People who insist on telling their dreams are among the terrors of the breakfast table.
quote by Max Beerbohm
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
I am blessed because...
I am blessed because I wake up every morning with breakfast ready on my table,
when there are people waking up to hunger.
I am blessed because I wake up with clothes to wear,
when there are people shivering in the cold.
I am blessed because I wake up knowing that I don't have to walk to school,
when there are people who don't have a school to go to.
I am blessed because I get to eat even if it's not time for breakfast, lunch or dinner,
while some people wonder when the next meal will come.
I am blessed because I am living such a comfortable life, playing sports, joking around with friends, using the internet and sleeping whenever I want,
when some people are using their last bit of strength to make sure they survive hunger, illness and pain.
I am blessed because I have friends to talk to when I'm in pain, to laugh with when I'm in joy and to be my aid when I'm in need,
when there are people who feel sad, sorrow and pain without anyone
to lean on.
I am blessed because I have a caring Mum, an awesome Dad and a loving little sister, while there are people who will never know who their parents are.
I am blessed because I know I am loved by God.
The people in pain, the people in hunger, the people in sorrow,
the people who lost everything, the people who kill, the people who
steal, the people who hate, the people who persecute, the people who is the worst of all humans, are loved by God too. They just need to know it.
I am blessed, are you?
If you think you're not, remember this, God loves you, no matter who you are.
You just need to know it. =
Many people do not realize that the snowshoe can be used for a great many things besides walking on snow. For instance, it can be used to carry pancakes from the stove to the breakfast table. Also, it can be used to carry uneaten pancakes from the table to the garbage. Finally, it can be used as a kind of stainer, where you force pancakes through the strings to see if a piece of gold got in a pancake somehow.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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ET Came To Breakfast (Fun Poem 10)
My breakfast was going snap, crackle and pop,
when suddenly in the chair opposite something went plop.
I looked across the table and was astonished to see,
a little green man looking at me.
I blinked a couple of times,
even pinched myself to make sure it was real.
He was, you can believe,
and my breakfast he was trying to steal.
We pulled at the bowl,
no one getting the upper hand,
and then he stuck his finger in the bowl,
and sucked out the blinking lot,
milk and my snap, crackle and pop.
The moral of this story.
If a little green man comes to breakfast,
Get an extra bowl.
28 April 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Breakfast That We Cannot Eat Together
this is the breakfast that we cannot eat together a fish fried in an oil
with so much heat, like ' who cares? ' a rice not well cooked which says ' it is the maid again! ' a coffee which has gone cold which says ' you come late again! ' a egg which is not sunny side up a ham that does not roll a dirty table with an unwashed table cloth which says 'change it yourself! '
how can i eat all these?
i am late for the office and i have to go.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table.....
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table
poem by Vincent Armone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Little Sunshine
a grain of rice
on a table cloth
beside
a cup of hot
coffee
imperceptible
but when a connection is found
soon
the spoon and fork
shall understand
some pieces
no matter what
do not fit
on a reasonable landscape
what is the grain of rice
doing on a breakfast table?
your mind is furious
i think it is cool
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Switch on the light, please
I always rise from a fall
From the floor I lift my bottom
Up this table
And from this table I stand
And reach this ceiling
It is dark and you simply sit there
Like a blind creature
Learning to live & even love
♥
This darkness
You keep telling me about your
Broken dreams
The walls enclosing you
The wails of the past
Screaming at you
Up here I hold this
Fluorescent bulb
And put it on the socket
On the ceiling and now
It is finally done & ready
To have light however
It is still you
Who must stand
Move to that dark corner
And then switch on
This tiny thing
☼
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hotdogs and Beans
Those heard loudly complaining today,
Are the same people heard yesterday.
Debating how a can opener is used,
As instructed by directions.
They insist should be followed,
To remove the contents properly.
And neither is it a coincidence,
They are the ones still trying to impress,
With etiquette and attire at the dinner table.
