In the morning we received some very thin coffee. For lunch we had potato soup with a few pieces of meat in it, in the evening we had a very thin meat soup with some potatoes in it.
quote by Leon Askin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meat And Potato Man
meat and potato man
I like my steak well done, my taters fried
Football games on monday night
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I like my coffee black
Oltv shows
My women hot and my beer ice cold
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I dont like caviar, sushi bars,
The irs or phony stars
Im a haggard fan
A meat and potato man
I like my fishinholes, lightninbugs
Flatt nscruggs, and my womans love
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I like my wrangler jeans, cowboy boots
Cornbread and beans and country roots
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I dont like politics, hypocrites
Folks with poodles dressed like kids
Im a hounddog fan
A meat and potato manyeah, thats what i am,
A meat and potato man
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meat & Potato Man
Meat and potato man
I like my steak well done, my taters fried
Football games on monday night
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I like my coffee black
Oltv shows
My women hot and my beer ice cold
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I dont like caviar, sushi bars,
The irs or phony stars
Im a haggard fan
A meat and potato man
I like my fishinholes, lightninbugs
Flatt nscruggs, and my womans love
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I like my wrangler jeans, cowboy boots
Cornbread and beans and country roots
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I dont like politics, hypocrites
Folks with poodles dressed like kids
Im a hounddog fan
A meat and potato manyeah, thats what I am,
A meat and potato man
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thin
Thin, thin was the soup
ladled into the bowl.
It was watered down to make it last
as if it would keep them whole.
Thin, thin were the bodies
that sat 'round the table to eat.
They shared the watery sparseness of soup
with nary a piece of meat.
A time of discontent was here
and stomachs were never full.
This was the time they'd heard about,
stories that seemed so dull.
These stories were told with passion
by those who came before.
They jumped out of windows and stood in lines
saying, 'Please may I have some more? '
Thin, thin are the excuses
given by those in power.
No substance to substantiate the lies
given us hour by hour.
And so where does this leave us,
facing a 3rd world war?
For times become prosporous.
Isn't that what wars are for?
Thin, thin are the hopes now
that sanity will pervade the mind
of those who reap the profits
while our youth again will find
that they have been used as fodder
to bring our economy back.
Thin, thin are the excuses
for us being on the wrong track.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soup Of The Day
Well she thinks shes looking so cool
She thinks shes great but shes just a fool
What awful lack of class makes this kind behave this way
I look and only think of one thing to say
Soup, shes just soup
Soup of the day
Shes thin around the waistline
Thin around the brain
You see this type so many times
Time and time again
How could they really think
Theyd be treated in any other way
Everybodys looking and everybody say
Soup, shes just soup
Soup of the day
Well youd think theyd know better
That behaving in this way
They think theyre being clever
But I really have to say
Youd better think it over
Youll regret it one fine day
When the circus partys over
And you were just soup of the day
Shes just soup
Soup of the day
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The 'Potato' Poem
I love potatoes chopped up into chunky chips.
I love spicy potato wedges, served up with dips.
I love potato slices which have been fried in a pan:
Of sautéed potatoes, I am the world's biggest fan.
I love potatoes which have been pummelled and bashed
With butter and milk to make a real light, fluffy mash.
Jacket potatoes, I find a bit dry, but with a nice filling
Such as chilli, to give them a try, I am more willing.
With breakfast, I love hash browns or potato cakes,
And I love potatoes mixed up with leeks in a bake.
Crispy, golden potatoes, served up with Sunday roast
Are among the kinds of potato which I love the most.
Mixed in soups and casseroles, I love potatoes diced.
On top on minced beef hotpot, I love potatoes sliced.
Fluffy potato stuffed inside a crispy potato croquette
Is also rather nice, and, for me, it is another safe bet.
I love potatoes cut into crisps: the slices, wafer thin,
And, as a starter, I simply love loaded potato skins:
I do adore a delicious dish of Bombay potato curry:
For me, it is a taste which I won't forget in a hurry.
I like potatoes diced up with creamy mayonnaise,
Served up with salad on really hot summer days.
