Whoever eats anything at a wedding luncheon? They make the food out of papier mache. My salad had been used four or five times this week.
quote by Peter Ruric
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Salad is Incompatible with Life
Yes, my waist is fifty inches -
Big for me because I'm short.
And yes, I like my cheddar cheese
When partnered with a vintage port.
Okay, okay, that double cream
Is always served with pud,
And cake and biscuits with my tea
Are just no bloody good
For my poor hardened arteries,
But see my point of view,
Please dear wifey if you please,
A Salad makes me spew!
I'd rather eat a bowl of air
Than crunch away on greens;
Drink water from the toilet bowl
Or nibble on my jeans!
But salad! Are you there?
You know it makes me snappy -
So let me fill my face with grub,
Stay fat, and die young happy!
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fake gold and papier mache cost little and look like a lot.
Artists aren't really people. And I'm actually 40 per cent papier mache.
quote by Steven Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think someone should have had the decency to tell me the luncheon was free. To make someone run out with potato salad in his hand, pretending that he's throwing up, is not what I call hospitality.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Epigram - Frank Carves Very Ill
Frank carves very ill, yet will palm all the meats;
He eats more than six, and drinks more than he eats.
Four pipes after dinner he constantly smokes,
And seasons his whiffs with impertinent jokes:
Yet sighing, he says we must certainly break,
And my cruel unkindness compels him to speak,
For of late I invite him - but four times a week.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Paper Mache, Cabbages & Kings
Na na na na na na na na na
Paper mache and telegraph poles
Things go dead in the night
Make enough noise to make enough noise
To make you want to jump with fright
Elephant's tusks and autograph books ,people you don't meet
Haven't got a bed to lay my head , shoes to fit my feet
Don't be scared
You're better off then nothing
You're answering to no one
Paper mache
Paper mache and telegraph poles
Thing go dead in the night
Make enough noise to make enough noise
To make you want to jump with fright
Elephant's tusks and autograph books, people you don't meet
Haven't got a bed to lay my head, shoes to fit my feet
Don't be scared
You're better off then nothing
You're answering to no one
Paper mache
All of a sudden it happened
When you did what you said you'd do
And you broke my heart in two
Like paper mache
All of a sudden it happened, oh...
You came into my life
Like paper mache you broke my heart
Like paper mache, paper mache
Like paper mache
Paper mache and telegraph poles
Things go dead in the night
Make enough noise to make enough noise
To make you wanna jump with fright
Elephant's tusks and autograph books
People you don't meet
La la la la la la la la la la la la la la
Jimmy had a bomb and the bomb went bang
Jimmy was everywhere
Jimmy had a bomb and the bomb went bang
Jimmy was everywhere
(repeat last two lines and fade out)
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paper Mache, Cabbages Kings
Na na na na na na na na na
Paper mache and telegraph poles
Things go dead in the night
Make enough noise to make enough noise
To make you want to jump with fright
Elephants tusks and autograph books ,people you dont meet
Havent got a bed to lay my head , shoes to fit my feet
Dont be scared
Youre better off then nothing
Youre answering to no one
Paper mache
Paper mache and telegraph poles
Thing go dead in the night
Make enough noise to make enough noise
To make you want to jump with fright
Elephants tusks and autograph books, people you dont meet
Havent got a bed to lay my head, shoes to fit my feet
Dont be scared
Youre better off then nothing
Youre answering to no one
Paper mache
All of a sudden it happened
When you did what you said youd do
And you broke my heart in two
Like paper mache
All of a sudden it happened, oh...
You came into my life
Like paper mache you broke my heart
Like paper mache, paper mache
Like paper mache
Paper mache and telegraph poles
Things go dead in the night
Make enough noise to make enough noise
To make you wanna jump with fright
Elephants tusks and autograph books
People you dont meet
La la la la la la la la la la la la la la
Jimmy had a bomb and the bomb went bang
Jimmy was everywhere
Jimmy had a bomb and the bomb went bang
Jimmy was everywhere
(repeat last two lines and fade out)
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let's Have a Party.
Let's have a party, invite the family around,
Tell them it's teat time, and come south bound;
We'll have it as a barbecue, so b.y.o some meat,
But we will supply salad, drinks, and also sweet.
