Once Bitten (a trigee poem)
Somewhat unfortunately.........She toiled because of
the perfidious patisserie's....sugary dastardliness for those
sweet-toothed customers........with cavitied teeth
who were sorely suffering......with needles and drills at the surgery
due to over-indulgence, .......ironically thinking,
of cakes and pastries, ........that they kept her in bread and butter
were an ever-inflating problem...and earned her a crust.
poem by Diane Hine
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Related quotes
Sweet Needles Of Success
The circus is full of smoke
After all this years
Some were good, some were bad
Didn't know what i was about to start when i started
Though i wrote it all down
God, i was so naive!
When you're on the show, you've got to shoot not to sing
Wasn't it worth anyway
12 years, 6 were good, 6 were bad
20.000 songs in my head and a toast to all the pimps in the world
Here's to you
Hey, hey, here's to you, till the last bullet's fired
Welcome, sweet needles of success
Here's to you, you got to shoot, not to sing
Welcome, customers, whores, i still got my gun
I still got my gun
Look, i point at you
There's a shadow on the target, i guess you call it future
And the fingertip-orchestras sounded like spirit rapping on the radio
The day i sold my music for less than a soul
To a full-playback-pop-music-teenage-hero
Here's to you, sweet needles of success
Welcome, customers, whores, i still got my gun
Here's to you, you got to shoot not to sing
I still got some shots inside
Welcome, sweet needles of succes
Take me home, take me home
Oh, sweet needles of success
Here i go
Into the dry-ice fog
Gold/1990
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bread is wiser
Butter is richer than bread
But can’t replace bread.
But butter is better with bread
For which is not sad the bread.
Wives are not wiser than bread.
05.02.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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0142 Buttering Bread
Yesterday
I was buttering bread for sandwiches
when I saw myself doing this
as I must have watched you all those years ago,
and forgotten ever since 'til now -
the butter firmly spread right to the edges of the crust,
pressed into the yielding bread,
and then the surplus gently scraped off on the knife
with all the careful but not mean economy
of a family which after your father's lungs
gave in to the cotton dust of the mill
where he worked so proudly for John Bright
the reformer (and there's a thought)
and your mother opened the front door of your home,
whose street-front window now became
a front-room shop for home-made cakes
so that the neighbours' help was charity with dignity and fair exchange;
the butter for the scones
you made before you left for morning school
came from out of a wooden tub
from the 'Italian warehouseman' or
the very first Co-op, down in Toad Lane...
Whether the tears poised at the corners of the eyes
were of sadness or of gratitude
for this so unexpected memory of the living dead
I couldn't say. But now,
gratitude. And, and, beauty.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Sweet corns
The trade unionist was sacked from his job for organizing a strike.
His pregnant wife undertakes orders for cakes, pastries, snacks and etc.,
Luckily she got an order for sweet corns a daily delivery to a nearest factory.
He delivers sweet corns and does odd jobs for their survival.
But the life is not as sweet as sweet corns.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Satiety
Macaroons and frosted cupcakes blush
under the shining-eyed approval
of the child in the shirred sundress.
The breath of the waiting queue is hushed
by a tension-melting spectacle,
as she is swept off her tip-toes
by the debonair gingerbread men.
The relieved mother nods, smiling.
This should be the denouement:
The patisserie assistant slips
the treat into a white paper bag
and a prompt conclusion allows
bemused onlookers to share a brief
afterglow of benevolence.
Except that, the patisserie
assistant is dallying
and the child is spellbound by
a new wave of possibilities.
The little golden men display
a spectrum of white iced expressions
and carnival coloured buttons.
The child's pointing finger hovers;
she is fulfilled by the moment.
The patisserie assistant kneels
beside the glass cabinet
where the men live at child-eye level.
She is complicit and condoning.
She drops below the adult plane.
Above them, the customers simmer.
The shapes and colours of sugar
are important to a child;
the piquancy of ginger less so.
A choice! -pink, blue, green buttons,
uncertain brow and a squiggled mouth.
The gingerbread man looks offended.
The next customers, finally served,
are understandably rankled.
The patisserie assistant
owes them at least forty-five seconds.
Their faces are cool. An echo
of the gingerbread man's mute rebuke
is resounding in their fluent eyes.
Later, she wraps the white plastic tray
of remaining men in clear plastic.
She reflects on the way the chef
haphazardly buttoned and iced.
If he'd spent an eternity
and all his artistic talent,
they still couldn't be more beguiling.
poem by Diane Hine
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The big sweet toothed shark
grinning towards the small fish
shows his rotten teeth
New customers are lik razor-toothed Gree worms, they may be succulent, but sometimes they bite.
Bread & Butter
I love bread and butter
and jam upon hot toast
and flowers in the summer
but I love you most.
I love the red spring tulips
and cold strawberry mousse
and I love chocolate pudding
but I love you most.
I love bread and butter
and honey for to spread
though honey is but nothing
to your warm caress.
I love bread and butter
but egg with chips will do
although they only half compare
to my love for you.
I dare not feign indifference
I love a red, red rose.
Their scent is ever fragrant
but I love you most.
