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The Poor

Out of the farm came the harvest,
And out of the kitchen came the food well prepared;
Then it was set on the table for you to eat,
But do think about the poor when you do have enough.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Food On My Table

Come and see the food on my table,
For it is prepared for you and me;
And, i am waiting for you in the room of my love.

Life is full of surprises and i want to show you my love,
And here comes the sun of the morning to touch your heart;
For, it is right for you to be beside me at this table.

The food on my table,
As soon as you receive my letter means that i love you;
For life is full of surprises and i want your love,
So come and let us share this food on my table.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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God comes to each of Us in different ways

God is everywhere
if he has come to you
and you have found him
in your Padi field
Let him be your Padi God
praying to him day and night
for a rich harvest

if he has come to you
and you have found him in the Kitchen
Let him be your Kitchen God
praying to him day and night
to keep the table filled with Food

if he has come to you
as a God of War
let him be your War God
praying to him day and night
to keep your country safe

dont fight over these gods
for they are one and the same God
who has come to you to fulfil your needs

and if you are too confused by
all these gods just pray to
the one and almighty God everybody
has given a different name
so that he can monitor all your needs

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Don't consider the wealth is eternal!

While the wife feeds
the husband, with love and desire,
the different types of foods
prepared with six tastes;

And he takes only one handful,
leaving the rest untouched,
from the quantity of food prepared,
the remaining food is wasted;

However rich,
he is likely to become poor one day
and beg for food in some other place,
Hence don't consider the wealth is eternal!

(naalatiyaar - aRaththuppaal - selvam nilaiyaamai 1)

Hence don't waste food
and share it with everybody,
Utilise your wealth
for charity!

poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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A Day And Date

Nests to birds and holes to foxes,
Of the olive oil and honey on my table;
But in the obscurity of darkness,
The harvest time is very great.

Unmarked graves,
The choicest wine at the beginning of love;
There is a day and a date for everyone.
Of the rich man's table and the poor man's table,
Like homes without numbers to compare with these graves;
But you need ten silver coins to reach my home.

A fig tree with leaves and the horse-walk of things,
You need a 'pencilcure' act to note my mind;
And from 'dreamontology' to 'dondoorlogy'to what is prepared.
The king and the Queen do seek for me,
But i am always missing out of their sites;
Since i do have a day and a date on my lovers heart.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Poor Know manythings what the rich may not know..

Plenty of food on the table,
plenty of restaurants that serve,
plenty of appetite that we have,
Eat and wash it with drinks soft and hard,
come back home and sleep on the bed,
middle of the night, start the burbs,
then lie down to have the sleep,
again, burps, burps with rolling gas,
sometimes hiccups accompany and rocks,
look for the antacid in the shelves,
in the drawer and kitchen cabinets,
if find a sachet or a bottle,
that seems to be a God,
mix it with water and gulp it,
slowly the stomach is quietened,
rumbles not heard, the gas is not out,
the sleep arrives and we sleep..
A poor man who has no food,
may sleep silently in trance.
A poor man who has no comfort,
may not feel anything uncomfortable.
Those who know the comfort,
can differentiate the difference,
those who are poor and ill,
are comfortable with these evils.
as they know not meaning for good life,
as they are not aware of,
what they have to strive.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Old Man Smiling

there was this old man
and i always remember him
tenant of the family for years
of the vast coconut land
we own

he was poor and lived in a very
small nipa hut
all house to him
no sala, no furnitures, just this
soil kitchen and dirty kettles and
unwashed tin cups and
and firewood and pail of water
from the nearby river

he got two sons and 3 daughters
all gone to the city
also becoming as domestic helpers
and he would bring a chicken from the farm
and a goat and some fruits
to grandpa and
grandpa would scold him for being too lazy
that the chicken was thin
and the goat was small
and the fruits were not ripe yet for harvest

and what i remember of the old man
was that no matter what verbal abuse or
(even physical abuse) that was accorded to him
he never answered or frowned or
complained

he had that smile always that i saw
and i always remember
always with a sad heart since then
even if i had already become a lawyer
and tried to defend the poor
peasants of our
little town

where the vast coconut farm has thrived
and still conquered
what little injustices still
left unsolved

he died years ago
and i could have died with him
if not
for the reason.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Food is god

Food is god
for poor people...!

God is not
Only food...

Rich home
Dog is eat

Nice food...
That food is god...?

yes that also
A god...

Good food is
God...

What is good food...?
Given good health

Always good food...
So...

Non veg
Or veg...

Every good food
Is god...

Simply sit
Silentely eat food

With out hot
And cool drinks...

Food is not only
Poor's god...

With each and
Every one also

food is god...
Give respect and

Take food...
Happley too try too

Thank for god...!

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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A strange farm girl

She smiled with the old farmer's son
And he thinks that she's different from others.
The way she holds the sickle
And her talking manner too.
After the harvest festival
She's not to be seen anymore and the farm boy is sad.
''She's with her far relative here
On her school holidays and then back to school.'
His inquisitive widowed sister told.
She helped to the Harvest and not only that
And she's stolen the boy's mild heart.
How many school holidays have passed?
And the usual harvest never stopped.
The farm boy has taken
His deceased father's burden
And like a nonentity he just walks towards the barn!

* 'There are times when silence has the loudest voice.' -Leroy Brownlow

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Farm

There┬┤s a cockroach in my coffee
There┬┤s a needle in my arm
And I feel like New York City
Get me to the farm

Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Somebody get me to the farm

I got terminal uniqueness
I'm an egocentric man
I get caught up in my freakness
But I ain┬┤t no Peter Pan
Get me to the farm

Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Get me...

