Our minds are like our stomaches; they are whetted by the change of their food, and variety supplies both with fresh appetite.
quote by Marcus Fabius Quintilian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our minds are like our stomachs; they are whetted by the change of their food, and variety supplies both with fresh appetites.
quote by Quintilian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whose design is this?
How, if food is without spice?
How, if life goes without spice?
Spice is variety.
Variety is option for change.
The left out one is cursed
And the one acquired is blessed.
The user is ever jubilant.
12.0.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sonnet # 398
As like no doubt the appetite`s behavior
That asks for food when it has had food had
Does kill all wants of food becomes its hater
Only to later come; wish food `gain bad.
So`s the desire of intercourse all know
That when it`s satisfied knows not the flesh;
That e`en with Venus to bed would not go,
But then does come another day strong, fresh.
Thus is my love for all the human race
That weak becomes when I see people`s worst
Only to come, lo, strong like mother`s embrace
When I see people`s best, like mad a thirst.
So I go low and high in this my living.
Somtimes I laugh and others cry sad giving.
poem by Luis Estable
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Have Desire To Have
Have money,
Plenty of money,
or little money,
Have appetite,
Have no time,
we are hungry,
and then become angry.
Have appetite,
Burning appetite,
Churning appetite,
dizzy appetite.
Have appetite,
Have plenty of time, but
Have no money.
People are hungry,
and they are hungry as always.
Angry are hungry,
anger for better things,
Better fast food,
better service,
better facilities
Hungry people are angry,
anger for basic food,
Just to fill the pit,
that churns day and night,
not knowing,
What is available to a man.
Hunger is the turning point,
when insufficiency is pointed.
Hunger is an insult,
when inefficiency is noted.
Let us have the desire,
to have a better world,
where no human,
go and sleep with hungry.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Escape
At times you want
To escape
Yourself,
You think
May be
Switching on the
TV set will work.
But it doesn’t,
So I head
For the kitchen
And bake a fresh loaf of bread,
A new recipe from my kitchen shelf.
It takes me
Out of myself.
Cooking I find always helps
It uplifts my mood,
And ah, the aroma of fresh food.
It whets my appetite,
And I get some respite
From the chaos
In my mind.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Furthermore I will just have to see what the future will bring me. But a change of food whets the appetite.
quote by Jonathan Brandis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Intro
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
Who put me down at the fresh end of the food chain?
You are now entering the harmonic door
song performed by by Gorillaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Appellation
I find an appellation so ruinous
That ruin dictates my ruin.
My appetite for words or names
Is confident and appealing
As it sounds like an appetite for food.
I applaud him, the man who eats
And finds my words an appearance
Of forenames and surnames,
Perhaps I mentioned him in food,
Or the appellation is correct.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Robotic Routine
We wake up in the morning
to a cup of coffey
to some it's just a cup
to others a trophy
We do our daily needs
get ready for work
we feed our hungry stomaches
like pathetic jerks
Then we climb into our cars
and away we go
to join the other millions
on this circus show
We really should stop
and think for a while
we're doing the same thing
and with no damn style
We need to change our lives
by adding some color
we have to change routine
in our tuned out motor
We have to come alive
and change our scene
we need to say good-bye
to our robotic routine.
(Charlie vergara/07.14.2008/25117)
poem by White Tiger
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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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It has long been known for sure that the sight of tasty food makes a hungry man's mouth water; also lack of appetite has always been regarded as an undesirable phenomenon, from which one might conclude that appetite is essentially linked with the process of digestion.
quote by Ivan Pavlov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mind Food
Mind food collects in my stomach,
And so I am an esper, the powerful one,
Who injects beliefs into disillusioned minds
For the spirits I request.
It takes a kilo year, a thousand years,
To abstain from powers so great,
Like a needler in the head and mind;
It needs too much mind food.
Minds of intelligence can grok, and spill
Valuable thoughts as well.
Minds need to be understood by scars
That feed into other minds - this is my religion.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Market Day
There’s a market in our town, two days a week.
It’s nice to have a browse and take a quick peek.
There’s a riot of colours up and down the street,
And mouth-watering smells from all the food to eat.
There’s an explosion of different sights and sounds,
And dozens of people are leisurely milling around.
At the market, there’s always a great atmosphere,
And there’s nothing for sale there which is too dear.
