Road Kill
This morning, I went for a walk,
A stroll in winter's morning chill.
I'd had a breakfast of fried pork,
For lunch I hoped to find road kill.
There were some toads squashed here and there,
A snake had clearly met his end;
But nothing I considered fare,
Until I walked around a bend.
There lying in a crumpled heap,
(He'd surely parted from his flock)
There lay a bruised and bloodied sheep;
He'd suffered from a fatal knock.
It was a shame he'd come to harm,
A tragedy he'd had to die.
My wooly friend had bought the farm,
For lunch I'm having shepherd's pie.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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March of the Wheelchairs
In Dakota land lunch is dinner
and dinner supper while lunch is lunch,
as traditions from farmlands go.
Now breakfast is at 6, lunch at 9
dinner at noon, lunch at 3
supper at 7, everything timed.
Day in and day out, better not be late.
Weather fickle, eating ain’t!
Farm traditions, genetics ‘grained.
No surprise, nursing meals,
wheelchairs marching, internal time,
largo moves, staccato fades.
Day in, day out…they’re not late
Wheelchairs marching, marching in
farm traditions, genetics ‘grained.
Weather fickle….eating ain’t!
Hope God keeps the schedule,
or has… a special dining hall.
As these Wheelchairs… arrive
Girls Just Want To Have Lunch
[parody of girls just want to have fun by cyndi lauper]
I know to keep a woman satisfied.
When I whip out my diners card their eyes get so wide.
Theyre always in the mood for something to munch.
Ah girls, they wanna have lunch.
Ah, girls just wanna have...
Thats all they really want,
Some lunch.
Dont ask em to dinner
Or breakfast or brunch,
cause girls, they wanna have lunch.
Ah, girls just wanna have lunch.
Girls they want, wanna have lunch, girls, wanna have...
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday Morning
Sunday morning silence, curtain stay closed late
No one thinks of kitchens mornings in a filthy state
Dishes cups and beer stains, ashtrays on the floor
Sunday morning papers are left outside the front door
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
(sunday, bloody sunday rest)
Glass of fizzy water helps to start the day
Sit and listen to sunday silence, problems fade away
Sunday cars and drivers break the morning air
Uncollected milk outside reveals theres no one there
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
Bathrobes hang in waiting, windows steaming up
Somewhere in the sink downstairs lies an unwashed cup
Tea and toast for breakfast clear away the plates
Wash-up prepare for cooking sunday lunch awaits
Sunday lunch awaits
Sunday lunch awaits
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lunch and Dinner
I have breakfast and lunch and dinner,
Munching away forever and ever;
The religion of some is furious and solid,
Yesterday it was bigger than today
But my day is always happy with fury,
Its speed is falling everywhere,
Velocity is the vector of your liking
For you know the directions
We possess.
Our breakfast is taken in fullness,
My lunch is ever so strange
And supper chanced itself.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I have many memories of waking up to eat breakfast that my mother carefully prepared for us and her saying, what do y'all want for lunch, and as we're eating lunch, what do y'all want for dinner? It's always about the next meal.
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, frisking along;
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, bleating a song;
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, wearing fur-coat,
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, looking so bright!
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, eating green grass,
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, let me first pass,
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, grazing so nice,
Wooly Lamb, Wooly Lamb, what a surprise!
One of my first Children's Rhymes
poem by John Celes
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Miss Piggy regrets..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:
That tastelessly named flu’s got her
(She forgot to wash her front trotter…) so
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:
It’s a swine of a stroke of bad luck:
Her eyelashes, she sneezed them unstuck… so
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today…
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:
She’s all pink from her snout to her face;
Her mascara’s all over the place… so
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today..