Let's have a party, but dress up in a costume,
Don't say who you are, we have to assume;
And the food will be served as a supper too,
With Chicken, no wine, and some dessert will do.
Let's have a party for children, on Friday,
Seeing its a birthday, the kids will go hooray;
Let's put up streamers, have finger food too,
After all the games and food sing happy birthday to you.
Let's have a pre wedding party, for bride and groom,
Go out to dinner, let's try the sunset room;
We'll book a smorgasbord dinner, make it for forty,
Then come back to our place after, for tea or coffee.
Let's have a Christmas party, all family and a friend,
We'll sing lots of carols, and have a story at the end;
Each bring 1 present, for under the christmas tree,
And thank God for Christmas from you and me.
poem by Margaret Haig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I do love Italian food. Any kind of pasta or pizza. My new pig out food is Indian food. I eat Indian food like three times a week. It's so good.
quote by Jennifer Love Hewitt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Ideas About the Thing But the Thing Itself
At the earliest ending of winter,
In March, a scrawny cry from outside
Seemed like a sound in his mind.
He knew that he heard it,
A bird's cry, at daylight or before,
In the early March wind.
The sun was rising at six,
No longer a battered panache above snow...
It would have been outside.
It was not from the vast ventriloquism
Of sleep's faded papier-mache...
The sun was coming from the outside.
That scrawny cry--It was
A chorister whose c preceded the choir.
It was part of the colossal sun,
Surrounded by its choral rings,
Still far away. It was like
A new knowledge of reality.
poem by Wallace Stevens
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Fine Young Yesterday
Soft pacifists in murals of malaise:
I can barely see you sweaty over the bedroom of
My young days,
Because my ears are burning from cheap wine,
They don’t hear reveille or get up on time,
And they are past over like sated lions on Mondays,
And the tourists have all gone down their enthroned
Gullets like strawberry Sundays,
And up in the sky didn’t I say they are advertising
Your wedding day;
But anyway, hip hip hurray: and didn’t they once have
The world fair in Saint Louis or
Chicago; and weren’t we there high stepping through
The papier-mâché jungles-
And didn’t you know that Sara Teasdale is buried
Belle Fontaine, that she was married to someone she
Didn’t love,
And the way she thought of him along the stark midways
Of her younger days- I’m sure I know, if I can’t rightly
Say-
The traffic skips by like amphibians opening wide
And ululating on into crepuscule,
And I missed you in school today, but I guess it doesn’t
Matter, because I am not beautiful
And I don’t think you love me- at least not the way
I love you- forever- even if you once loved me that
Fine young yesterday.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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The Puppeteer Dies
the puppeteer dies
and black sunrise
a single tear falls to her breast
white on white
bonjour tristesse
her fallen hero
twisted strings
their staring eyes
and no bird sings
that day he died
released the world from all it's strings
and under papier-mache skies
with crimsoned cheeks
and wild wide eyes
they did their burn-out promenade
yet only slightly
they delayed the brunches at the smart cafes
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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My Brother Julian.
my brother julian is weird,
but hes not one to be feared,
burgers and fries is all he eats,
loves video games
but he always cheats,
sleeps all night sleeps all day,
he goes to church but i never heard him pray,
but his nose is special it could smell food a mile away,
he gets crazy and physco thats why i call him violent j,
he loves food like they aint no tommorow,
he eats so fast i sometimes wonder if he swallowed,
hes always first in line to order,
hes favorite food is the ultimate cheeseburger,
hes cool but mostly rude,
but show him your food and violent j will druel.
1/05/2008
Copyright ©2009 Jose Murguia
poem by Jose Murguia
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‘Phasellus Ille’
1 his papier-mâché, which you see, my friends,
Saith 'twas the worthiest of editors.
Its mind was made up in 'the seventies',
Nor hath it ever since changed that concoction.
It works to represent that school of thought
Which brought the hair-cloth chair to such perfection,
Nor will the horrid threats of Bernard Shaw
Shake up the stagnant pool of its convictions;
Nay, should the deathless voice of all the world
Speak once again for its sole stimulation,
Twould not move it one jot from left to right.