But I don't like potatoes which have been boiled:
From potatoes, cooked this way, in horror, I recoil.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Banana Soup
If juice can be extracted from a potato,
Like a tomato or carrot...
Why can't that happen to a banana?
Although it can be argued that potato juice,
Can be heated and called soup.
Banana soup doesn't sound too appealing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Meat Ball
(l. singer-h.zaret)
The little man walked up and down
To find an eating place in town
He read the menu through and through
To see what fifteen cents could do
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
He told the waiter near at hand
A simple dinner he had planned
The guests were startled one and all to hear
That waiter loudly call
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, this here gent wants one meat ball
Little man felt very bad
One meat ball was all he had
And in his dreams he hears that call
Ya gets no bread with one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, you get no bread with one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
All he could afford was one meat ball
One meat ball
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Molly, Concerning God
Is God the one who eats the meat
off the bones of dead people?
-Molly Miranda Jong-Fast, age 3 1/2
God is the one,
Molly,
whether we call him
Him,
or Her,
treeform or spewing
volcano,
Vesuvius or vulva,
penis-rock,
or reindeer-on-cave-wall,
God is the one
who eats
our meat,
Molly,
& we yield
our meat
up willingly.
Meat is our
element,
meat is our
lesson.
When our bodies fill
with each other,
when our blood swells
in our organs
aching for another,
body of meat,
heart of meat,
soul of meat,
we are only doing
what God wants
us to—
meat joining meat
to become insubstantial air,
meat fusing
with meat
to make
a small wonder
like you.
The wonder of you
is that you push
our questions
along into
the future—
so that I know
again
the wonder of meat
through you,
the wonder of meat
turning to philosophy,
the wonder of meat
transubstantiated
into poetry,
the wonder of
sky-blue meat
in your roundest eyes,
the wonder of
dawn-colored meat
in your cheeks & palms,
the wonder of meat
becoming
air.
You
are my theorem,
my proof,
my meaty metaphysics,
my little questioner,
my small Socrates
of the nursery-schoolyard.
To think that
such wonder
can come from meat!
Well then,
if God is hungry—
let Him eat,
let Her eat.
poem by Erica Jong
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The soup would be none the worse for more meat.
Soup of day
She said severely:
“God have said: the soup must be warm! ”
It was a Gazpacho, a cold soup to a warm evening.
I have mixed tomatos, cucumbers,
red and green peppers,
red onions, a few garlics,
a few parsleys and coriander.
This soup had a beautiful colour: red and green! green and red!
It was cold, very cold, iced.
I have warmed up her soup
I have grilled also some scallops
with a pistachio dressing
she said:
“It is delightful mostly the orange and red parts.”
It was only a question of colours
I have dreamt at a blue gazpacho, blue scallops
Blue like the sea but the sea is never blue
and the blue is not a tasty colour.
Then we have recited some french poems
This evening was quiet and tender
despite the heat wave.
I like to remember this iced soup
and the awful warmth.
poem by Jean Francois Le Goff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Potato
One potato, two potato
three potato four.
We need some potatoes
to help feed the poor.
Too many hungry babes
are being born today.
When their mother's milk runs dry
they'll have to find a way
to keep their bellies full.
No time for play.
One potato, two potato,
three potato, four.
You say into each life
a little rain must pour?
I say the rain's that's falling
are tears from the eyes
that run down children's faces
from hunger pains and cries
that elude the ears of rich ones
that never ever buys
potatoes for them all.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Mans Meat
Cold beer and a strange cigarette
Getting you high getting you wet
Falling in love falling out of debt
Straight gay black or white
Strutting in the dark hiding in the light
Doing it wrong doing it right just doing it
You got your life on the one hand
Mine in the other
I got the right we all got the right
One mans meat is the other mans lousy luck
One mans meat is someones empty well
One mans meat is some guys aching butt
One mans meat is another mans living hell
Short fat thick or thin
Take it in the gut take it on the chin
Living in glory living in sin
Hard days work going down slow
Riding the road where the greengrass grows
Watching in die what dyou know
Watch it
You got your life on the one hand
Mine in the other
I got the right
One mans meat is the other mans lousy luck
One mans meat is someones empty well
One mans meat is some guys aching butt
One mans meat is another mans living hell
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The sat one doesn't understand the hungry one: for one the soup is too thin, for the other - the pearls are too small.