Why not try the lamb today, madam…?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Sheep
'Sheep! why don't you follow me? '
Shouted the Shepherd to his flock of three
Where I lead you, you are supposed to follow
In the desert, through the forest, or in a hollow,
I will never, ever deliberately steered you wrong
If only you will listen to me and follow me along
Your safety and happiness is my main concern
So the path we take is from the one I did learn,
With my staff in hand I will lead the way
And I hope from me that you will never stray
As there is so much danger in this world of ours
So for your safety and from my leadership, I am in charge,
'I am your shepherd and you are my flock! '
Screamed the Shepherd as he then got lost
I have taken a different road than what I've taken before
Even though against this road I had cursed and swore,
But I thought the road was safer and easier to take
You must believe my thinking, I made no mistake
This time though I had listen to the advice of others
But now I see the mistake, if only I had my druthers,
Trust in me again, and we will find the correct path
And please forgive my directions and my earlier wrath
Lets just finish our journey and do not lose faith in me
Spoke the Shepherd, to his sheep of three.
poem by Randy McClave
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The Snake, The Fire and The Baby
Snake, the baby’s friend;
Fire the baby’s enemy
How the snake become baby’s friend
How the fire become baby’s enemy.
In one cold morning in the Nile valley
The mother put her baby beside the fire to get warm
And went to work on the farm.
The snake came, bitten the baby’s hand
Flinches, hide under log of firewood
The baby cried shrilly
The mother heard it, came and saw it hand bleeding
“Oouw, what hurt your hand? Mine! Mine!
“Fire! Mama! ” The baby answered
.The mother hipped her baby, went to healer
The snake heard what the baby said in it hideout,
It remorse for it vilest act
Hissed a expletive not to harm a baby forever
That’s why it play with babies without harm in Nile Valley,
Villages when their mothers are absent
The fire heard what the baby said.
And become furious of being scapegoat
For snake execrable luck in the world
And kindled expletive to harm the baby.
That’s why it burn baby hands everyday
When touch it red tongue.
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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The Snake-God St. Tropez
early morning Place des Lices
at breakfast my coiled croissannt tells me
beware the Snake-God
he had not been placated
the vagrant's forward roll had skewed to the left
at lunch
out from the shade cicadas screech
as they identify
one of their own kind
protruding from the cheese-topping on my pizza
at dinner
I consume slivers of raw flesh
possibly the wine-waiters arm
it is July in St.Tropez
in the year of
the serpent
or the insect
or the amputee
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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4: 59 In The Early Morning
the church bells nearby
toll
for whom, for you,
some prayers
broadcast on the microphone
in this place of
little christianities,
you wash your face
put on your clothes
church this morning
i forget, we used to
have church every
morning when we
were newly married,
changes, time,
ebb, high tides,
moons and more moons,
moorings and more moorings
mornings and lots of boring mornings,
i have changed and you have changed too.
i walk, i walk away, and you will pray,
i will pray too but in other silent places
far away from us, from you, from everything
familiar
too boring, but not sad yet, we are anticipating sadness
like noontime
lunch with so much chili and pepper,
and cold rice, the one we had
for breakfast,
these kinds, you know, are not my favorites....
yet without any word, you will serve them.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Distorted Beauty
She was a small girl, the proof being the tiny soccer cleats
lying on the floor, and the low down marks on the wall
marking her height; and the pictures on her wall show
she is the only brunette in a family of blondes; the belts
lying on her floor had extra holes poked in them
to accommodate for her unnatural skinniness;
her clothes consisted of dark colors meant to keep
her constantly hidden in the background.
Her room was always messy, she was never
organized enough to keep it clean; and pictures
had been painted onto the walls as proof of
her artistic talent; she did not have any clothes
with horizontal stripes, she was too afraid
they might make her look fat; Her school
books are scattered on her desk, all with many
dog-eared and well-worn pages.
In the morning she sleeps in just long enough
to rush out the door without breakfast; at lunch
she claims she isn’t feeling well enough to eat;
when time for dinner comes she hides herself in
her room; everyday she wastes away a little more,
and yet she is still not happy with her weight;
however, she refuses to admit her problem and
that she needs help.
poem by Ashley Flock
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. John (Chapter 10)
Then Jesus said, ‘Amen, I say!
Whoev’r enters not through the gates,
But climbs the fence of the sheep-fold,
Is thief or robber doubtlessly! ’
‘Whoever enters through the gate,
Is but the shepherd of the sheep;
The watch-man opens gates for him
He calls his sheep, each one by name.