For a meal of hotdogs and beans.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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438
To Choose Between A
Hot Breakfast Ready On The Table
And Finishing Another Poem
I Choose The Breakfast
Together With My Wife
This Poem Can Be Suspended
In Time
And Become Another Unfinished
Act Of Creation
By A Man Wanting To Fill This
World With Poems
After A While
When I Have My Fill And When
I Make Some Nice Conversations With My Wife
And My Dog Beside The Table
Looking At Me
For A Piece Of Fried Pork
When The Sipping Of Coffee Is Over
When I Finally Wipe My
Chin With The Sky Blue Napkin
When I Consider
Eating As Finally Over
As Promised
I Will Come Back Again
And Finish This Poem
And There Is Something
Nice In This
Act Of Creation
You Feel It
It Is Warm Like The Hand Of
A Beautiful Woman
It Is As Hot As Ever
Like This Wanton Desire
Lovely,
As Lovely As You Love Each Letter
Of The Word
Of Your Poetry
I Am Feeling It In The Bone
Of My Soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Breakfast Is Ready
(7: 45 in the morning)
to choose between a
hot breakfast ready on the table
and finishing another poem
i choose the breakfast
together with my wife
this poem can be suspended
in time
and become another unfinished
act of creation
by a man wanting to fill this
world with poems
after a while
when i have my fill and when
i make some nice conversations with my wife
and my dog beside the table
looking at me
for a piece of fried pork
when the sipping of coffee is over
when i finally wipe my
chin with the sky blue napkin
when i consider
eating as finally over
as promised
i will come back again
and finish this poem
and there is something
nice in this
act of creation
you feel it
it is warm like the hand of
a beautiful woman
it is as hot as ever
like this wanton desire
lovely,
as lovely as you love each letter
of the word
of your poetry
i am feeling it in the bone
of my soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Want to Fit In
I want to fit in
In one way or another
If people would help me
Or let me do it on my own
But people are always
Telling me what to do
Don't they realize
You can't teach some people
Some of us
Can't take tests
Like most of the people
But do things their own ways
So, why won't people
Let me do what I can do
Instead of telling me
How to fit in
poem by Jerry Abrahamson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God sometimes grants your prayer to punish you....
do not insist. God has a way of punishing
your unreasonable widow
persistence, the Greeks are warned
about Wooden Horses,
and Achilles' heels,
do not insist. Don't you know that sometimes
God grants prayers
purposely to punish
those who are hardheaded?
Pray what God wills you to be.
Do not insist.
God knows better
Before you were born
He knows what is in store for you
Till the last
breath. Till you dropp dead.
So do not insist
Natural laws cannot be compromised.
Legal laws maybe.
Man made ones, those that twist
and pride on
Compromises.
Do not insist. Let God flow inside your
Heart. Let the seeds grow
As he sets the fertile soil
of the mind
As he gives the light in your
Sun.
As he prunes and cuts
and Makes you
The most beautiful tree
within the forest of your tangled
hairs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Leg Anne and the Innocent Flirt.
Sister Mary pushed Anne
in her wheelchair
to the white table
where you were sitting
with Lydia Sad
and Malcolm
and a curly headed girl
with burn scars
on her face and neck
there
said the nun
here you can sit
and wait for breakfast
and catch the morning sun
Anne looked glumly
at the sky
and said nothing
as the nun
walked away
I wonder
what's for breakfast?
Malcolm asked
stewed cat on toast
Anne said
looking at Lydia Sad
whose blonde hair
and blue eyes
gave her
an angelic look
that's horrible
the girl with burn scars said
don't eat it then
Anne said
Malcolm looked at you
it wouldn't be that
would it?
He asked
no
you said
Anne's just having you on
why do you have to spoil
my fun Skinny Boy?
Anne said
it's not funny
Lydia muttered
not funny to say that
about cats being on toast
how are your haemorrhoids?
Anne asked Lydia
saw the fat nun
giving you the bum pill
Lydia blushed
and Malcolm looked
at the white table top
I'm telling Sister Bernadette
about you
the girl with burn scars said
go put your head
between your thighs
and breathe the air
Anne said
the girl got up
and left the table
followed by Lydia
and Malcolm
that's got rid of them
Skinny Boy
Anne said
why are you so horrible?
you asked
looking at her red skirt
just covering the stump
of her amputated leg
have a good look Skinny Boy
and she pulled up
her skirt to reveal
the naked flesh
and plump stump
you noticed
how the scar
seemed to pull
into a smooth redness
what do you think?
Anne asked
I've seen it before
you replied
when?
She asked
you showed me
the other week
while you were being weight
in the bathroom
she smiled
and pulled down
her skirt
I like you Skinny Boy
you're just
an innocent flirt
and she laughed
and her wheelchair rocked
and you smiled
and wondered
what she meant
by the word flirt
and looked discreetly
at her short red skirt.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Bench By The River
It’s six thirty on Sunday morning
and I’ve been here since three.
