I have avoided becoming stale by putting a little water on the plate, lying on the plate, and having myself refreshed in a toaster oven for 23 minutes once every month.
quote by Dean Koontz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The Saintly Sin
There was a man dressed shabbily
in church in the same old pew.
He sat there piously and pretended to pray
but knew what he would do.
He waited patiently for the collection plate
to pass him in the pew.
He made the effort to stop the plate
and this is what he'd do.
He'd place a penny in the plate
and take two quarters out.
And as he left he'd smiled a lot
and you would hear him shout
Hallelujah Lord.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Breakfast
Look, the golden plate is ready set
On the round table for breakfast.
Glitters reflecting tinges of my blood
In tune with the table of mud
With the green medow streaking to fret.
Listen, worshiping Aurora at dawwn daily
Comes to me that golden plate by priority.
The green paddy rooted in deep water
Fans soothingly with its ricy flavour.
Feel, it makes golden plate more catchy.
I cook the rice to petalsoft
Adding ghee and jaggery enough to taste.
I resolve with my prayers in bundle
To offer the made rice i.e 'pongal'
To the above deity of splendid light.
On the muddy table, over the glisten
Placed a plantain leaf, served on
The pongal.I then whisper'my sun,
Enlightened by the plate of your glisten'!
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Gone Is the Whoopie Goosed From You
Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down,
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'
Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down,
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'
Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Tingled were sensations,
A few dollars had amused.
Now you're quite upset.
Regrets are now your pets.
Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'
Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'
Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Ooo...
And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!
Morning and noon too,
You feel you've been screwed.
And nobody's there...
To give a damn or care!
Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'
Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'
Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Ooo...
And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!
Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Ooo...
And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!
And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Climbing The Hill
Stand still
With your hand climb the hill
If you use a spoon
You won't finish soon
Don't dream
Because you might no see the steam
If you do so don't cry
When you find the plate clean and dry
Eat more food
To reach you adulthood
Be careful they might think you are rude
Take a look
So that they may let you off the hook
If a rock of a hill sticks on your neck,
Drinking water is the trick
If it's too hot on your chest
No one can check
Just resist
Until your delicious hill gets flat
Wishing to get another plate.
poem by Walani Ndhlovu
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Dinner In The House....
a plate falls from the table
hits the tiled floor and breaks into pieces
a woman is caught in utter surprise
and breaks into a hysterical
line but soon
realizes that this is nothing but an
accident of its
kind
about an ordinary plate
on the dining table
she regains her poise
keeps her composure and
retains her
feminine reservation,
'it is just a plate',
(it is not
a relationship)
i assure the guests of the house
and then all begins again
upon a witty conversation,
an exchange of
state-of-affairs
some on a cheek to cheek basis
a tee-a-tee
a peek-a-boo
a little laughter here and
another one dashing
over there
the children are out of the house
playing
some men are smoking
to the moon
it is not just a plate,
there is more to this
breaking
it is a symbol of something greater than those
broken pieces
if they only know
someone is talking to oneself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Stand-Ins
In the dream
the swastika is neon
and flashes like a strobe light
into my eyes, all colors,
all vibrations
and I see the killer in him
and he turns on an oven,
an oven, an oven, an oven,
and on a pie plate he sticks
in my Yellow Star
and then
then when it is ready for serving—
this dream goes off into the wings
and on stage The Cross appears,
with Jesus sticking to it
and He is breathing
and breathing
and He is breathing
and breathing
and then He speaks,
a kind of whisper,
and says . . .
This is the start.
This is the end.
This is a light.
This is a start.
I woke.
I did not know the hour,
an hour of night like thick scum
but I considered the dreams,
the two: Swastika, Crucifix,
and said: Oh well,
it doesn't belong to me,
if a cigar can be a cigar
then a dream can be a dream.
Right?
Right?