And leads them out, till last comes out,
And walks ahead while follow sheep,
Because they recognize his voice;
But they will follow not strangers;
They will not heed the different voice’
None could understand what He told;
So, Jesus said, ‘Amen again,
I am the gate for all the sheep;
All those who came before were thieves;
My sheep did not listen to them.’
‘I am the gate for sheep’s entry!
Whoever enters me, I’ll save
They come in, go out to pastures;
A thief enters only to steal;
He also comes to destroy, kill;
I came so that all may find life,
And have it in abundance too.’
‘I am the Good shepherd to all;
Good shepherd gives his life for sheep;
If hired man and sheep not own,
He leaves them to the wolf’s mercy,
Which catches them and scatters all.
This is because, he works for pay,
And has no true concern for sheep! ’
‘I am the Good Shepherd, Jesus;
I know my sheep, they know me too;
Just as my Father knows me well,
I’ll lay my life down for my sheep;
But other sheep are there as well;
They do not belong to this fold;
These sheep also, I ought to lead,
Until they recognize my voice;
And there be one flock, one shepherd! ’
‘My Father loves me for this cause:
My life I’ll lay for Him because;
No one else can take it from me;
I’ll lay it on my very own;
I’m empowered to die, arise!
A command that my Father gave.’
Again there was chaos ’midst Jews;
Some said, ‘He seems to be possessed;
While others said, ‘These aren’t words
Of someone who’s possessed because
A demon does not open eyes,
Of persons blind surely, truly.’
The Feast of Dedication came;
By then, the cold winter set in.
Then Jesus walked in temple place,
On portico of Solomon;
Some Jews surrounded Him and asked,
‘How long you keep us in suspense?
Just tell us if you’re Messiah? ’
So, Jesus answered them and said,
‘I told you but you don’t believe;
My works I do in Father’s name,
And so they testify to me.
You don’t believe for you are not
Among the sheep, I shepherd now.’
‘My sheep all hear my voice and come,
To follow me, to where I go.
They are given eternal life,
And so they shall never perish.
None can take them off my hand; .
My Father is greater than all;
And none dare take them off His hand.
My father and I are but one.’
The Jews again took rocks to throw.
Then Jesus said, ‘I’ve shown good works:
For these, you want to stone me then? ’
The Jews answered Jesus and said,
‘We’ll not stone you for your good works,
But you’ve committed blasphemy:
You make yourself equal to God? ’
Then Jesus said, ‘Is it not writ
In book of laws that you are gods? ’
‘If they are gods for who came word,
The scripture can’t be set aside.’
‘Can you call me, bless’d by Father,
One who blasphemes because I said:
‘I am the Son of God, Father! ’
If you can’t do my Father’s works,
You need not try to believe me.
But if I do, despite the fact
You don’t believe, believe the works;
So that, you understand the fact,
The Father’s in me, I in Him! ’
They tried arresting him again
But he escaped from their power.
He went across river Jordan,
To where John baptized Him at first,
Remaining there for quite sometime.
And many came to Him and said,
‘John then performed no sign like you,
But everything he said comes true! ’
So, many did believe in Him.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-23-2007
poem by John Celes
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Eleanor II
301 churches registered in Ghana from 'January to July 2003'!
But read your Scriptures well to learn from it;
For the dance of the monkeywill not impress me who have seen the beautiful dance of the snake! !
But, who is ready to teach the masses?
Wolves in sheep skins,
Of a country of plenty where many are still hungry! !
But, a naked man knows no shame over here.
I am Eleanor and i know what i do see around me!
But to eat my breakfast like a king and my lunch like a prince;
For, i will always aim at my goals and be very active towards them! !
But when the wind blows, these churches will be exposed to their so called doctrines.
Paying attention to both the surface and the facts within,
For the fragrance of the lavender is now mixed up with their deeds! !
And there are churches everywhere today (2012) in Ghana,
But, have they been able to change the morals of the people at large? !
Tell me if you know.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Shepherd's Dream
A silly shepherd lately sat
Among a flock of sheep;
Where musing long on this and that,
At last he fell asleep.
