Scuttle, Scuttle, Little Roach
SCUTTLE, scuttle, little roach—
How you run when I approach:
Up above the pantry shelf,
Hastening to secrete yourself.
Most adventurous of vermin,
How I wish I could determine
How you spend your hours of ease,
Perhaps reclining on the cheese.
Cook has gone, and all is dark—
Then the kitchen is your park:
In the garbage heap that she leaves
Do you browse among the tea leaves?
How delightful to suspect
All the places you have trekked:
Does your long antenna whisk its
Gentle tip across the biscuits?
Do you linger, little soul,
Drowsing in our sugar bowl?
Or, abandonment most utter,
Shake a shimmy on the butter?
Do you chant your simple tunes
Swimming in the baby's prunes?
Then, when dawn comes, do you slink
Homeward to the kitchen sink?
Timid roach, why be so shy?
We are brothers, thou and I.
In the midnight, like yourself,
I explore the pantry shelf!
poem by Christopher Morley
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Related quotes
Put a tiger in the gas tank.
a meal of knuckle sandwich and humble pie
krupa could make swiss cheese out of Roach
If he can catch him that is.
Roach is burning in the ash tray
while Krupa is burning up the drapes
Roach is in putter around outer space
he places your finger on the pulse
Krupa is like an octopus arms all over the place
Roach is like an electric eels embrace
Roach knows foreplay but krupa surprises me
just depends on my mood I guess
poem by Jerome Moore
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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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Fufu Momo and Kottu
Noises of different tongues
Occupying stoves in the kitchen
It is not belonged to any one
But belonged to a time
Spreading smells of continents
It is the global identity of art
Every one washes in same sink
Using the water in common
Asia Africa Arabia and Eastern Europe
People in the kitchen being refugees
Using material in same some extent
Make and cook the identity of own
Using flour and flour made
Decorate in an exhibition hall
Like amateur painters pain
Create noises and silence in mixture
Identity of meat flour and leaves
Transformed into their own
On and in the cooking pots
Steam becomes smells
Fufu in the vessel
Pasta in very common
To be well cooked
An African guy in a struggle
Momo like oysters
Made in art by a Tibetan woman
A Nepali prepares Chapatti
Burnt culture of secularity
Leeks, Carrots and green chilly
Cutting into pieces Rotti
In a war like their home
Making Kottu in loud
Everyone looking in surprise
Occupied Sri Lankans noise in kitchen
In two three hours war of kitchen
Gradually becomes calm
One of the oldest in the camp
In midnight begins to cook
Washing everything in psychiatric clean
Cooks Halal singing a song
He is called ex- mayor in his land
Midnight ghost of different rhythm
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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Cockroach
Roach, foulest of creatures,
who attacks with yellow teeth
and an army of cousins big as shoes,
you are lumps of coal that are mechanized
and when I turn on the light you scuttle
into the corners and there is this hiss upon the land.
Yet I know you are only the common angel
turned into, by way of enchantment, the ugliest.
Your uncle was made into an apple.
Your aunt was made into a Siamese cat,
all the rest were made into butterflies
but because you lied to God outrightly-
told him that all things on earth were in order-
He turned his wrath upon you and said,
I will make you the most loathsome,
I will make you into God's lie,
and never will a little girl fondle you
or hold your dark wings cupped in her palm.
But that was not true. Once in New Orleans
with a group of students a roach fled across
the floor and I shrieked and she picked it up
in her hands and held it from my fear for one hour.
And held it like a diamond ring that should not escape.
These days even the devil is getting overturned
and held up to the light like a glass of water.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Caseworker Takes Notes
I was there the day
there trickled down the wall
of an old man's room one roach
that stopped across
a canyon in the plaster till
the old man's elevated slipper fell.
The roach absorbed the blow
and as though perforated for that purpose
dissolved into an archipelago.
