I'll cook you two dishes and then you lay around for next time up.
quote by Trick Daddy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
My life right now is, I wouldn't say reduced to food, but my duties in life are that I wake up, cook breakfast, clean the dishes, prepare lunch, clean those dishes, go to the market, get fresh produce, cook dinner, clean those dishes and then sleep if I can. And I love it. I actually adore it.
quote by Heath Ledger
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Servent Cook
mother
Cook
with love...
father
Cook
With taste...
Brother
Cook...
With enjoy...
sister
Cook
Simply fine...
Servent
Cook
A boor...
A woor...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cook Of The House
Ground rice, sugar, vinegar, seco salt, macaroni too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
The salads in the bowl,
The rice is on the stove.
Green beans in the colander and where the res is heaven only knows.
Cinnamon, garlic, salt, pepper, corn-bread, curry powder, coffee too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No, matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best.
cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
Where the rest is heaven only knows.
Matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house.
Cook of the house,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Disastrous Mountain
Disaster is the sister of horror and noise,
Both calamity and sin concern us, one annoys.
Going to the mountain is disarray and food,
Cook those dishes for them at any altitude.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Alankar (Decor) -30
Kitchen clash (Double Rondeau)
How difficult it is to cook
In hot summer how a wife to cook
'Take rest, shall buy food from outside'
He says with concern on her side
Wife is happy she need not cook
Happy so life runs like a brook
Variety food, pleased they look
Seasoned hot, they know kitchen's stride
How difficult
Time in hand changed is her outlook
Changed is also her old cook-look
Styleless to stylish in set glide
Makes her new with glow to her pride
She can speak on her strife to cook
How difficult
How difficult but back a cook?
Daughter visits with siren look
There, stirs in dad's heart a high tide
Sneaks'cooking has been set aside
These days mom does not at all cook'
Enough for her to word and hook
Daughter counsels mom back to cook
To be in shifty husband's stride
How difficult!
Luck is but a wheel in life-book
So such a wife can't overlook
And mom vows never to abide
Honeyed words but put them aside
Blamed wife telling herself 'to cook
How difficult! '
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Housework
Wash the dishes dear.
A bard doesn’t do dishes.
William Shakespeare did,
wrote his best work when cleaning windows,
for his wife.
I didn’t know that darling; anyway
windows look ok to me.
I didn’t mean the windows but the dishes.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My New Job
After I retired from the factory-I planned to be a couch potato-But soon my plans were changed-By my dear wife Evelyn Ada-She tied an apron on me-Though it was against my wishes-She pointed to the kitchen-And said go wash the dishes-She said I cook and clean-I've got enough to do-And now the dishwashing job-Has been assigned to you.
poem by Joy Thacker
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If you didn't know that I am an actress, I don't think you could tell from my lifestyle. I cook and cook and cook. I like to be with my daughter. She's 16, so of course I bore her.
quote by Karen Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't cook - I can cook - but I'm not very good. I like being asked over for dinner, because she can't cook either. We would starve if it weren't for modern technology. I know how to work a microwave, but love home cooked meals.
quote by Mark Mothersbaugh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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'I hate discussions of feminism that end up with who does the dishes,' she said. So do I. But at the end, there are always the damned dishes.
quote by Marilyn French
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She Lives For Herself
She is a good cook and a slave to tongue.
She makes good dishes; her spouse benefits.
As advised, she takes fruits and gives him too.
Now she takes garlic and gives it to him.
She thought he'd take it as her kindness.
He knows that it's for her sake that she does.
He knows that no one lives for the other
At their old age expecting their exit.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Are you kidding? I'm a terrible cook, but John is a really great one. Literally, I never cook. The whole time we were dating, I prepared two officially romantic meals. Both of them were such disasters that he begs me never to go into the kitchen again.
quote by Rebecca Romijn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cooked
What's the use?
Give it best;
Cut her loose;
Have a rest.
Hope is dead;
Gloom collects,
Nuff is said
Cook objects.
Moth and rust
Hither lurk;
All is bust,
Knock off work.
Nation's great
Architects,
Clean the slate;
Cook objects.
Oh the schemes
That we planned!
Dreaming dreams
For the land.
All in vain.
Hope neglects
To remain;
Cook objects.
Navy; what?
Army too?
Blessed rot;
All is blue.
It's all one
Who protects.
dropp your gun;
Cook objects.
Let her rip,
All is up.
Have to sip
Bitter cup.
Tear your hair
Woe connects
With despair,
Cook objects.
Fellow Aust
Ralians,
Trouble's crossed
All our plans.
Seek the tomb;
Fate selects
Us for doom.
Cook objects.
Death marks us
For his own.
