My wife is one of the best wimin on this Continent, altho' she isn't always gentle as a lamb with mint sauce.
quote by Charles Farrar Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her Terms
My wedded life
Must every pleasure bring
On scale extensive!
If I'm your wife
I must have everything
That's most expensive -
A lady's-maid -
(My hair alone to do
I am not able) -
And I'm afraid
I've been accustomed to
A first-rate table.
These things one must consider when one marries -
And everything I wear must come from Paris!
Oh, think of that!
Oh, think of that!
I can't wear anything that's not from Paris!
From top to toes
Quite Frenchified I am,
If you examine.
And then - who knows? -
Perhaps some day a fam -
Perhaps a famine!
My argument's correct, if you examine,
What should we do, if there should come a f-famine!
Though in green pea
Yourself you needn't stint
In July sunny,
In Januaree
It really costs a mint -
A mint of money!
No lamb for us -
House lamb at Christmas sells
At prices handsome:
Asparagus,
In winter, parallels
A Monarch's ransom:
When purse to bread and butter barely reaches,
What is your wife to do for hot-house peaches?
Ah! tell me that!
Ah! tell me that!
What IS your wife to do for hot-house peaches?
Your heart and hand
Though at my feet you lay,
All others scorning!
As matters stand,
There's nothing now to say
Except - good morning!
Though virtue be a husband's best adorning,
That won't pay rates and taxes - so, good morning!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, frisking along;
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, bleating a song;
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, wearing fur-coat,
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, looking so bright!
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, eating green grass,
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, let me first pass,
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, grazing so nice,
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, what a surprise!
One of my first Children's Rhymes
poem by John Celes
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What is sauce for the goose may be sauce for the gander but is not necessarily sauce for the chicken, the duck, the turkey or the guinea hen.
quote by Alice B. Toklas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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New take on Blake for My Friend Amy
Little lamb who made thee?
Made thee tender, tasty and sweet,
made thee very good to eat.
A little lamb well pleaseth me
with new potatoes mint and peas.
It satisfies my appetite,
there is no better way to please.
A hungry man who has the right
to have his hunger satisfied
When he’s been hard at work all day.
With tender meat thou hast supplied,
which has been cooked his favourite way.
I do not know my little lamb
but I am glad.I truly am.
18-Sep-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Dogtime
In all honesty I don’t get along with many people
Especially those who measure time in dog years
Or those who name their cats after cartoon characters
I try to avoid without conflict people who are constantly happy
Because I’m not and I don’t wish to spoil my good mood
I don’t like to eat out in restaurants because most don’t serve lamb
And I like lamb, tender young lamb, with mint jelly
You go into an eatery and ask for lamb and you could be arrested
In all honesty I get pissed off when someone rings my doorbell
Because I know it is a Jehovah witness trying to convert me
And I was converted when I was eleven by a prostitute with an STD
I like war and I don’t say that just to be controversial
I prefer peace but without war there would be no peace
People get bored with peace and they start measuring time in dog years
And before you know it in the blink of an eye everything is old
Even peace…
In all honesty I don’t get along with many people
But old hound dogs and exotic birds seem to love me
2007 © T Sheridan
poem by Ted Sheridan
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Lullaby
Bedtime 's come fu' little boys.
Po' little lamb.
Too tiahed out to make a noise,
Po' little lamb.
You gwine t' have to-morrer sho'?
Yes, you tole me dat befo',
Don't you fool me, chile, no mo',
Po' little lamb.
You been bad de livelong day,
Po' little lamb.
Th'owin' stones an' runnin' 'way,
Po' little lamb.
My, but you 's a-runnin' wil',
Look jes' lak some po' folks chile;
Mam' gwine whup you atter while,
Po' little lamb.
Come hyeah! you mos' tiahed to def,
Po' little lamb.
Played yo'se'f clean out o' bref,
Po' little lamb.
See dem han's now--sich a sight!
Would you evah b'lieve dey's white?
Stan' still twell I wash 'em right,
Po' little lamb.
Jes' cain't hol' yo' haid up straight,
Po' little lamb.