The old man looked at me
and patiently explained, 'Despite my
constant smacking of its brethren
one roach each day will trickle down that wall
and pause and pose as if to say,
'Go ahead and smack me, that's okay.' '
To take advantage of the archipelago at hand
the old man pointed toward the last palpitating island
and once again explained,
'Each roach I smack, you see,
offers me that same good-bye-
one last flicker of antennae.'
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Six Oclock News
Wanda had a baby in nineteen fifty one.
The father was stranger and a stranger was the son.
Call that child james lewis, call these rooms a home.
Changing all them diapers polish all that chrome.
Cmon, baby, spend the night with me
All around the schoolyard playing all the games
Running, laughing back and forth the kid with two first names
Stranger in the closet, lock the diary
The past is running faster singing harmony
Cmon, baby, spend the night with me
God bless this kitchen said the knick-knack shelf
The dinners almost ready go and wash yourself
Jimmys growing up now and wandas growing old
The time is growin shorter the nights are long and cold
Cmon, baby, spend the night with me
Sneaking in the closet and through the diary
Now, dont you know all he saw was all there was to see
The whole town saw jimmy on the six oclock news
His brains were on the sidewalk and blood was on his shoes
Cmon, baby, spend the night with me
Cmon, baby, spend the night with me
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Escape
At times you want
To escape
Yourself,
You think
May be
Switching on the
TV set will work.
But it doesn’t,
So I head
For the kitchen
And bake a fresh loaf of bread,
A new recipe from my kitchen shelf.
It takes me
Out of myself.
Cooking I find always helps
It uplifts my mood,
And ah, the aroma of fresh food.
It whets my appetite,
And I get some respite
From the chaos
In my mind.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Metamorphosis
a girlfriend came in
built me a bed
scrubbed and waxed the kitchen floor
scrubbed the walls
vacuumed
cleaned the toilet
the bathtub
scrubbed the bathroom floor
and cut my toenails and
my hair.
then
all on the same day
the plumber came and fixed the kitchen faucet
and the toilet
and the gas man fixed the heater
and the phone man fixed the phone.
noe I sit in all this perfection.
it is quiet.
I have broken off with all 3 of my girlfriends.
I felt better when everything was in
disorder.
it will take me some months to get back to normal:
I can't even find a roach to commune with.
I have lost my rythm.
I can't sleep.
I can't eat.
I have been robbed of
my filth.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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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
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I got very cross with the term, kitchen sink. It just meant that you invaded different kinds of houses, where it was very difficult to avoid kitchen sink.
quote by Timothy West
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get Your Biscuits In The Oven And Your Buns In The Bed
(Kinky Friedman)
You uppity women I don't understand
Why you gotta go and try to act like a man,
But before you make your weekly visit to the shrink
You'd better occupy the kitchen, liberate the sink.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
That's what I to my baby said,
Women's liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Early every morning you're out on the street
Passing out pamphlets to everyone you meet.
You gave up your Maiden Form for Lent
And now the front of your dress has an air scoop vent.
Every single brakeman that's ever come along
Had a little woman always tellin' him that he's wrong.
Eve said to Adam, ?Here's an apple you horse?
And Delilah defoliated Samson's moss.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
That's what I to my baby said,
Women's liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Mean-hearted harpies are breaking all the laws
Tearing up their girdles and a-burning up their bras,
Now the air is dirty and the sex is clean
And your coffee makes my hair turn green.
So damn emancipated in your mind and your body,
Gonna have to cancel all your lessons in karate.
If you can't love a male chauvinist
You'd better cross me off your shopping list.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
That's what I to my baby said,
Women's liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come on in My Kitchen
You better come on into my kitchen,
Cause its sure to be raining outdoors.
When a womans in trouble,
Everybody puts her down
She look for her good man,
Lord he cant be found.
You better come on
Into my kitchen,
Cause its going to be raining outdoors.
Theres a cold wind blowin,
Leaves tremblin on the trees,
Dont you know that that good girl
Ya shes leaving me.
You better come on
Into my kitchen,
Cause its going to be raining outdoors.