And went back to sleep
and another start.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Points
Counting points every day
To try and keep my weight at bay
Low cal this low fat that
Its all to keep me from getting fat
Meer morsels appear upon my plate
Were once was full my mighty plate
Green stuff coming out my ears
I should have buckteeth and rabbit ears
The weight is dropping really slow
I have such a long way to go
Rabbit food and plate so bare
About my weight I really care
Four months down the line
Lost loads of weight and feeling fine
No more grumbling about the food
That balanced diet done me good
Chellaston
06 04 2010
poem by Jim O'Donnell
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The Wait of Water - (Villanelle)
a shift in the tectonic plate
early morning siren screeches
across the ocean people wait
awakened to this twist of fate
tsunami warning, clear the beaches
a shift in the tectonic plate
minute by minute news updat
listen to the experts speeches
across the ocean people wait
all trying to anticipate
how far this devastation reaches
a shift in the tectonic plate
don’t live in a complacent state
lessons Mother Nature teaches
across the ocean people wait
as the local pastor preaches
although his prayers come too late
a shift in the tectonic plate
across the ocean people wait
poem by Charlie Parant
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Three Wives Of A Mandarin
Lawful wife.
There is still some wine left in the chalice,
And the plate that’s served is nests of the swallows.
Since the birth of time, the legal spouse
Is respected by her mandarin-husband.
Concubine
There is still some wine left in the chalice,
And the plate is served – duck: fat and heavy;
Should a mandarin be deprived of children -
Concubine is needed for a mandarin.
Maid
There is still some wine left in the chalice,
And the plate is served - preserves and marmalade.
Why the two of you are in his house?
Every night a new woman he desires.
Mandarin
There is no more wine left in the chalice,
And the plate that’s served is hot red pepper.
Silence! O you: bunch of silly blabbers,
Dare you laughing at the poor old mandarin.
poem by Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
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And that's how you shit on assholes
All is nothing
Unless sold
by the pound
If it has a price
Then kill
steal,
manipulate,
seduce,
it off
another plate
When 'Dog eats dog'
You'll find me
in the kitty litter
leaving what
you'll find
on my plate
poem by Justin Tallman Gonzalez
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A Beggar Never Complains?
But one day when somebody offered him a Nasi goreng plate
From an Indonesian Restaurant,
He said; 'Sorry Sir! It's too heavy and a rich diet it seems
I used to cold stale meals and don't know my kinky bowels
Could face the unexpected challenge? '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Man is richer for having his Estate all in Money, Plate, etc. lying by him, but on the contrary, he is for that reason the poorer.
quote by Dudley North
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Honey Biscuits And Gravy
My wife and I sat down one day
to honey biscuits and gravy
and when the last of it was on my plate
what did she say to me
She said, 'my dear devoted husband
husband of many years
would you give the last of that breakfast treat
oh would you please, my dear? '
I said, 'my wife, my darling wife
wife of many years
of biscuits and gravy I cannot part'
so with my fork I began to start
But before I could reach the plate
I was stopped by my hungry mate
She said, 'I'll give you silver and gold
all the fortunes yet untold
if you'll give what's on your plate
the still standing honey biscuit and gravy'
I said, 'my dear, darling wife
wife of many a day
nothing short of a great earthquake
can make me part with my plate'
And then she grew desperate
a horrid fiend intemperate, she said
'You'll be the sole head of the estate
for that last serving of biscuits and gravy! '
I said, 'dear, devoted wife
wife of many a day
you don't know that with what you give
so willingly away'
She said, 'a small price, a small price
I eagerly will pay
for that last remaining morsel
left standing on your plate'
So I did the deed, I confess
and now I must say
my wife's head tasted just as good
as honey biscuits and gravy
poem by Kevin Howell
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Heartburn Stew
I threw my woman power in a pot of stew
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single word did I hear from him,
So I tried the stew on my dog
But he wouldnt even eat it.
I put my light heart on a matching silver plate
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single footstep was heard near the door
So I ate the plate myself
And got a heartburn.
Heartburn, heartburn plate,
Heartburn, heartburn cake.
I toasted my pride and covered it with apple jam
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single sign of a stir or a breeze
So I soaked the bread in my milk
And I gave it to the birds.
Heartburn, heartburn plate,
Heartburn, heartburn cake.