Had n't oughter played so late,
Po' little lamb.
Mammy do' know whut she 'd do,
Ef de chillun's all lak you;
You 's a caution now fu' true,
Po' little lamb.
Lay yo' haid down in my lap,
Po' little lamb.
Y' ought to have a right good slap,
Po' little lamb.
You been runnin' roun' a heap.
Shet dem eyes an' don't you peep,
Dah now, dah now, go to sleep,
Po' little lamb.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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I Like Tomato Sauce
i like tomato sauce
and so i keep lots of
and different kinds of
tomato sauces inside
the ref and when i open
it one night i thought
tomato sauce are also
water and i am in a trance
of some sort or something
i drink tomato sauce
and i remember you:
saucy, so saucy
i thought i am floating
in the river filled with
tomato sauce, yes,
my point is: be proud
i always think of you.
saucy, yes, so saucy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hymn
O li'l' lamb out in de col',
De Mastah call you to de fol',
O li'l' lamb!
He hyeah you bleatin' on de hill;
Come hyeah an' keep yo' mou'nin' still,
O li'l' lamb!
De Mastah sen' de Shepud fo'f;
He wandah souf, he wandah no'f,
O li'l' lamb!
He wandah eas', he wandah wes';
De win' a-wrenchin' at his breas',
O li'l' lamb!
Oh, tell de Shepud whaih you hide;
He want you walkin' by his side,
O li'l' lamb!
He know you weak, he know you so';
But come, don' stay away no mo',
O li'l' lamb!
An' af'ah while de lamb he hyeah
De Shepud's voice a-callin' cleah--
Sweet li'l' lamb!
He answah f'om de brambles thick,
'O Shepud, I's a-comin' quick'--
O li'l' lamb!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Baked By God
My heavenly baked beauty…
Are you truly; my duty…
Because you are driving me…
Your chocolate is all I see…
I hungerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
Without your chocolate I am sunk…
Started with just a little kiss here…
A little kiss there…
Now I can't think anywhere…
Oh, you heavenly baked woman…
Is the term (éclair) fair….
Iced with chocolate…
I do declare…I swear…a little dish of mint...
a hint..
You echo in me…
Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate…
I am running wild…
From your chocolate style…
Oh, my queen…
Wake me not if I am a but…
Dream…
God blessed you…
With custard filling…
Sooooo…
Tantalizing…
So…damn surprising…
Arousing is your (flavour) …that mint hint...
While I am browsing…
Sometimes…it feels like…
I just can't give up…
For brown sugar…
Is…
A condition of deep thought…
Your respect must be included…
I need for you to come around…
That is the sound…
From the heavens…
To the ground…
So sweet and delicious…
A consequence I will bare…
Your respect is my dare…
My…chocolate... my mint...your..woman…ly…
Éclair…
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Mary Had A Little Lamb
Mary had a little lamb
One holy morning
'Neath the star of Bethlehem
A brand new day was forming
Guided by the shining light
And the angel's voice
Wise men traveled through the night
To see the baby boy
'Cause Mary had a little lamb
King of kings and son of man
Mary had a little lamb of God
They gathered 'round to see the lamb
In the manger sleeping
Such a humble throne for Him
The promise God was keeping
There the shepards bowed their heads
Among the cattle lowing
The first ever Christmas gift
Was wrapped in swaddling clothes
Mary had a little lamb
King of kings and son of man
Mary had a little lamb of God
For the world a sacrifice
Mary did give birth
The way she held him in her arms
Is how He holds the earth
Mary had a little lamb
King of kings and son of man
Mary had a little lamb of God
Mary had a little lamb
King of kings and son of man
Mary had a little lamb of God
Oh, Mary had a little lamb
King of kings and son of man
Mary had a little lamb of God
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here's Luck
Old Time is tramping close to-day—you hear his bluchers fall,
A mighty change is on the way, an’ God protect us all;
Some dust’ll fly from beery coats—at least it’s been declared.
I’m glad that wimin has the votes—but just a trifle scared.
