
They talked in my head all day and all night.
They were stalking me!
Something had to be done
I opened the box again, threw them in,
nailed the lid down, real tight,
sat on the box and sighed.
The worries cried for mercy one more time
and then, guess what…………?
They died.
poem by Ruth Walters
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I was wrong: So what. todays idiocy
I say that it’s impossible.
You cannot eat soup with chop sticks
Though it is highly probable.
Someone will try to prove he can.
To demonstrate his cleverness
and show he is a better man.
What will it prove should he succeed?
That I’m mistaken in my view.
I will be happy to concede
.
the victory to some buffoon.
Who can eat soup using chop sticks.
I still prefer to use a spoon.
I think soup should be eaten hot
I do not like cold soup a lot.
20/06/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Talk Soup
I dated siamese twins
I slept with bigfoot, too
Get me on sally jesse
Put me on donahue
cause I wanna tell the world about it
Right now
My dogs a narcoleptic
My moms a circus freak
I gotta get a spot on
Geraldos show this week
cause I wanna tell the world about it
Right now
Im just an anorexic codependant bingo addict
Stripper born without a chin
And Im only comfortable talking about it
When the whole wide world is listening in
Talk soup... talk soup
Listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me
My wife ran off with elvis
My boss shaved off my hair
Ive got a thing for poodles
And rubber underwear
And I wanna tell the world about it
Right now
I had a close encounter
I never chew my food
I got eleven nose jobs
I yodel in the nude
And I wanna tell the world about it
Right now
Im just a cross-dressin alcoholic neo-nazi
Porno star, as you may have guessed
And Im really gonna feel a whole lot better
If you let me get this thing off my chest
Talk soup... talk soup
Listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me
Im just your average schizophrenic nymphomaniac
Albino go-go dancer, you see
Nothin so bad that I cant share it
With a billion friends on national tv, whoa...
I have no genitalia
I sold my kids for cheese
I love my blow up doll, so
Bring out those cameras, please
cause I wanna tell the world about it
Right now
Talk soup... talk soup
Listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me
Talk soup... talk soup
Listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me
Talk soup... talk soup
Listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me
Talk soup... talk soup
Listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sky Seasoning
A piece of sky
Broke off and fell
Through the crack in the ceiling
Right into my soup,
KERPLOP!
I really must state
That I usually hate
Lentil soup, but I ate
Every drop!
Delicious delicious
(A bit like plaster),
But so delicious, goodness sake--
I could have eaten a lentil-soup lake.
It's amazing the difference
A bit of sky can make.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Soup of day
She said severely:
“God have said: the soup must be warm! ”
It was a Gazpacho, a cold soup to a warm evening.
I have mixed tomatos, cucumbers,
red and green peppers,
red onions, a few garlics,
a few parsleys and coriander.
This soup had a beautiful colour: red and green! green and red!
It was cold, very cold, iced.
I have warmed up her soup
I have grilled also some scallops
with a pistachio dressing
she said:
“It is delightful mostly the orange and red parts.”
It was only a question of colours
I have dreamt at a blue gazpacho, blue scallops
Blue like the sea but the sea is never blue
and the blue is not a tasty colour.
Then we have recited some french poems
This evening was quiet and tender
despite the heat wave.
I like to remember this iced soup
and the awful warmth.
poem by Jean Francois Le Goff
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Somber Twilight
One man lies down
And worries at night
Because he has to work.
Another man lies down
And worries at night
Because he has no job.
One man lies down
And worries at night
Because he can only pay his bills.
Another man lies down
And worries at night
Because he can't pay anyone.
One man lies down
And worries at night
Because everyone seems to love him.
Another man lies down
And worries at night
Becasue he has no one to love him.
One man lies down
And worries at night
Because he might oversleep.
Another man lies down
And worries at night
Because he cannot sleep.
One man lies down
In somber twilight
With reserved sadness and joy.
Another man lies down
In somber twilight
With reserved joy but sadness.
poem by Cecelia Weir
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A man who touches the bottom of a soup plate with a ball of foofoo is no longer searching for soup.
One spoon of soup in need has more value than a pot of soup when we have an abundance of food.
Supper
The supper of the red soup came with love,
And Veh came along with Xeh as the next door neighbours;
But Beh was my friend on the supper of the red soup,
And i will take Beh back home on this love.