The woman Ive been lovin
Left with my best friend,
That joker got lucky,
Stole her back again.
You better come on
Into my kitchen,
Cause its going to be raining outdoors.
Well that good girls leaving,
She aint coming back,
Took her last nickel from her notion sack
You better come on
Into my kitchen,
Cause its going to be raining outdoors.
Mamas dead and gone,
Fathers no wheres to be,
I aint got nobody
To love and care for me.
You better come on
Into my kitchen,
Cause its going to be raining outdoors.
Yes, its going to be raining outdoors.
Yes, its going to be raining outdoors.
song performed by by Allman Brothers Band, music by Robert Johnson (1978)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get Your Biscuits In The Oven & Your Buns In The Bed
(kinky friedman)
You uppity women I dont understand
Why you gotta go and try to act like a man,
But before you make your weekly visit to the shrink
Youd better occupy the kitchen, liberate the sink.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
Thats what I to my baby said,
Womens liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Early every morning youre out on the street
Passing out pamphlets to everyone you meet.
You gave up your maiden form for lent
And now the front of your dress has an air scoop vent.
Every single brakeman thats ever come along
Had a little woman always tellin him that hes wrong.
Eve said to adam, heres an apple you horse
And delilah defoliated samsons moss.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
Thats what I to my baby said,
Womens liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Mean-hearted harpies are breaking all the laws
Tearing up their girdles and a-burning up their bras,
Now the air is dirty and the sex is clean
And your coffee makes my hair turn green.
So damn emancipated in your mind and your body,
Gonna have to cancel all your lessons in karate.
If you cant love a male chauvinist
Youd better cross me off your shopping list.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
Thats what I to my baby said,
Womens liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Auld Wife
PART I
The auld wife sat at her ivied door,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
A thing she had frequently done before;
And her spectacles lay on her apron’d knees.
The piper he pip’d on the hill-top high,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
Till the cow said, “I die,” and the goose asked “Why?”
And the dog said nothing, but search’d for fleas.
The farmer he strode through the square farmyard;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
His last brew of ale was a trifle hard,
The connection of which with the plot one sees.
The farmer’s daughter hath frank blue eyes;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies,
As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas.
The farmer’s daughter hath ripe red lips;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
If you try to approach her away she skips
Over tables and chairs with apparent ease.
The farmer’s daughter hath soft brown hair;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And I met with a ballad, I can’t say where,
Which wholly consisted of lines like these.
PART II
She sat with her hands ’neath her dimpled cheeks,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And spake not a word. While a lady speaks
There is hope, but she did n’t even sneeze.
She sat with her hands ’neath her crimson cheeks;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
She gave up mending her father’s breeks,
And let the cat roll in her best chemise.
She sat with her hands ’neath her burning cheeks,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And gaz’d at the piper for thirteen weeks;
Then she follow’d him out o’er the misty leas.
Her sheep follow’d her, as their tails did them,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And this song is consider’d a perfect gem;
And as to the meaning, it ’s what you please.
poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
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Every Morning
every morning...he takes his off...his eyes...from their places...clumsily...lazı ly.....as he...as he leaves out..and gets out of his dreams...then he...puts on his feet...counts his arms..and if his fingers are in teir right places and complete...he places his head to its usual place...he then takes out his stomach....pours some tea in it....and silently...goes out...leaves to work...there he takes out his feet again...his fills his head with many troubles....in evening he returns home..his lonely home...then counts his broken hopes...he leaves one of his feet in the kitchen..the other on the streets....then scatters his fingers in the house...then goes....to sleep...to dreams...
poem by Metin Sahin
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At A Certain Point In Your Life
you go around
your room
and then to the kitchen
you look carefully
on each object
that you see
the rexona deodorant,
the knife,
the garlic and the onions
some rice grains
on the sink
you look at them
and they are all messy
you even think
the deodorant's place
is not in the kitchen
there are wrong
placements and you
want them changed
by you
you want something
proper
things in their places
you simply look
at each of them
and they are all alive
talking to you
they know
you do not have the time anymore
and they are so sorry for you
saying
goodbye
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Now Moses
Now Moses, what makes you so strange and forgetful?
