My career is pretty much over. I'm out in the Valley eating soft-boiled eggs.
quote by Tim Conway
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
3 Fingers of Bananas And 4 Boiled Eggs
This is just the beginning and,
This is just like the beginning!
With 3 fingers of bananas and 4 boiled eggs to eat.
I know what i need and,
I know what i buy;
You know what you need and,
You know what you buy;
But, the market out there is for the wise and the fool.
This man said this!
And that woman said that;
This man did this!
And that woman did that;
This boy did this!
And that girl did that;
But, let the water go through it to satisfy you!
For, i have 3 bananas and 4 boiled eggs to eat.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Eggs For Me
Form into a shell, you are unique,
Break out in time to master reality.
My cooking of eggs makes food worth sharing,
They cook me omelettes next, then hard-boiled eggs.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Collective Punishment
Collective Punishment
A bird farmer had a stroke, paralyzed saw
himself being watched by a Plymouth hen,
it sat on the sill moving its head sideways
as birds tend to do. When satisfied that
the man was lame it jumped on to his bed,
pecked and slurped up his eyes like they
should be soft boiled eggs, then left.
The farmer lived, but since he could not
see or find the eye eater, he ordered all
birds and their eggs destroyed, and hen
houses bulldozed; alas, a few birds escaped.
The farmer planted sunflower on his land,
the survivors thrive at the edge of it, one
of them is a big, red Plymouth hen.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Submissive
You are very submissive to me my love and,
We are like the hill and the valley living together;
So we can protect each other in any season on this love.
It should be a bit wet before you use it then,
It will be very lovely all day long.
It should be a bit soft before you eat it then,
You will love it forever!
For you are very submissive to my love.
You should leek it when it is very hard!
Then you will love eating it over and over agin;
For you are very submissive to my love and,
We are like the valley and the hill together always.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Boiled Eggs
Why should i eat my boiled eggs before you? ! !
For it is like your God and,
I don't want to hurt you;
For any wise person knows his or her root in this life.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ballad of the Carpet Bag
Ho! Darkies, don't you hear dose voters cryin'
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must get to de Poll, you must get there flyin';
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must travel by de road, you must travel by de train,
And the things what you've done you will have to explain,
And the things what you've promised, you must promise 'em again.
Pack dat carpet bag!
Hear dem voters callin!
Pack de clean boiled rag.
For there's grass in the west, and the rain am fallin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must pack up a volume of Coghlan's Figures,
Pack dat carpet bag!
And a lot o' little jokes to amuse those niggers.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must wheedle all de gals with a twinkle of your eye,
You must bob down your head when de eggs begin to fly.
Oh! those eggs what they're saving, and they'll throw 'em by and by.
Pack dat carpet bag!
Hear dem voters callin'!
Pack de clean boiled rag.
For there's grass in the west, and the rain am fallin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must get upon a stump, you must practise speakin',
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must follow Georgie Reid or Alfred Deakin.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must come to de scratch, or you're bound to fail,
For it ain't any time to be sittin' on de rail,
Or de votes that you'll get -- they won't keep you out o' jail.
Pack dat carpet bag!
Hear dem voters callin'!
Pack de clean boiled rag.
For there's grass in the west, and the rain am fallin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!
And supposin' that you're beat, and you feel like cryin',
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must hustle back to work -- just to keep from dyin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must travel second-class when you travel by de train,
For you haven't got a pass on de end of your chain,
While the other fellow's packing for de great campaign.
Pack dat carpet bag!
Hear dem voters callin'!
Pack de clean boiled rag.
For there's grass in the west, and the rain am fallin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Like I said, a 30-year-old hockey player, even when I came to New York when I was 30, I was on the downside of my career, pretty much the end of my career.
quote by Mark Messier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your job is not your career
I responsible to my job, I fight for my career
I bound to job, I grow with career
Job is described, career is developed
Job is fulfilled, career is achieved
Job is for living, career is for life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fussy About Food
I’ve always been really fussy about what I eat,
But I’ll tolerate most foods, if the cook cheats!
It really depends on how a food has been cooked,
Whether or not, it has a place in my good books.
Examples of my some of my most hated foods,
Are sliced roast beef and apples that are stewed.