Buckle up straight Jack
Sanity is such a drag
Jellybeam thorazene
Trancendental jet lag

Sanity I ain┬┤t gotta
Feeling like a pinala
Sucker punch-blowin┬┤lung
Motherload-pigeonholed
I'm feeling like I'm gonna explode

I wanna be a Hare Krishna
Tattoo a dot right on my head
And the prozac is my fixer
I am the living dead

Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm

Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm

Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm...

Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm

song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harvest and Autumn

Harvest, harvest
all you need,
is food and drink
and fruit indeed.
Harvest friend is harvest moon,
of course.
Autumn, Autumn
Harvest is in Autumn,
oh, what a great time to celebrate! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

poem by Karolina Gosztyla
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I'm at the age where food has taken the place of sex in my life. In fact, I've just had a mirror put over my kitchen table.

quote by Rodney Dangerfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harvest For The World

All babies together
Evry one a seed
Half of us are satisfied
The other half of us in need
Loves bountiful in us
Tarnished by our greed
Oh, when will there be a harvest.. for the world?
(harvest for the world)
A nations planted
So concerned with gain
As the seasons come and go, we wont wait in vain
Far too many, feelin the strain
(chorus)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest for the world)
Dress me up for battle
When all I want is peace
Those of us who pay the price
Come home with the least
And nation after nation, tuning into beasts
(chorus)
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest..

song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Salad is Incompatible with Life

Yes, my waist is fifty inches -
Big for me because I'm short.
And yes, I like my cheddar cheese
When partnered with a vintage port.

Okay, okay, that double cream
Is always served with pud,
And cake and biscuits with my tea
Are just no bloody good

For my poor hardened arteries,
But see my point of view,
Please dear wifey if you please,
A Salad makes me spew!

I'd rather eat a bowl of air
Than crunch away on greens;
Drink water from the toilet bowl
Or nibble on my jeans!

But salad! Are you there?
You know it makes me snappy -
So let me fill my face with grub,
Stay fat, and die young happy!

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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E-Coli Source Was Poor Hygiene?

E-Coli source
needle in hay stack
compass tracing back?

Contamination source
was poor hygiene
at restaurant in Lübeck?

Apparently at least
17 people infected
with virile E-Coli
had eaten there?

Such a high number
suspicious severe cases
means huge contamination?

Probably occurred
somewhere anywhere
from farm to fork?

Source origin point
cleaning, packaging,
transport, at wholesalers,

or any retailers...
anywhere along
supply food chain?

Quite unprofessional then
to point bugs on the run gun...
at Spanish cucumbers
or German bean sprouts...

instead suspect source...

contamination may have been
poor hygiene either at a farm
in transit, in a shop or food outlet?

poem by Terence George Craddock
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An event to recall on Mother's Day - That mother is no one other than me

Summer evening
Sun still harsh

Me, then fourteen
My mother's younger sister
Came forward to tell
A story about a mother

Mumbai, then Bombay
Highrise residential quarters
Fourth floor
Big Hall
Two big bed rooms
Two baths
Big kitchen

Grill-less windows
Free flow of air
Lot natural light

A mother in the kitchen
Preparing food
For her husband
And their three sons

The youngest about two years old
Left on the kitchen table
Mother being busy around

The child not seen now
Mother realised just then
Would have slipped
Across the open window

She was right
The child has fallen
But on the sun shade
About four feet below

Her two year old son
On an open sun shade
Not less than forty feet
Above the ground level

No time to lose
No time waiting for help
From outside

Mother too slowly
Slipped about four feet onto the
Just two feet wide sun shade
Picked up the child
Put him onto the kitchen work table
Managed to climb back to her kitchen

I was thrilled
I was to ask a number of questions
One important being
Is the mother is so courageous

My aunt finished telling
That mother is no one other than me
And that son is no one other than
My third son

Both that mother and son
Are safe, living and active

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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My grandmother was the greatest cook in the world. She could just go in there, the whole kitchen would look like a tornado hit it and then she'd come out with the best food. Then she'd sit at the table and she wouldn't eat!

quote by Edie Brickell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Miss Mary Fairfax

Every day Miss Mary goes her rounds,
Through the splendid house and through the grounds,
Looking if the kitchen table's white,
Seeing if the great big fire's alight,
Finding specks on shining pans and pots,
Never praising much, but scolding lots.
If the table's white, she does not see
Roughened hands that once were ivory.
It is fires, not cheeks, that ought to glow;
And if eyes are dim, she doesn't know.
Poor Miss Mary! Poor for all she owns,
Since the things she loves are stocks and stones.

poem by Lesbia Harford
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To Seek Food

Hunger is to seek food,
Food has one eye and one ear.
The food we abstain from are the heads,
The food is caring over us, and we maintain
Our lives with the food of the day.
Liquors are taken as food,
With a brain too bright,
A table and a cook is required,
Forming my life as a whole.

poem by Naveed Akram
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A Fine Feast

food prepared served upon the table
a feast for all to freely partake of
or abstain from as it suits your will

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Those Brown Paper Bags

I'll always remember, when I was a lad
Those brown paper bags, brought home by my Dad
I'd climb up on a chair, and Momma would smile
To see all the food, that would last, for awhile
Momma be so happy, to fill up her shelves She'd kiss Dad, for giving so much of himself
He worked day and night, and never complained
Just to keep his family free from all pain
I'm married now and life is the same
Only now like Dad, I never complain
So, now I thank God, that I am able
To put food, for my kids, on my kitchen table

poem by Alverna Reimold
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