You know I love my mother
and sumptuous Sunday roast,
I love her home made puddings
but I love you most.
poem by Ruth Walters
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The King's Breakfast
The King's Breakfast
The King asked
The Queen, and
The Queen asked
The Dairymaid:
"Could we have some butter for
The Royal slice of bread?"
The Queen asked the Dairymaid,
The Dairymaid
Said, "Certainly,
I'll go and tell the cow
Now
Before she goes to bed."
The Dairymaid
She curtsied,
And went and told
The Alderney:
"Don't forget the butter for
The Royal slice of bread."
The Alderney
Said sleepily:
"You'd better tell
His Majesty
That many people nowadays
Like marmalade
Instead."
The Dairymaid
Said, "Fancy!"
And went to
Her Majesty.
She curtsied to the Queen, and
She turned a little red:
"Excuse me,
Your Majesty,
For taking of
The liberty,
But marmalade is tasty, if
It's very
Thickly
Spread."
The Queen said
"Oh!:
And went to
His Majesty:
"Talking of the butter for
The royal slice of bread,
Many people
Think that
Marmalade
Is nicer.
Would you like to try a little
Marmalade
Instead?"
The King said,
"Bother!"
And then he said,
"Oh, deary me!"
The King sobbed, "Oh, deary me!"
And went back to bed.
"Nobody,"
He whimpered,
"Could call me
A fussy man;
I only want
A little bit
Of butter for
My bread!"
The Queen said,
"There, there!"
And went to
The Dairymaid.
The Dairymaid
Said, "There, there!"
And went to the shed.
The cow said,
"There, there!
I didn't really
Mean it;
Here's milk for his porringer,
And butter for his bread."
The Queen took
The butter
And brought it to
His Majesty;
The King said,
"Butter, eh?"
And bounced out of bed.
"Nobody," he said,
As he kissed her
Tenderly,
"Nobody," he said,
As he slid down the banisters,
"Nobody,
My darling,
Could call me
A fussy man -
BUT
I do like a little bit of butter to my bread!"
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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The Problem With Teeth
The problem with teeth that are false
Is they don't always ride out their course
They shift when you're eating
Or fly loose at a greeting
Some marriages end with divorce!
The problem with teeth that are false
Is that they won't always lie
In a mouth half their size
And can drive a sane man up the wall
The problem with teeth that are false
Is they don't always ride out life's course
In on a hospital stay they get 'put away'
Until you can't find them at all!
And when they do finally arrive
It's on a woman whose barely alive
Though's she's making a terrible din
But when she smiles she possesses your grin
And it's hard to reclaim them
Because she's renamed them
But the teeth that you've got won't fit in! ! .
The problem with teeth that are false
Is that they rarey survive in life's course
So it's better to brush and religiously floss
So you don't have to lose them at all!
yvette smith
poem by Yvette Smith
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Smooth Of Any Lumps
You want it in the middle too deep.
And,
Leave the beginning left weakened.
To end in surprise with stretched wide eyes,
Those caught off guard by 'your' strategy.
Hoping we are left to be the winners believed.
But you and I need to first agree,
We are united in a unity.
With a movement smooth of any lumps.
And what we do together,
Will not find our shoulders humped over...
With a stumping done that has us crunched.
Remember...
A good pie crust is never rushed in the making.
The whipping of eggs with the butter mixed...
Then adding flour with baking powdered to it.
And a dash of salt to top it off,
Should leave the crust perfect and flaky enough.
A good pie crust is never rushed in the making.
The whipping of eggs with the butter mixed...
Then adding flour with baking powdered to it.
You want it in the middle too deep.
And,
Leave the beginning left weakened.
To end in surprise with stretched wide eyes,
Those caught off guard by 'your' strategy.
Hoping we are left to be the winners believed.
But you and I need to first agree,
We are united in a unity.
With a movement smooth of any lumps.
And what we do together,
Will not find our shoulders humped over...
With a stumping done that has us crunched.
Remember...
A good pie crust is never rushed in the making.
The whipping of eggs with the butter mixed...
Then adding flour with baking powdered to it.
And a dash of salt to top it off.
Should leave the crust perfect and flaky enough.
'Listen...
We are in the trenches drenched with rain.
That analogy,
Somehow isn't working for me.
Why are you 'always' thinking of your stomach? '
Ssshhh...
I swear I can hear the peeling of sweet potatoes.
'Yes...
I agree we are in need for someone to respond,
To our request to be relieved from our bivouac.
A few days away to celebrate the holiday would be nice.'
That's what I've been saying all this time.
I'd rather give my thanks in person.
'Me too! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Butter
Pull me from the toaster
Straight into the roaster
Fill my head with the stuff
Brightest dreams are made of
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Duh
Promising the big guns
Reward when the light comes
Screaming from the damage done
Screaming from the damage done
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Duh
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up like I know you will
Cover it up like I know you will
Better yourself like I know you will
Breaking the trust like you always will
Be good for it, you never will
Be good for it, you never will
Be good for it, you never will
Be good for it, you never will
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up, butter me up
Duh
So you think you got the best
Thought I was like all the rest
Reaping from the damage done
Reaping from the damage done
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Duh
song performed by by Ultraspank
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love your children with all your hearts, love them enough to discipline them before it is too late. ... Praise them for important things, even if you have to stretch them a bit. Praise them a lot. They live on it like bread and butter and they need it more than bread and butter.
quote by Lavina Christensen Fugal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Big Problem....