I’m just a trifle scared—For why? The wimin mean to rule;
It makes me feel like days gone by when I was caned at school.
The days of men is nearly dead—of double moons and stars—
They’ll soon put out our pipes, ’tis said, an’ close the public bars.
No more we’ll take a glass of ale when pushed with care an’ strife,
An’chuckle home with that old tale we used to tell the wife.
We’ll laugh an’joke an’ sing no more with jolly beery chums,
An’ shout ‘Here’s luck!’ while waitin’ for the luck that never comes.
Did we prohibit swillin’ tea clean out of common-sense
Or legislate on gossipin’ across a backyard fence?
Did we prohibit bustles—or the hoops when they was here?
The wimin never think of this—they want to stop our beer.
The track o’ life is dry enough, an’ crossed with many a rut,
But, oh! we’ll find it long an’ rough when all the pubs is shut,
When all the pubs is shut, an’ gone the doors we used to seek,
An’ we go toilin’, thirstin’ on through Sundays all the week.
For since the days when pubs was ‘inns’—in years gone past’n’ far—
Poor sinful souls have drowned their sins an’ sorrers at the bar;
An’ though at times it led to crimes, an’ debt, and such complaints—
I scarce dare think about the time when all mankind is saints.
’Twould make the bones of Bacchus leap an’ break his coffin lid;
And Burns’s ghost would wail an’ weep as Bobby never did.
But let the preachers preach in style, an’ rave and rant—’n’ buck,
I rather guess they’ll hear awhile the old war-cry: ‘Here’s Luck!’
The world might wobble round the sun, an’ all the banks go bung,
But pipes’ll smoke an’ liquor run while Auld Lang Syne is sung.
While men are driven through the mill, an’ flinty times is struck,
They’ll find a private entrance still! Here’s Luck, old man—Here’s Luck!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Sky Reflection
Quiet sky reflection
The sky over Europe is silent, but there is fear in the air, few lemons no oranges
and no mangos for starters. When planes do not pollute the sky we starve.
I remember a time when what we ate followed seasons plenty of fruit in the fall
of which we made jam. But we did have plenty of turnips. At Christmas, we killed
a pig and a ship docked with festive oranges and bananas. Millions of people are
stranded on foreign shores desperate to get home, planes are to refined to pass
a bit of volcanic ash. (And, it is called progress) a question remains why did they
leave in the first place? why are they so desperate to get back to the rainy place
they left? Mind, many didn’t want to go, but holidaying is a must, a human right.
Shoulder to shoulder with fellow travelers, suffer the indignity of being treated
as cattle at airports and made to like it. To be met with distain behind skilled at
at some dreadful hotel and be forced to eat when it suits the staff. You are not
a person, but a tourist good for the economy of, say, Spain. It worries me this
interconnected world a strike and a bit of ash and we have no potatoes, the most
stable of food. We must rethink globalization; learn to be more self-sufficient, let
our menus follow the seasons. Lamb with mint sauce is Easter food we need not
eat lamb in October but Irish stew with turnips and boiled home grown potatoes.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The gentle lamb sucks any ewe as well as its mother; the surly lamb sucks neither its own nor another.
If I could only have one type of food with me, I would bring soy sauce. The reason being that if I have soy sauce, I can flavor a lot of things.
quote by Martin Yan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.
quote by Marcus Terentius Varro
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Laissez Faire was very good sauce for the goose, labor, but was very poor sauce for the gander, capital.
quote by Benjamin Tucker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Journey Began
Tis a new season
and new a chapter
cause after the marriage
its the morning after.
GOD has done a lot
within in my life.
I've made some mistakes
in choosing a wife.
But time goes on
and seasons do change.
For nothing in this world
will remain the same.
We met without knowing
that our paths may cross.
God mixed the seasonings
into making this sauce.
A pinch of care
so we won't get sick
poured in forgiving and love
to make our sauce thick.
And now our journey
will be placed over heat
Going thru the fire
of marriage is so sweet.
The heat has caused
God's seasonings to blend
Becoming as one
The journey began....
http: //www.1blackchild.com
poem by Corey Campbell
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What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.