I’ll eat beef that’s been minced up into a pie,
And apples diced into a crumble are also fine.
Fresh coriander leaves, I definitely will not touch,
But cooked in a curry, I don’t mind them so much.
On potatoes that have been boiled, I’m not that keen,
But eating mashed potato or chips, I can be often seen.
Egg and cress sandwiches, by me, are never approached,
But I love eggs that are hard boiled, fried or even poached.
I dislike the taste of carrots that have been picked fresh,
But with the taste of tinned carrots, I’m really impressed.
I’m not so keen on either petit pois or garden peas,
But with the taste of mushy peas, I’m very pleased.
In pies and pasties, I hate to have a filling of cheese,
But I’ll devour a slice of cheese on toast with ease.
I’ve been a fussy eater pretty much all of my life,
And, caused my mother much trouble and strife.
When I was small, I often left much of my dinner.
My mum often worried that I would get thinner.
Like many other children, my main course
Often ended up, smeared with tomato sauce.
The enjoyment of a meal, this often improved,
And frayed tempers were also often soothed.
If there was a certain food, which I did really hate,
My mum would still insist putting it upon my plate.
Even with it on my plate, I still didn’t like the taste,
So that particular food would inevitably go to waste.
As I’ve got older, I’ve acquired an improved appetite,
Much to my mother’s extreme relief, and total delight.
Now, as an adult, my dinner plate is often cleaned,
And, hardly ever is a single morsel left, to be seen.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Boiled Eggs And Sweet Wine
Boiled eggs and sweet wine,
Being on the last train without your lover;
But call my number and i will show you the way,
Because this train is leading you to downtown!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Utilitarian Point Of View
as the gray hen cackles looking for a place to lay her eggs
the red rooster looks for another white hen to shuffle on the ground,
we who see this does not condemn, nay we never think of morality
or codes of ethical conduct, as the rooster is just doing the work that nature and man have assigned to it
no hen ever complains that the rooster has copulated with the other
six hens around the poultry in the backyard and in the garden
neither shall we reprimand the rooster for being so restless and
cocky and prolific or as we call it engages in promiscuous sex
all that we are thinking on that moment are the eggs that each hen can lay, our minds looking forward to every morning's breakfast, when we shall choose, the usual delights: either scrambled or sunny side up or perhaps a hard-boiled egg for our personal consumption.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Morning Half-Life Blues
Girls buck the wind in the grooves toward work
in fuzzy coats promised to be warm as fur.
The shop windows snicker
flashing them hurrying over dresses they cannot afford:
you are not pretty enough, not pretty enough.
Blown with yesterday’s papers through the boiled coffee morning
we dream of the stop on the subway without a name,
the door in the heart of the grove of skyscrapers,
that garden where we nestle to the teats of a furry world,
lie in mounds of peony eating grapes,
and need barter ourselves for nothing.
not by the hour, not by the pound, not by the skinful,
that party to which no one will give or sell us the key
though we have all thought briefly we found it
drunk or in bed.
Black girls with thin legs and high necks stalking like herons,
plump girls with blue legs and green eyelids and
strawberry breasts,
swept off to be frozen in fluorescent cubes,
the vacuum of your jobs sucks your brains dry
and fills you with the ooze of melted comics.
Living is later. This is your rented death.
You grasp at hard commodities and vague lusts
to make up, to pay for each day
which opens like a can and is empty, and then another,
afternoons like dinosaur eggs stuffed with glue.
Girls of the dirty morning, ticketed and spent,
you will be less at forty than at twenty.
Your living is a waste product of somebody’s mill.
I would fix you like buds to a city where people work
to make and do things necessary and good,
where work is real as bread and babies and trees in parks
where we would all blossom slowly and ripen to sound fruit.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Marge Piercy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Frog's Life
Once upon a lily pad,
There sat a mother frog
Hungry for some food,
She hopped from log to log
Eating flies and skeeters,
All throughout the day
Worms weren’t quite as good,
But she ate them anyway
She found a comfy spot,
And laid a bunch of eggs
Then hopped away from the nest,
With a push from her back legs
The eggs turned into tadpoles,
That swam around the pond
They started growing legs,
And turned into tiny frogs
poem by Chris Marion
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Green Eggs & Ham
I do not like green eggs and ham
I do not like them
Sam, I am
I do not like them here or there
I do not like them anywhere
I do not like them in a boat
I would not, could not, with a goat
I will not eat them in the rain
I do not like them on a train
I do not like them in a box
I will not eat them with a fox
I do not like them in a house
I would not, could not, with a mouse
I do not like green eggs and ham
I do not like them
Sam, I am
Green eggs and ham
Green eggs and ham
Dont like green eggs and ham
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Born Again
Do you or don't you want this to be your song?