The pictures of my mind brought up wonderful colours,
And of the muse of the red soup so enjoyed last night;
But i will take Beh back home to embrace my love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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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Worries..Get Lost To My Mind's Corners!
Straining my every nerve
I search every nook and corner
and pick up and bundle up
all my worries in a huge sack.-
loading it onto my back
with extreme effort
and panting breath
reach your temple!
O..what is it?
a sack or a mountain?
who carries it on his back?
who totters in temple corridors?
Yes-
it is you.my God!
is it the worries of all peoples of this world.
which breakes your back?
O my poor God., rich with our worries!
I pity you!
My huge load of worries!
get lost to the corners of my mind!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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All Things To All People
all people have worries
worries that wake them
worries about things yet to come
worries about worries are what worry some
i look out my eye
and behold I see people
big bold beautiful people
i see brown people
gold people
yellow people
red people
orange people
purple people
pink people
white people
yet I don’t see colored people
i see a people as one
a people capable
a people that should be grateful
grateful for the blessings that we can all share as people
to love
to grow
to build
to sow
people in my neighborhood
people it’s all good
undivided by vanity
an unbroken sea of humane humanity
people must rely on a shoulder to cry one
we all are people
we are people
old and young
rich or poor
used or new
let us be valued as people
let us value each other as people
persons
beings
individuals
not things
people
and all things to all people
to all nations
at all stations
in every situation
poem by Harlan Lovestone
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Back In The Sunshine Again
Here we are
Back in the sunshine again
No more worries
And no more pain
Were leaving behind
All our troubles and strife
And thats the way its gonna be
For the rest of my life
Here we are, here we are
Back in the sunshine again
No more worries, no more worries
And no more pain, no more pain
Lifes too short, to spend it lonely
You only throw it away
Listen to your voice of reason, call it a day
Take a ride, take a ride
Out to the land of the free
Dont hurry take your time, take your time
Come and spend it with me
Back in the sunshine
Back in the sunshine
Here we are
Back in the sunshine again
No more worries, no more worries
And no more pain
Lifes too short, to spend it lonely
You only throw it away
Listen to your voice of reason, call it a day
Here we are
Back in the sunshine again
No more worries, no more worries
And no more pain
Here we are
Back in the sunshine again
No more worries or pain
And no more pain
Back in the sunshine again
No more worries
Back in the sunshine again
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Sip It As If Kettled
Sip it as if kettled like a soup.
Then grade it,
Homemade.
And...
Savor every flavor that's pursued.
To aid,
Your best to be...
The one who lives your life,
Spiced and energized...
The way you like that's right.
And one of a kind you find!
Sip it as if kettled like a soup.
Then grade it,
Homemade.
And...
Savor every flavor that's pursued.
To aid,
Your best to be...
The one who lives your life,
Spiced and energized...
The way you like that's right.
And one of a kind you find!
Just sip it as if kettled like a soup.
Your life.
Spiced and energized...
The way you like that's right.
And,
Sip it as if kettled like a soup.
Your life.
Sip it as if kettled like a soup.
Your life.
And,
Sip it as if kettled like a soup.
Your life.
Sip it as if kettled like a soup.
Your life.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Worries 2
At times, we feel that
we have the worries of the world
resting on our shoulders
that seem to increase in size
as everyday passes.
We look around for someone to talk to;
invariably there is no one there.
The worries magnify themselves ten fold
and you begin to wonder how you will ever cope with them.
You keep looking over your shoulder
believing someone is watching
every move you make,
but know it is your imagination
just playing tricks on you.
The worries keep increasing at an alarming rate.
You begin to wonder
if there is any way out
with the burden that you carry.
You look for options that might help you through,
or is there just one way,
just to end it all.
Give up and submit,
end everything.
These are the words that ring out in your head.
They add more confusion
to the worries you already have.
You go to bed hoping, always hoping
tomorrow things will be better,
but in your heart, you know they won’t.
It will only be another repetitive circle
of what you have had today.
21 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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When Winter Started In May
With winter starting in May
you stir lentil soup around and around,
looking like the most beautiful housewife
while I am astounded by the odours of that meal.
When your lips find mine,
we are for long moments blinded to the world
and the soup almost boils over,
while a strong wind is rattling the windows.
poem by Gert Strydom
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