I don’t sleep much now-a-days,
but that don’t bother me.
The flies are here as usual
taking salt from my skin
whilst I’m having breakfast
of blood red wine and gin.
I remember when I was married
I had food three times a day.
Now, I eat when I’m hungry,
but not much comes my way.
I live in a one room bed sit,
which is big enough for me.
I don’t give parties anymore,
besides I’ve got no settee.
Two chairs, and one’s my table,
a sleeping bag on the floor.
A cup, a glass and a tooth brush,
don’t need anything more.
Another bottle is approaching
along with friends of mine.
We’ll continue having breakfast,
at least until lunch time.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maureen
I pick her up outside the station
She's telling me about her spring vacation
She's not leaving much to the imagination
She's giving me way too much information
Maureen
You don't know what you do to me
I know you won't be true to me
The least that you can do for me
Is keep it to yourself
I'm so sorry I don't mean to shout
It's just that I can do without
The details of your days and nights and your thoughts and dreams
Maureen, Maureen, Maureen, Maureen, Maureen
Do you know what I mean
Do you know what I mean
Do you know what I mean
She calls me up at ten past midnight
'Cause she and some guy just had some big fight
And I say well maybe he's just not all that bright
She tells me it's not his brain that she likes
M-M-M-M-M-Maureen
You don't know what you do to me
I know you won't be true to me
The least that you can do for me
Is keep it to yourself
I'm so sorry I don't mean to shout
But really I can do without
The details of your days and nights and your thoughts and dreams
Maureen, Maureen, Maureen, Maureen
I know you think I'm just a friend
But can we please just put an end
To all the graphic imagery that you insist on feeding me
I can't accept I'm not the one
Who's getting to have all the fun
Maybe that's what friends are for
But I just can't take it any more
M-M-M-M-M-Maureen
You don't know what you do to me
I know you won't be true to me
The least that you can do for me
Is keep it to yourself
I'm so sorry I don't mean to shout
But really I can do without
The details of your days and nights and your thoughts and dreams
Can we keep it right
Can we keep it clean
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Breakfast In Bed
(eddie hinton / donnie fritts)
Youve been cryin
Your face is a mess
Come in baby
You can dry the tears on my dress
Shes hurt you again
I can tell
Oh, I know that look so well
Dont be shy
Youve been here before
Pull your shoes off, lie down
And I will lock the door
And no-one has to know
Youve come here again
Darling it will be
Like its always been before
Come on over here
Breakfast in bed
And a kiss or three
You dont have to say you love me
Breakfast in bed
Nothing need be said
Aint no need
Whats your hurry?
Please dont eat and run
You can let her wait, my darling
Its been so long
Since Ive had you here
You will come again
Darling it will be
Like its always been before
Hey child
Breakfast in bed
And a kiss or three
You dont have to say you love me
Breakfast in bed
Nothing need be said
Breakfast in bed
And a kiss or three
You dont have to say you love me
Breakfast in bed
Nothing need be said, yeah
You dont have to
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Breakfast
A dinner party, coffee, tea,
Sandwich, or supper, all may be
In their way pleasant. But to me
Not one of these deserves the praise
That welcomer of new-born days,
A breakfast, merits; ever giving
Cheerful notice we are living
Another day refreshed by sleep,
When its festival we keep.
Now although I would not slight
Those kindly words we use, 'Good night,'
Yet parting words are words of sorrow,
And may not vie with sweet 'Good morrow,'
With which again our friends we greet,
When in the breakfast-room we meet,
At the social table round,
Listening to the lively sound
Of those notes which never tire,
Of urn, or kettle on the fire.
Sleepy Robert never hears
Or urn or kettle; he appears
When all have finished, one by one
Dropping off, and breakfast done.
Yet has he too his own pleasure,
His breakfast hour's his hour of leisure;
And, left alone, he reads or muses,
Or else in idle mood he uses
To sit and watch the venturous fly,
Where the sugar's pilëd high,
Clambering o'er the lumps so white,
Rocky cliffs of sweet delight.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle that fits them all.
Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. in The autocrat of the breakfast-table
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hooked And Eyed
hooked
is the eye
the fish
cannot get
away
caught and
sliced
salted and spiced
on the table
breakfast
one fishy morning
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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