What's a soup kitchen?
quote by Paris Hilton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thanks God For Soup Kitchen
Thanks God for soup kitchen
Because that is the only meal
That the poor will have for the day
And if it wasn't for the soup kitchen the poor would
starve
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Sun & Soup
You hold the spoon
over the tureen
watching the soup
drip back with a plop.
You know Francis
will enter soon,
and stand watching
over you, him being
master of the kitchen,
wondering if you had
dipped your finger
and tasted the soup
with your tongue
and say, I hope you
haven’t dipped your finger
in and tasted, it isn’t
the done thing;
and he’d give you
such a look, as if you would,
as if Mother had not
taught you kitchen manners
with its dos and don’ts;
and as you look up
at the high windows,
sunlight leaks through
the coloured glass pane
throwing its golden finger
across the tureen’s hold.
poem by Terry Collett
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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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I was about five years old when I was eating soup in our kitchen, and as I was lifting the spoon towards my mouth, it bent and broke in half.
quote by Uri Geller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ruled by the toffs
Social welfare, banks preserve
If you are poor
The state don’t want to know
Find a soup kitchen, my friend.
tanka by Oskar Hansen
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Well, I look at it like this: When you go to a restaurant, the less you know about what happens in the kitchen, the more you enjoy your meal. If the soup tastes good, everything's cool, and you don't necessarily want to know what's in it. The same thing holds true with movies.
quote by Jeffrey Wright
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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Too Many Cooks In The Kitchen
Theres too many cooks in the kitchen
Theres too many minds on the job
Theres too many cooks in the kitchen
Everybody wants a piece of the action
Cooking the books and getting their fractions wrong
What we need is law and order
Everybody knows
Cant have chiefs without the injuns
Stepping on their toes
Theres too many cooks in the kitchen
Theres too many daps in the pie
Theres too many cooks in the kitchen
Everybody needs a place in the rat race
Playing games of power, its only a cat chase
Too many too many too many etc.
Too many cooks in the kitchen
[by the colonel]
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Sky Seasoning
A piece of sky
Broke off and fell
Through the crack in the ceiling
Right into my soup,
KERPLOP!
I really must state
That I usually hate
Lentil soup, but I ate
Every drop!
Delicious delicious
(A bit like plaster),
But so delicious, goodness sake--
I could have eaten a lentil-soup lake.
It's amazing the difference
A bit of sky can make.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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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
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A man who touches the bottom of a soup plate with a ball of foofoo is no longer searching for soup.
One spoon of soup in need has more value than a pot of soup when we have an abundance of food.
The Bone Of The House
in the house
he is a bone,
not a flesh on
the side
dogs outside are
waiting
he is not the
kind of bone
that any dog
wants,
the useless bone
in the kitchen
mere shadow of
the soup-stock
left-over of the flesh
inside the garbage can.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Supper
The supper of the red soup came with love,
And Veh came along with Xeh as the next door neighbours;
But Beh was my friend on the supper of the red soup,
And i will take Beh back home on this love.
The pictures of my mind brought up wonderful colours,
And of the muse of the red soup so enjoyed last night;
But i will take Beh back home to embrace my love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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
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Rat In Mi Kitchen
(chorus)
There's a rat in me kitchen what am I gonna do?
There's a rat in me kitchen what am I gonna go?
I'm gonna fix that rat thats what i'm gonna do,
I'm gonna fix that rat.
When you open your mouth you don't talk, you shout
And you give every body the blame,
But when they catch you up,
They will shut you up
And you got no one to blame
(chorus)
There's a rat in me kitchen ........
When you out on the street,
You practice lies and deceipt
And you scandalize my name
But when I catch you up
I'm gonna pull you up
I'm gonna check-out inside your brain
(chorus)
There's a rat in me kitchen .......
When yo deh pon the scene,
You make everyone scream
Because they know your so unjust
But when they catch you up
They will kick you up
Because you someone they cannot trust
(chorus)
There's a rat in me kitchen .......