A mobile van serves up spicy German bratwurst,
Plus a variety of different drinks to quench your thirst.
On one stall, they sell leather purses and handbags:
Cheap ones, plus designer ones, for the would-be WAGs.
In his mobile truck, a rotund butcher chops up some meat:
He promises his customers that his prices can’t be beat.
There’s a stall which sells low price pet supplies.
This is always a big attraction for the penny wise.
Hoping that none of his food will end up in the waste,
The Mediterranean food stall holder offers a free taste.
There are crisps and cakes stacked in crates,
Which are not long off of their sell by date.
From yet another stall, drifts an amazing perfumed smell.
They sell a variety of novelty soap and bath bombs as well.
A Jeweller displays a variety of items made of silver and gold.
He also buys any old unwanted jewellery, if it is being sold.
Then, of course, there’s the doughnut man –
Of this particular stall, I’m a very big fan!
Each market trader has their own unique call,
Trying to attract the customers to their stall.
They brave all weathers – the heat and the freezing cold,
Hoping that, by the close of day, their wares will be sold.
At the end of the day, there are real bargains to be found,
Such as a box of mixed fruit or veg for only a pound.
Come late afternoon, they pack up after a long day.
They load up their vans and are soon on their way.
When they have all gone, all that is left is a space,
And, of the market, there isn’t left a single trace.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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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
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I am empty, old, poor, but smell good
got a fresh one... everytime we look for food,
vegetable, milk, fish, and even our eyes want
to see fresh beautiful women and handsome
gentlemen... a part of us is something that
tells that we came from fresh origin
remember when the first time we meet our
husband and wife... they were so sweet and
tender.... like a first morning dew, waiting the
early morning to come, beneath the horizon
dawn of the earth and sky
it is the present that tells the past, for today
is the present and it tells that iam fresh until
you lost your appetite of what is today
today is what you saw, in the yesteryear's, for
it does not close my dear, it is only your eyes
that closed, ages... is moment to live....a state
of wisdom to share...a grit.... to hold on too..
with you
as you steer at me...iam old....rotten...broken...
yet so sweet to smell... like as years gone-by,
the smell remind you the fragrance you want...
is yourself that lives in me......it is in me that.....
is in you.... we smell
poem by Antonio Liao
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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
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Freshness is Beauty
Not fresh is she now to her spouse.
She is often put to the disuse,
Much to her disgust and despair.
Beauty deteriorating without use.
Fresh is still she, to other men
And hence appears a beauty
But guarded from any misuse,
Beauty decaying for want of use.
Fresh to him are other women
In whom he finds fresh beauty.
But he is fretted from straying,
Beauty suffering behind the bar.
Change of things – Beauty strives.
Change of mates – Passion lasts.
21.06.96
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Appetite
I sometimes lose my appetite
and at times eat feverishly.
It's all connected to my outlook,
my emotionality.
For the want of food is augmented
by the peace that comes my way.
But let me see unpleasantness
and I cannot eat that day.
For the juice of a ripened apple
should be sweetened not by taste,
but by the mind that accepts it
and the sugar with which it's laced.
And the bitterness of the lemon
that makes me pucker and grimace
shuts my appetite right down
when my mind has gone amiss.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Unleash It From Its Cage
That variety of life that you are,
Unleash it from its cage.
Those expectations unsatisfied,
By restricting limits!
Why do people invite...
A lesser appetite of life.
The abundance that Mother Nature has shown,
To be known as a given.
Is under utilized.
Why do those prefer to hide...
Following with a focused-ness,
Fixed upon another's...
Footsteps,
That may or may not appear to glide.
From shadows come out,
To be whoever you are.
If you've decided to shine in light...
Why are you still in rehearsal?
Pacing back and forth as if...
You are afraid of the audience.
They have no clue,
As to which lines learned belong to you.
That variety of life that you are,
Unleash it from its cage.
Turn and read a new chapter.
Those you have already read...
Need not your current routine to relive them.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Some food
Some food is
Medicine...
Medicine is some food...
Some food is poison...
Some food is Tenson...
Some food is Fear...
Some food is lovely...
Some food is Bland...
Some food is sweety...
Some food is spicy...
Some food is nothing...
Food is not only food
A good eatable medicine...
At only some food...
Some food...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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