And in the slumber as he lay,
He gave a piteous groan;
He thought his sheep were run away,
And he was left alone.
He whoop'd, he whistled, and he call'd,
But not a sheep came near him;
Which made the shepherd sore appall'd
To see that none would hear him.
But as the swain amazèd stood,
In this most solemn vein,
Came Phyllida forth of the wood,
And stood before the swain.
Whom when the shepherd did behold
He straight began to weep,
And at the heart he grew a-cold,
To think upon his sheep.
For well he knew, where came the queen,
The shepherd durst not stay:
And where that he durst not be seen,
The sheep must needs away.
To ask her if she saw his flock,
Might happen patience move,
And have an answer with a mock,
That such demanders prove.
Yet for because he saw her come
Alone out of the wood,
He thought he would not stand as dumb,
When speech might do him good;
And therefore falling on his knees,
To ask but for his sheep,
He did awake, and so did leese
The honour of his sleep.
poem by Nicholas Breton
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The Road To Utopia
I blink my eyes and then it happens again
I lose my way but I discover a friend
Its a typical day on the road to utopia
I walk along until my feet are sore
I rest a minute then I walk some more
Theres no time to delay on the road to utopia
And my destination is the unknown
But Im never far away from my home
It shines like laser light
Its in my dreams at night
cause Ive been all my life
On the road to utopia
I will be there to share your tragedy
I know that you would do the same for me
Its no trouble at all on the road to utopia
When day is over and Im trying to sleep
It comes so easy cause Im not counting sheep
I am counting the smiles on the road to utopia
And I may lose my way again and again
But Ill cross that borderline in the end
Trouble trouble trouble whirling all about
But if we stick together we can stick it out
Will we ever find the loves we lost again
Does this crazy journey ever have an end
And will I find what Im after
Do I know what Im after
Guess Ill join in the laughter
On the road to utopia
song performed by by Utopia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bench By The River
It’s six thirty on Sunday morning
and I’ve been here since three.
I don’t sleep much now-a-days,
but that don’t bother me.
The flies are here as usual
taking salt from my skin
whilst I’m having breakfast
of blood red wine and gin.
I remember when I was married
I had food three times a day.
Now, I eat when I’m hungry,
but not much comes my way.
I live in a one room bed sit,
which is big enough for me.
I don’t give parties anymore,
besides I’ve got no settee.
Two chairs, and one’s my table,
a sleeping bag on the floor.
A cup, a glass and a tooth brush,
don’t need anything more.
Another bottle is approaching
along with friends of mine.
We’ll continue having breakfast,
at least until lunch time.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Enjoy breakfast all alone, share lunch with your best friend and give dinner to your enemy.
Silent In The Morning
My glance is always darting, when I stroll the avenue
Avoiding all the obstacles that terrorize my view
If you are here with me, I trust you to lead the way
When youre not I follow you, and always go astray
Silent in the morning
Suspended in the trees
Lunch time comes youve found your voice
It brings me to my knees
The volume just increases
The resounding echoes grow
Till once again I bask in morning stillness, I love so
The target that I shoot for seems to move with every breath
I tighten all my arteries and make one last request
Divine creation hears me, and he squashes me with fear
I think that this exact thing happened to me, just last year
Silent in the morning
You found your voice that brings me to
Silent in the morning
You found your voice that brings me to
Silent in the morning
You found your voice that brings me to my knees
I will not dismiss you, shelter you, speak with you
Smile at you, trust in me, hed like to brush you off, and Id agree
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lovely To See You
A wonderful day for passing my way.
Knock and my door and even the score
With your eyes.
Lovely to see you again my friend.
Walk along with me to the next bend.
Dark cloud of fear is blowing away.
Now that youre here, youre going to stay
cause its
Lovely to see you again my friend.
Walk along with me to the next bend.
Tells us what youve seen in faraway forgotten lands.
Where empires have turned back to sand.
Wonderful day for passing my way.
Knock and my door and even the score
With your eyes.
Lovely to see you again my friend.
Walk along with me to the next bend.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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