There is this BIG PROBLEM
WE decided not to talk about it
We think that that problem must solve itself
Auto-resolution
So day and night the problem stays there
Like a drunkard in the room
Vomiting
To every nook of the house
The house
That smells like fucking
Shit
But that problem is never considered a problem
There is a room for it to stay
And it can stay
It cannot consume us
It has no mouth and so it has no teeth
It has no tongue it cannot say a word
It stays there like a piece of art
And we begin to appreciate it
Like a piece of rock
Unchanged in the middle of the living room
We eat lunch there
They prepare nice dinners
We drink red wine
We munch chocolates
And sweet berries
The problem stays but it cannot nag us
Because we can pretend
That it is a brother
That we cannot junk but only love
And keep as part of the
Company
There is still this problem
And it did not solve itself
We live by this problem and this problem lives with us
Symbiosis
And so now
What is the problem? Is this a problem after all these years?
It is not anymore
We have learned that it is not a problem anymore
We die soon
And it shall perhaps disappear
Shall it weep over our departure?
That is its problem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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So I Happen to Prefer Whole Wheat
Of course I'm sleazy!
Isn't that one of the requirements,
I had to admit to get you to date me?
'But I didn't think you were serious when I asked! '
So when did you take notice of it?
Before or after I began to lick,
The crunchy peanut butter off your nipples.
'Yeah...
But do you think holding them,
Between slices of whole wheat bread...
Really accomplishes anything? '
That's a matter of opinion!
So I happen to prefer whole wheat bread.
What's the problem here?
I was going to use the muffins.
Do you want me to use the muffins?
'I'm sensitive to multi-grain.'
Huh?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In Quest Of A Foe
I was traveling by the sea-shore
in quest of my foe
i did not find and i m fully tired
to take rest
i find every one to be busy with one's job
every one is running behind bread
even dry bread, some running behind
bread - butter with luxury life
but some are running behind salvation
but i could not find even a single foe
some one is suffering from some complexities
race, religion, caste, creed, society or
due to his money and status of life
I find all these the mean mindedness
So, i forgo and leave it
I do not treat as the reason for being foe
I am tired, I do not find any foe
Please let me find my foe
poem by Ramesh Rai
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Ignore Them
Ignore idiots who remark on some people
As odd and stale, without them being so.
Their idiocy remains to this day a triumph
To the senses, as we neglect them until we smile.
Understood by some, the individual laughs
From these small boys retained a soul.
The ignorance is huge, far too quiet are smiles,
Let the bread be spread with butter and jam.
The bread contains a problem of oversweetness,
They shall sicken of this retarding their young selves,
And leaving the damage of the year to the parents.
poem by Naveed Akram
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There is an error
You cannot enter
There is no access
There is a problem
You get disconnected
No problem
I’ll change my face
I’ll take some fingers
From my hands
I’ll take the eyeballs
And take yours
I will rearrange my
Hair and nose and mouth
And realign my teeth
I’ll get your thumb marks
And gee!
I look like you in almost
Everything and
Gee!
I now appear like I am thinking
Like you
Now I will enter now I will get access
There will be no problem
I look like you and think like you
Welcome progress welcome peace
Welcome to uniformity welcome to loss of identity
Welcome to your definition of democracy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Keeping the Tunnel
I live adorably aboveground,
Acute clearage is promised from the upper stations.
The building is ablaze, abiding in sin and hatred,
Breathing with bread and butter can be lonely
And hard, far too hard that bodies shall mash and briskly burn.
The enemy is too harsh on our soul, as souls are in now poverty,
And states of mind must be obeyed, force is a new compartment.
My conscious mind is commemorating a day too distant from today,
As cures are like the illnesses, currently in crisis, formally bound to heaven,
Or hell, as the problem states.
We fail and deliver bread and butter to our friends and foes,
Living ashore is near the water, far too soft a planet.
My dead friends must never die, they must be in hurt
If they deserve it in heaven.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Open Soul Surgery
Written by: jim vallance
Its been a long time since we been travellin down
On the wrong side of your love
But I dont care if you think Im wasting my time
Youre the only one Im thinkin of
Well I spend my whole life travellin around
From town to town and I need
Open soul surgery
Open soul surgery
Yeh I need surgery
Open soul surgery
Ooh, yeh
When you were 18 I took you from your mama & sister
As you didnt need that kind of protection
Now I hate to see you comin on like some kind of bitch
cos your life aint what youre expectin
Well I spend all my time just chasing you down
And now that I found you I need
Open soul surgery
Open soul surgery
Yeh I need surgery
Open soul surgery
Somebody help me now
And now the pressures on
I dont know right from wrong
I live in desperation
I can feel the heat
Now that Im on the street
For what youve done to me
And Im gonna need
Open soul surgery
Open soul surgery
Yeh I need surgery
Open soul surgery
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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