You invade my space
Make me feel disgraced
And you just don't give a damn
If I had my way
If I had my say
I'd like to see you hang
(chorus)
There's a rat in me kitchen .....
(repeat chorus and fade)
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kitchen Poem
An Elegy for Tristan Tzara
In the hungry kitchen
The dog sings for its dinner.
The housewife is writing her poem
On top of the frigidaire
Something like this:
'Hear in the kitchen
The crows fly home
Into the red-robed trees
That walk across the sky.
Hear under the floor
The three fountains rising and
Trickling through the bridge
Into the sea of poems.'
In the kitchen the housemother
Pours soup for her thousand children
As her man eats his silence
And the dog swallows its poem.
In all. the kitchens of Europe
The radio shouts good news:
'Millions have had no accident today
All wars have come to an end
An honest politician
In another country
Wants to become a plumber
All men will be equal, next year
Volcano vomits ice-cream
A silent poem has been invented.'
In my holy kitchen
I draw the blinds of night
On the homes of sleep.
I hold the world in my palms.
Now that I am old
I can measure life with words.
There's a nightingale in my coffee.
My bread is buttered with memories.
Since the old woman died
I have two souls.
When I was small we had a lucky black cat.
We had a magic horse-shoe on the wall,
It was rusty and brought no luck
But fetched the fields into the kitchen
And made us not forget horses.
When you are old you make your own magic.
You speak oftener for the dead.
You move free in the wonderland of the past.
You invent a future on the other shore of death.
You must speak for the dead,
You are their rusty horse-shoe
In all the kitchens of the world,
Not the mug on the radio
But a thought rescued from the past.
(There was love in the thin soup
A bone some lentils and great love.
My mother's hands were clouds.
There was a bluebird in the gasjet
When she bathed us by the kitchen fire.
There will be no such soup again
Nor such transcendent poverty.
I have lost the treasure of poverty.
The old woman is dead and buried
In her wonderland of oblivion,
But lives in my kitchen poem
In this 'sentimental' aside.)
Now that I am an old man, I think in bed.
I think nothing. I think poems -
The metronome of sleeplessness and death,
The art of being deliberately alone and yet
A centre in the vortex of the world,
Feelings stretched drum-tight on the grid of thought
As your decaying flesh taut on its bones,
Sensations phantom ideas dreams, pinned bugs
On the living conveyor-belt of experience,
While in the poem you are everybody else,
Each poem merging into another construct,
All poems rationally absurd impermanent
------------------DADA------------ ------
There being no poem ever, no poet ever.
An old man in a kitchen, cooking words.
I am no poet I am
Lived by unfinishable poems,
The horse-shoe hammered
On the anvil of my brain.
I think nothing. The poems think me.
I do not often write them down,
Being a structuration of the unknowable
That dies upon the page,
My inward poems whispered for the dead
While the living bury the living
With foul political slogans.
An owl is hooting in my poem
Which sleep will end.
Good night, poet of life,
Be with me always.
I give you my kitchen poem,
Immortal TRISTAN.
poem by Francis Scarfe
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Salvation On A Street Corner
the woman stopped me
coming out of the store:
'do you know Jesus? '
i thought for a moment,
looking at her clothes,
and her Bible....
'yea, i spent the night with Him,
passing out coats and blankets
down at the shelter....
we were gonna do the soup kitchen
today... but they arrested Him this
morning for being an illegal alien....
that just leaves me,
unless you want to go with me! ...'
she just shook her head and walked away....
and i wondered if she heard a word i said...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Miss World 2012
Ni Hao, come into my kitchen
Boiling in the kettle is soup
This broth is about to thicken
Made from the chicken of my coop
Miss India, be seated on first
Mexican lass second chair please
But could this order be reversed
Miss china comes first like a breeze
You are all my guest, so behave
What you get is what you deserve
Once you hold the ladle, do save
The best, for your own choice to serve.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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