The man who has nothing to boast of but his illustrious ancestry is like the potato - the best part under ground.
quote by Thomas Overbury
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A man who prides himself on his ancestry is like the potato plant, the best part of which is underground.
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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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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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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On Pedigree. From Epicharmus
My mother! if thou love me, name no more
My noble birth! Sounding at every breath
My noble birth, thou kill'st me. Thither fly,
As to their only refuge, all from whom
Nature withholds all good besides; they boast
Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs
Of their forefathers, and, from age to age
Ascending, trumpet their illustrious race:
But whom hast thou beheld, or canst thou name,
Derived from no forefathers? Such a man
Lives not; for how could such be born at all?
And, if it chance that, native of a land
Far distant, or in infancy deprived
Of all his kindred, one, who cannot trace
His origin, exist, why deem him sprung
From baser ancestry than theirs who can?
My mother! he whom nature at his birth
Endow'd with virtuous qualities, although
An Æthiop and a slave, is nobly born.
poem by William Cowper
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One More Less Lonely Potato
One more less lonely potato left inside of the fridge to cool of
So that doesn’t get soggy
Because the heat might spoil that lonely potato
And that lonely potato needs a friend anyway
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Potato Heaven
Though a thousand miles away
I hear roots sprout from ground to ground
potatoes growing all around
likened unto Jacks magic beans
I'd love to watch them grow
simply because you told me so
you told me how healthy they can be
as part of this humanistic
depleting society
the varieties are plenty
soups, salads, casseroles
even pancakes too
potato heaven for me and you
the thought of a belly full
makes me want to go
a vacation, my family along
to the great state of
IDAHO
poem by Matt Mondschein
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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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I tread in the footsteps of illustrious men... in receiving from the people the sacred trust confided to my illustrious predecessor.
quote by Martin Van Buren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who boasts of his descent is like a potato: the best part is underground.
Potato
My love is a potato
Crude with piggy black eyes
Slit in the side and soiled by sod
My love is the rough handled skin
That follows the relentless storm
The tempestous waves
That raged and rent its first soft form
My love is a potato
The first and almost last known outcast
In a jungle school
His head was wedged like a spud
Mounted on a sinew of neck and bristle
His face sunken into flesh
His eyes two dark slits of piggy black lust
That lit up like a fool
I left him standing at the gate, after school!
My love is a potato after the mash and the kill
And the spill of the innocent milk of the martyr
The final slab of the butter
My love is a potato
Not quite a heart
Battered down
And worn
But after the storm
A sweetness and softening
And love is born!
yvette smith march 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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Dropped Like a Hot Potato
I had the fear in me stopped.
Dropped like a hot potato.
I got tired of being unhappy.
And strapped with available nonsense,
On my back.
I've long asked God to deliver me from that.
I had the fear in me stopped.
Dropped like a hot potato.
Without one regret of being burned.
Or which emotion I dealt with it.
I was not going to allow it to sit.
And nourish on me as if a leech!
I've long asked God to deliver me from that.
I had been whipped into doubt and confusion.
No one had to tell me I was crazed.
I was in the affirmation stage.
I had the fear in me stopped.
And dropped like a hot potato.
And today...
Nothing gets dropped.
Since the fear in me stopped.
To let go of an experience,
That may be too precious to go wasted!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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The Field Of Mortality
The Field of Mortality
On a field, not far from here, I see millions of lit candles in long rows,
but only at night; in daylight it is a potato patch. A man, you may call
him god if you like, walks among the candles every so often he stops
and with his thumb and index finger snuffs out light; the skin on his
fingers are corned from this arduous work. Behind him new candles
spring up, sometimes he turns and go back waste some of them too.
He is heading for the part where the candles have been burned out,
only the wick flickers. He uses he thumb to bump them off; a spiral of
grey smoke in still air. He is old as time, sometimes he misses candles
that keep on burning, although they have no wick. As dawn begins,
behind the easterly mountain, the field of mortality turns into a potato
patch again, where an old man is harvesting spuds.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Lets Call The Whole Thing Off
Things have come to a pretty pass
Our romance is growing flat,
For you like this and the other
While I go for this and that,
Goodness knows what the end will be
Oh I dont know where Im at
It looks as if we two will never be one
Something must be done:
You say either and I say either,
You say neither and I say neither
Either, either neither, neither
Lets call the whole thing off.
You like potato and I like potahto
You like tomato and I like tomahto
Potato, potahto, tomato, tomahto.