It doesn't take a rebel to sing along.
This art is weak
in its pretty frame
and I am a monkey with
a misspelled name
"I'll put down you disco
and take you heart away.
I'll put down you disco
and take your heart away"
I am born again
I'm someone else
I'm someone new
I'm someone stupid just like you
I'm someone else
I'm someone new
I'm someone stupid just like you
do you or don't you want to take this hit?
Does it make you feel like you're a part of "it."
"I'll put down you disco
and take you heart away.
I'll put down you disco
and take your heart away"
I am born again
I'm someone else
I'm someone new
I'm someone stupid just like you
I'm someone else
I'm someone new
I'm someone stupid just like you
the valley of the dolls is
the valley of the dead
the valley of the dolls is
the valley of the dead
(CHORUS)
I am born again
song performed by by Marilyn Manson from Holy Wood (In The Shadow Of The Valley Of Death)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Guide to Eating Meat
Eating a little beef
Could cause a Hindu grief,
Eating too much chicken
Can make a person sicken,
Eating lots of lamb
Is preferable to Spam,
Eating a leg of pork
Won't make the neighbours talk,
But eating Mum and Dad
Is DEFINITELY BAD! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Sacred Cemetery
The sacred cemetery,
The phenomenal woman is now with the phenomenal man;
And like a handsome gentleman and a beautiful young lady!
But, do plan for your life very well in this world.
Muse, fuse, use, ruse;
And like five boiled eggs for my lover! !
But, you don't love yourself;
And, that's why you hate others.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Armenian Folk-Song--The Partridge
As beats the sun from mountain crest,
With 'pretty, pretty',
Cometh the partridge from her nest;
The flowers threw kisses sweet to her
(For all the flowers that bloomed knew her);
Yet hasteneth she to mine and me--
Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!
And when I hear the partridge cry
So pretty, pretty,
Upon the house-top, breakfast I;
She comes a-chirping far and wide,
And swinging from the mountain side--
I see and hear the dainty dear!
Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!
Thy nest's inlaid with posies rare.
And pretty, pretty
Bloom violet, rose, and lily there;
The place is full of balmy dew
(The tears of flowers in love with you!)
And one and all impassioned call;
'O pretty, pretty--
O dear little partridge!'
Thy feathers they are soft and sleek--
So pretty, pretty!
Long is thy neck and small thy breast;
The color of thy plumage far
More bright than rainbow colors are!
Sweeter than dove is she I love--
My pretty, pretty--
My dear little partridge!
When comes the partridge from the tree,
So pretty, pretty!
And sings her little hymn to me,
Why, all the world is cheered thereby--
The heart leaps up into the eye,
And echo then gives back again
Our 'Pretty, pretty,'
Our 'Dear little partridge!'
Admitting the most blest of all
And pretty, pretty,
The birds come with thee at thy call;
In flocks they come and round they play,
And this is what they seem to say--
They say and sing, each feathered thing;
'Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!'
poem by Eugene Field
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Seadream
Pretty lady look at me
Im a sailor from the sea
I can take you anywhere
You can join me do you dare?
Like a dagger made of diamonds
In a scabbard soft as gold
I can show you pretty secrets
Human lips have never told.
And she said, sailor, come with me
Is it lonesome on the sea
Is there shelter for your head
Like the comfort of my bed?
Love is harder than a diamond
And as soft and pure as gold
And its sweet as any secret
Any sailor ever told.
Pretty lady look at me
Im a sailor from the sea
I can take you anywhere
You can join me do you dare?
Pretty lady look at me
Im a sailor from the sea.
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The sun would come up over the ocean, and we'd be eating scrambled eggs before we shot some stuff. It was a vacation in the sense that it was the best working conditions.
quote by Marguerite Moreau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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