How is it you heed what I tell you no more?
Just look at your picture -- who would not be fretful?
Your great muddy boots on my clean kitchen floor.
And there you are smoking -- Oh dear, 'tis provoking!
To tease and torment me it is your desire;
I'll throw your old-- no sir! indeed I'm not joking --
I'll throw your old meerschaum right into the fire!
Now Moses, you'll catch it! Now Moses, don't touch it!
Now Moses, don't you hear what I say? (don't you hear it?)
'Tis thus without stopping, the music keeps dropping,
For night after night, and for day after day.
Now Moses, do tell me now what are you doing
Off there in the pantry so still and so sly?
I know very well there is some mischief brewing --
Ha! that's what you're after, a whole cherry pie,
Stop! stop! you are taking the last of my baking,
The very last pie that was left on the shelf;
If ever one did, you deserve a good shaking,
And I've a great notion to try it myself.
Now Moses, come let us be pleasant and clever!
We must not in future lead such a sad life;
Come, you be my dear noble husband forever,
And I'll be forever your sweet loving wife.
Of course, some supposes that life is all roses,
But really I think that -- well now I declare!
You rascal! you villain! you stupid thing, Moses!
You laid your old currycomb right in my chair!
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Come On In My Kitchen
(Robert Johnson)
Mmm... you better come on in my kitchen babe, it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors
The woman I love, took from my best friend
Some joker got lucky, stole her back again
You better come on in my kitchen babe, it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors
Oh, she's gone, I know she won't come back
I've taken the last nickel out of her nation sack
You better come on in my kitchen, baby, it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors
[Spoken:] Oh, can't you hear that wind howl?
Can't you hear that wind howl?
You better come on in my kitchen, baby, it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors
When a woman gets in trouble, everybody throws her down
Lookin' for her good friend, none can't be found
You better come on in my kitchen, baby, it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors
Winter time's comin', it's goin' to be slow
You can make the winter, babe, that's dry long so
You better come on in my kitchen, 'cause it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Whipping Something In My Kitchen
When the Sun wakes me up.
And it is at the crack of dawn?
I feel it appropriate,
On some days...
To lay in bed and enjoy it my way.
Using the mind all the time,
Is a 'burning-out-of-mind' doer.
And I had been done...
To be 'done' to do that over again!
With a winning of 'anything' as a destination.
I longer deliver to myself those messages.
When the Sun wakes me up.
And it is at the crack of dawn?
I feel it appropriate,
On some days...
To lay in bed and enjoy it my way.
And do nothing but...
Whatever I wish.
And do nothing but...
Nibble a bit.
And do nothing but...
Chip and dip!
If I'm not whipping up,
Something in the kitchen.
Or do nothing but...
Whatever I wish.
And do nothing but...
Nibble a bit.
And do nothing but...
Chip and dip!
If I'm not whipping up,
Something in the kitchen.
Using the mind all the time,
Is a 'burning-out-of-mind' doer.
And I had been done...
To be 'done' to do that over again!
With a 'I Have To Win' attitude.
I longer deliver to myself those messages.
When the Sun wakes me up.
And it is at the crack of dawn?
I feel it appropriate,
On some days...
To lay in bed and enjoy it my way.
And do nothing but...
Whatever I wish.
And do nothing but...
Nibble a bit.
And do nothing but...
Chip and dip!
If I'm not whipping up,
Something in the kitchen.
Or do nothing but...
Whatever I wish.
And do nothing but...
Nibble a bit.
And do nothing but...
Chip and dip!
If I'm not whipping up,
Something in the kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me.
I wish you could see me,
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me.
I wish you could see me,
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me whipping something in my kitchen.
I wish you could see me.
I wish you could see me,
Right now!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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