I watched the clock ticking, ticking away to my past,
Eight years old, birthday and raindrops.
Not a single line from my dad or my mom
So I laid the cake on my cat
But she wouldnt even touch it.
Heartburn, heartburn stew,
Heartburn, heartburn blues.
What do I want with a heartburn, I ask you,
Dont try to give me the word.
cause I ask a clever question
And I get a silly answer.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heartburn Stew
I threw my woman power in a pot of stew
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single word did I hear from him,
So I tried the stew on my dog
But he wouldnt even eat it.
I put my light heart on a matching silver plate
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single footstep was heard near the door
So I ate the plate myself
And got a heartburn.
Heartburn, heartburn plate,
Heartburn, heartburn cake.
I toasted my pride and covered it with apple jam
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single sign of a stir or a breeze
So I soaked the bread in my milk
And I gave it to the birds.
Heartburn, heartburn plate,
Heartburn, heartburn cake.
I watched the clock ticking, ticking away to my past,
Eight years old, birthday and raindrops.
Not a single line from my dad or my mom
So I laid the cake on my cat
But she wouldnt even touch it.
Heartburn, heartburn stew,
Heartburn, heartburn blues.
What do I want with a heartburn, I ask you,
Dont try to give me the word.
cause I ask a clever question
And I get a silly answer.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buttered Peas With Crushed Red Pepper
Don't take the peas up off my plate.
That irritates.
Don't even think about sneaking them.
They are there for me to eat.
And I want every pea,
Left for me to satiate.
I buttered them to taste.
With baby onions they taste great.
Fix your eyes in another place.
Back your nose up off my plate.
Buttered peas with crushed red pepper.
Fix your eyes in another place.
No other buttered bean or pea taste better.
Take your eyes up off my plate.
I buttered them to taste.
With baby onions they taste great.
Buttered peas with crushed red pepper.
Take your eyes up off my plate.
And don't your think about sneaking a pea!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black And Decker (TM) Ambush
The toaster oven turned house assassin
The switch was off - orange bright light was on
And feeling the unexpected heat
As 'Doubting Thomas' worked the switch
Unbelieving of observation.
Our sweet toaster had turned assassin
And though having missed by some greater grace
As assassins are wont to do
The house would have been the object of its fire.
Justice was summary and swift
Betraying house god to the trash was a fast throw
But despite the execution fear has lingered
Where ever did its malignant spirit go?
poem by Bill Grace
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The duel
The gingham dog and the calico cat
Side by side on the table sat;
'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)
Nor one nor t' other had slept a wink!
The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate
Appeared to know as sure as fate
There was going to be a terrible spat.
(I wasn't there; I simply state
What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)
The gingham dog went "bow-wow-wow!"
And the calico cat replied "mee-ow!"
The air was littered, an hour or so,
With bits of gingham and calico,
While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place
Up with its hands before its face,
For it always dreaded a family row!
(Now mind: I'm only telling you
What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)
The Chinese plate looked very blue,
And wailed, "Oh, dear! what shall we do!"
But the gingham dog and the calico cat
Wallowed this way and tumbled that,
Employing every tooth and claw
In the awfullest way you ever saw -
And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew!
(Don't fancy I exaggerate -
I got my news from the Chinese plate!)
Next morning, where the two had sat
They found no trace of dog or cat;
And some folks think unto this day
That burglars stole that pair away!
But the truth about the cat and pup
Is this: they ate each other up!
Now what do you really think of that!
(The old Dutch clock it told me so,
And that is how I came to know.)
poem by Eugene Field
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I lived through a classic publishing story. My editor was fired a month before the book came out. The editor who took it over already had a full plate. It was never advertised. We didn't get reviewed in any major outlets.
quote by Anita Diament
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Izuzu Pick-Up white
it is an izuzu pick-up
white
running so fast
on C-5
hitting a little child
who died
on the spot
the man who witnessed
the hit&run
says that it was
'For Official Use Only'
14th of the month
a Valentine's day
Sunday
there was a
number
16 on the
plate
someone powerful
i supposed
owns the killing machine.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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