Come Beauty barefoot from the Cyclades,
She'd find a model for St. Anthony
In this thing's sure decorum and behaviour.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Overweight with Food
Are you just a tub of lard and
Vastly overweight?
Do you think that when you die you'll
Need a piano crate
To act as coffin for your frame? -
Chosen as you die in shame, with
Only you to take the blame
For years of eating much the same:
A daily calorific fest
Gourmands of your ilk digest!
Is your heart in final fling and
Nearly set to burst?
Are your arteries bunged and clogged and
Feeling now the worst
For wear? - your aneurysm fit to blow
While blood as thick as rising dough
Cries 'Halt! ' to any hope of flow:
A dreadful state to put on show
In front of any nurse!
Best you hail a hearse.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Quatro Stagione
the autumn is the wedding
of a leaf and wind
the winter is the wedding
of the white and flake
the spring is the wedding
of a bloom and water
the summer is the wedding
of seasons that make
each year of a heavenly disguise
a place to beauty rise
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Clean Plater
Some singers sing of ladies' eyes,
And some of ladies lips,
Refined ones praise their ladylike ways,
And course ones hymn their hips.
The Oxford Book of English Verse
Is lush with lyrics tender;
A poet, I guess, is more or less
Preoccupied with gender.
Yet I, though custom call me crude,
Prefer to sing in praise of food.
Food,
Yes, food,
Just any old kind of food.
Pheasant is pleasant, of course,
And terrapin, too, is tasty,
Lobster I freely endorse,
In pate or patty or pasty.
But there's nothing the matter with butter,
And nothing the matter with jam,
And the warmest greetings I utter
To the ham and the yam and the clam.
For they're food,
All food,
And I think very fondly of food.
Through I'm broody at times
When bothered by rhymes,
I brood
On food.
Some painters paint the sapphire sea,
And some the gathering storm.
Others portray young lambs at play,
But most, the female form.
“Twas trite in that primeval dawn
When painting got its start,
That a lady with her garments on
Is Life, but is she Art?
By undraped nymphs
I am not wooed;
I'd rather painters painted food.
Food,
Just food,
Just any old kind of food.
Go purloin a sirloin, my pet,
If you'd win a devotion incredible;
And asparagus tips vinaigrette,
Or anything else that is edible.
Bring salad or sausage or scrapple,
A berry or even a beet.
Bring an oyster, an egg, or an apple,
As long as it's something to eat.
If it's food,
It's food;
Never mind what kind of food.
When I ponder my mind
I consistently find
It is glued
On food.
poem by Ogden Nash
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humor ***** WEDDING PERIOD
Two days before our wedding ceremony,
my fiancee' and I had a little argument
whether to move one week our wedding date
or not
My wife-to-be had just visited her
monthly regular period.
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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For My Wedding
(larry john mcnally)
For my wedding, I will dress in black
And never again will I look back
Ah, my dark angels we must part
For Ive made a sanctuary of my heart
To want what I have
To take what Im given with grace
For this I pray
On my wedding day
For my wedding, I dont want violins
Or sentimental songs about thick and thin
I want a moment of silence and a moment of prayer
For the love well need to make it in the world out there
To want what I have
To take what Im given with grace
For this I pray
On my wedding day
On my wedding day
I dream, and my dreams are all glory and light
Thats what Ive wanted for my life
And if it hasnt always been that way
Well, I can dream and I can pray
On my wedding day
So what makes us any different from all the others
Who have tried and failed before us
Maybe nothing, maybe nothing at all
But I pray were the lucky ones; I pray we never fall
To want what we have
To take what were given with grace
For these things I pray
On my wedding day
On my wedding day
song performed by by Don Henley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Syrup Sponge
Pour a pint of cream
Upon my spongy bulge!
Scoop me with a
Hefty spoon;
Taste my essence -
Do you swoon?
Feed your self-esteem; indulge
In me until you burst -
Death by syrup sponge - you're cursed!
And as the count in inches gain
Upon your weary waist, the strain
Will tell, but you'll not care -
Steeped in sponge, you're unaware!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food
food food food food food food
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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