I was wrong: So what. todays idiocy
I say that it’s impossible.
You cannot eat soup with chop sticks
Though it is highly probable.
Someone will try to prove he can.
To demonstrate his cleverness
and show he is a better man.
What will it prove should he succeed?
That I’m mistaken in my view.
I will be happy to concede
.
the victory to some buffoon.
Who can eat soup using chop sticks.
I still prefer to use a spoon.
I think soup should be eaten hot
I do not like cold soup a lot.
20/06/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sexual Soup
A man so sick that the sexual soup
cannot save him -
the chicken soup of sex
which cures everything:
tossed mane of noodles,
bits of pale white meat.
the globules of yellow fat
like love...
But he is a man so sick
no soup can save him.
His throat has healed into a scar.
Rage fills his guts.
He wants to diet on dust.
I offered to feed him
(spoon by spoon)
myself.
I offered my belly as a bowl.
I offered my hands as spoons,
my knees as tongs,
my breasts as the chafing dish
to keep us warm
I offered my navel
as a brandy snifter.
"My tongue is gone," he said,
"I have no teeth.
My mouth is with my mother in the grave.
I've offered up my hunger to the air,
my nostrils to the wind,
my sex to death,
my eyes to nothingness & dust."
"What do you lust for then?"
I asked.
"I lust for nothing."
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Talk Soup
I dated siamese twins
I slept with bigfoot, too
Get me on sally jesse
Put me on donahue
cause I wanna tell the world about it
Right now
My dogs a narcoleptic
My moms a circus freak
I gotta get a spot on
Geraldos show this week
cause I wanna tell the world about it
Right now
Im just an anorexic codependant bingo addict
Stripper born without a chin
And Im only comfortable talking about it
When the whole wide world is listening in
Talk soup... talk soup
Listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me
My wife ran off with elvis
My boss shaved off my hair
Ive got a thing for poodles
And rubber underwear
And I wanna tell the world about it
Right now
I had a close encounter
I never chew my food
I got eleven nose jobs
I yodel in the nude
And I wanna tell the world about it
Right now
Im just a cross-dressin alcoholic neo-nazi
Porno star, as you may have guessed
And Im really gonna feel a whole lot better
If you let me get this thing off my chest
Talk soup... talk soup
Listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me
Im just your average schizophrenic nymphomaniac
Albino go-go dancer, you see
Nothin so bad that I cant share it
With a billion friends on national tv, whoa...
I have no genitalia
I sold my kids for cheese
I love my blow up doll, so
Bring out those cameras, please
cause I wanna tell the world about it
Right now
Talk soup... talk soup
Listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me
Talk soup... talk soup
Listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me
Talk soup... talk soup
Listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me
Talk soup... talk soup
Listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me, (listen to me) listen to me
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Be Put Down
Some say I’m over weight- while some say I’m fat.
I say I’m big boned - my doctor told me that.
What does weight matter? - does it mean I can’t love?
I was made this way - by GOD up above.
My brother is tall and thin- they say he’s bones and skin.
Why does weight matter?
Can any of us ever win!
They say when we walk down the street
We look like ABBOTT and COSTELLO
He looks like a bamboo stick
While I look like a cello.
We’ve learned how to accept the jeers
And to control our rages and emotions
For “IN GOD” we put our devotion.
Love lives in any size bodies!
Big or small, short or tall
GOD has given love to all.
Why do people love to criticize and find
Fault with every one, when they themselves
Have faults, which can not be undone.
When I was growing up, there was a saying
For both fat and thin, and no matter
which way you put it
Both sides would always win.
They would say: the closer the meat to the bone the sweeter it is
And: the more the meat, the better the treat.
So to all you criticizers! We will not be put down.
For you are the one
who walks with the heavy crown.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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