Lets call the whole thing off
But oh, if we call the whole thing off
Then we must part
And oh, if we ever part, then that might break my heart
So if you like pyjamas and I like pyjahmas,
Ill wear pyjamas and give up pyajahmas
For we know we need each other so we
Better call the whole thing off
Lets call the whole thing off.
You say laughter and I say larfter
You say after and I say arfter
Laughter, larfter after arfter
Lets call the whole thing off,
You like vanilla and I like vanella
You saspiralla, and I saspirella
Vanilla vanella chocolate strawberry
Lets call the whole thing off
But oh if we call the whole thing of then we must part
And oh, if we ever part, then that might break my heart
So if you go for oysters and I go for ersters
Ill order oysters and cancel the ersters
For we know we need each other so we
Better call the calling off off,
Lets call the whole thing off.
I say father, and you say pater,
I saw mother and you say mater
Pater, mater uncle, auntie lets call the whole thing off.
I like bananas and you like banahnahs
I say havana and I get havahnah
Bananas, banahnahs havana, havahnah
Go your way, Ill go mine
So if I go for scallops and you go for lobsters,
So all right no contest well order lobseter
For we know we need each other so we
Better call the calling off off,
Lets call the whole thing off.
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Door Of Ancestry
it is an old door,
the jams are eaten by termites
the lock is not working
the hinges are rusty
and without the frame of my hands
it will just fall
as pieces
i imagine the house back
to restore
our ancestry, and i travel to places
to gather
what memories are left
the old men in those far places
are telling me stories
my notebook is swelling like
a river of tears
about to flood the banks of my
heart
many have abandoned
what the house of ancestry has to offer
there is nothing to eat
there and no one is cooking
some
noble concoctions
i am the son of Gregorio and my
grandfather is Domingo
who is one of the five children
of Juan who was married
to Rosa
they sailed away from
Maribujoc
and it was Modesto's rebellion
that carried them
away
to the island of Mindanao
and they cut the trees of the forest
built their homes
and cared for
their families
now i am moving places
into some other places of
no interest
the hours are fading
and the heirlooms are forgotten
i am looking for my roots
for i do not have what i call my own
i knock at the old broken door
of my ancestry
asking for pity.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Potato Muffin Cake
Sweet potato muffin cake,
What is it going to take...
For you to let me get,
Another hug and squeeze?
I promise the next time,
Not to sneeze and cough.
My allergies flared up...
Just when you took your sweater off.
Who knew I was allergic to cashmere?
Sweet potato muffin cake,
What is it going to take...
For you to let me get,
Another hug and squeeze?
Now that you know,
Cashmere and I do not agree...
Perhaps you will give me,
Another opportunity?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Potato Pie
Oh lord I feel fine today
Im walking on cloud nine today
Im over that line today
Happiness is finally mine today
I guess Im just a lucky guy
And Im prepared to tell you why
Its strictly on account of my
Sweet potato pie
Im the fellow that she loves the most
The main reason why she left the coast
Shes my little girlziña
That much hotter that a jalapeo
Tender like a night in june
Sweeter than a honeymoon
Brighter than a silver spoon
Just as crazy as a loon
Softer than a lullabye
Deeper than the midnight sky
Soulful as a babys cry
My sweet potato pie
I used to see her around the neighborhood
I wonder how she grew up so good
She belonged to freddy and he was bad
And I never was ready to make him mad
Im glad I had to wait awhile
A little bit too juvenile
I needed to refine my style
A silk suit and a crocodile smile
So let the whole damn world go by
cause I just want to testify
From now on its me and my
Sweet potato pie
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meeting
Hidden by old age awhile
In masker's cloak and hood,
Each hating what the other loved,
Face to face we stood:
'That I have met with such,' said he,
'Bodes me little good.'
'Let others boast their fill,' said I,
'But never dare to boast
That such as I had such a man
For lover in the past;
Say that of living men I hate
Such a man the most.'
'A loony'd boast of such a love,'
He in his rage declared:
But such as he for such as me --
Could we both discard
This beggarly habiliment --
Had found a sweeter word.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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A War Hero's Lament
Don't fight for England anymore,
Don't fight for the chaps at the corner store,
Just go back home and close the door
'Cos England isn't England anymore.
Don't boast you're British, they'll deplore
Your ancestry and what is more
They'll kick you out, show you the door
'Cos England isn't England anymore.
They'll tell you you are just like them,
They'll laugh at you and then condemn
Your Anglo-Saxon attitude
And tell you it is very crude.
Don't blame them, they don't understand
Devotion to a fatherland:
They're here to make the very most
Of everything that you have lost.
(The cunning reader may detect
I'm not 'politically correct',
Well that is true - that's why I choose
To sing these PATRIOTIC blues! !)
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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