(Grisly cuss.)
Our head-tone,
With a laugh,
He erects.
Epitaph
'Cook objects.'
dropp a tear;
Heave a sigh;
End is near;
Say goodbye.
Sell up home
And effects.
(Dismal pome)
Cook objects.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Souls Day
All Souls Day
Suddenly a big hole opened up in the sea, the ship sank into it; the vessel
rests on the bottom where shiny star fish light up the dark before they are
swallowed by sharks.The captain on his bridge, cook in his galley, the first
engineer in the engine room, as it was dinner time when she sank, her crew
are in the mess room, dancing ghoulishly around as the sea gently sighs.
And sometimes the skeletal face of the deck boy peeks through a porthole
asks when the ship arrives in New York, a girlfriend waiting for him; there is
a moment of hilarity as dead sailors’ moves about free of man’s burden.
The cook rests in a in a large pot tells himself he must wake up, bake bread
and do the bloody the dishes as he tries to get his cigarette lighter to work.
Her captain bobs up and down trying to find his charts, maps of the oceans
currents and wonders why the radar isn’t working. The engineer is trying to
find out why the engine stalled. I knew them all, but dastardly left them in
Rio de Janeiro just because I met a girl called Maria.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Those Scoops Of Soup
Once it has been discovered,
Who's pot you've been dipping to get...
Those scoops of soup,
Served to your guests.
It is going to be very hard to convince anyone,
That cook you had fired from the kitchen...
Is not as qualified as you profess.
And you may not be aware of this...
But a great cook,
Seldom leaves recipes behind.
Not those originating from an inventive mind.
And a great cook...
Has no problems finding,
Those who are seeking something better...
They know will stay with them that is craved.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cook
Farmer, s hands produce grains,
cook, s hands make it food;
Art of delivering delectableness
that can drive the mood.
Delighting the souls through
his talent of preparing dishes;
by ingredients, proportion, heat,
process and his creativeness.
A painter of savour, painting
luscious picture with zeal,
Tongues see panoramic view
of taste, hearts pleased to feel.
(C) S. D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cooking and taste
eating the same tasteless dinner at the only diner
the umpteenth time, a thought came to my mind
am i a guinea pig or one of its kind
or was there a conspiracy behind
has my taste buds gone out of date
why is all so tasteless, that is the food i ate
i dared to ask the manager why the taste is so bad
bang came a caustic reply, this is by the best cook he ever had
(insinuating a problem not with his cook but with my taste)
well then it has to be my taste buds i thought
directing all my efforts to the food i had bought
then came storming, the savior, inside the hall
in his hand was the same food for which i have taken the fall
indignanlty he shouted at the manager
this food is so bad that even his dog had refused to had
hell i thought even the dog has a better taste
why, why am i such a waste
the dog in me forced me to start cooking that very day
the dog in me does sometimes refuses to eat what i cook
the human in me requests him to hav another look
for, when people are struggling for one square meal a day
how can i keep the food i cooked at bay,
hence i eat, taste or no taste, everything i cook, every day.
She Likes To Cook
She likes to cook.
Often, it seems.
Often, and perhaps too much.
Like all good cooks,
she must, sometimes,
be taken advantage of;
her culinary delights devoured,
carelessly,
to sate the hunger of some
as well sustained by Maccas.
But chefs so splendid,
so gifted and so generous as she is,
enjoy that giving of the pleasure,
in the way that she does.
Giving so patiently and carefully
and willingly and happily.
And exuberantly!
And, perhaps, too much.
Too much for what's returned.
She has fed me, too, her cakes,
and banquets of sweets and such delights
as leave me desperate to repay
with dishes that she might
enjoy as much.
poem by Red O'Mara
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Housewife
Housewife, up at the crack of dawn
Getting her man ready to go
Kisses him good bye
And soon he's gone
Off to work for the day
Now, it's quiet for a bit
Just when, I would like to sit
Kids are up, and ready to go
Off to school, and soon their gone
Now, the dishes
Then the clothes
Before, I know it they'll be home
Supper to serve, dishes to be done
Help with school lessons, everyone
What a day it has been
Now, the TV just went
poem by Sarah Rodenburg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You cook vegetable soup
You cook vegetable soup
and I look at you
while you cut green beans,
carrots, onions, celery, parsley
and tomatoes into two pots.
There are herbs, spices
and pepper that you are scattering
and two types of soup powder
that you throw in
and the pots steam and buzz
while I am washing the dishes
and the smell
makes me hungry
and I wonder
if the soup
are going to taste as good
as it smells.
We drink tee
and there’s medicine
that you give for flu
to me
and it’s great
to be with you
to read the look
in your beautiful eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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