There was an old man of Tobago,
Who lived on rice, gruel and sago
Till, much to his bliss,
His physician said this -
To a leg, sir, of mutton you may go.
quote by by Edward Lear
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Jimmy Sago, Jackaroo
If you want a situation, I'll just tell you the plan
To get on to a station, I am just your very man.
Pack up the old portmanteau, and label it Paroo,
With a name aristocratic—Jimmy Sago, Jackaroo.
When you get on to the station, of small things you'll make a fuss,
And in speaking of the station, mind, it's we, and ours, and us.
Boast of your grand connections and your rich relations, too
And your own great expectations, Jimmy Sago, Jackaroo.
They will send you out on horseback, the boundaries to ride
But run down a marsupial and rob him of his hide,
His scalp will fetch a shilling and his hide another two,
Which will help to fill your pockets, Jimmy Sago, Jackaroo.
Yes, to fill your empty pockets, Jimmy Sago, Jackaroo.
When the boss wants information, on the men you'll do a sneak,
And don a paper collar on your fifteen bob a week.
Then at the lamb-marking a boss they'll make of you.
Now that's the way to get on, Jimmy Sago, Jackaroo.
A squatter in the future I've no doubt you may be,
But if the banks once get you, they'll put you up a tree.
To see you humping bluey, I know, would never do,
'Twould mean good-bye to our new chum, Jimmy Sago, Jackaroo.
Yes, good-bye to our new chum, Jimmy Sago, Jackaroo.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Trinidad And Tobago
Trinidad and Tobago,
Bring me my lover and let me rest my mind;
For in that day,
The wolf will dweel with the lamb.
Two rods came out ot the system and,
You called them Trinidad and Tobago;
But in that day,
The leopard will lie down with the young goat!
So bring me my lover and let me rest my mind.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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On Sharing A Husband
Screw the fate that makes you share a man.
One cuddles under cotton blankets; the other's cold.
Every now and then, well, maybe or maybe not,
once or twice a month, oh, it's like nothing.
You try to stick to it like a fly on rice
but the rice is rotten. You slave like the maid,
but without pay. If I had known how it would go
I think I would have lived alone.
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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A double edge sword
They say love is
a physician,
or a medicine for
the hearts pang.
But is not much
accurate when love
slugs you many times
and it never heals
the heart,
Much more then that it
shatters it every time.
For my heart is wounded
in numerous ways it is not
a proving thing,
Is like a myth a
fairy tale;
Love is a double
edge sword,
they might say love
is an antidote that
heals or an aspirin to
ease the pain,
Not in my world,
in my veins,
but yet the only
love that heals my wounds
and my aches is
the Lord's love.
A mans love
has no remedy,
it is the worst love you
can conceive
love is a tainted touch
when coming from mortal,
A dark veil with
poison desires,
love has come to me
with untainted eyes,
and hidden thorns,
covering his identity,
A pet can give away
his best to you,
a pure innocent love,
with meekness eyes
and pure soul.
Love is not a healer
to the heart,
to me it is a thieve of my
peace and bliss,
a harmony turn to war.
So love is a physician,
that's what they say,
but medicine posthumous
is unreachable unless by
Godly
The love of God is
a true love,
it has no envy
no confinement,
no conditions,
is perpetual and
immaculate.
Don't tell me love
is a physician,
a physician is
what I need after having
the love of thee.
Jehovah is my physician indeed
copyrightElenaToledo2009
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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The Gentle Smile
I am amused
At the gentle smile
You always hold
On your rodomont face.
You force our way
Into the sullen hearts
Of the humble homes
Erected on the blocks
Of hope and despair.
On the rectangular dining table
Your smiles beckon to the warmth
You serve as a host.
And then the roasted rooster,
Muscular mutton,
Fried sago, boiled potatoes
And the broccoli
Drenched in vinegar.
The cask of the red wine
Elates the heaves to heaven.
The fair fingers of your lady
Spice the dinner well.
You still stand
Smiling and laughing
Over the agonies of times,
And your ladies
Perching the breaths at the up
Against the mounts of despair.
You remind me of my Indian brethren
Ever ready to extend
Warm hospitality.
poem by Harish k. Thakur
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The Day I Hate Rice
The day I hate rice
Is several rare day in a year
When I don't eat rice
I don't want to eat rice
I don't want to see it
Because I hate its taste
And I hate to think about it
If I have the day I hate rice
Then you'll know that I don't feel well
I'm bored of this procession
I want to run from this life
Because I begin to hate myself
...just a little while
And everything will be back to normal again
That's the meaning of
The day I hate rice
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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MAMMA'S BAKED CHICKEN AND RICE...by Talile Ali
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW SPECIAL AND NICE
I FELT ABOUT MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
BUT FOR ME AT THE TIME IT WAS BEYOND PRICE
EVERY DAY MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
WHEN I WAS SICK AND NEEDED YOUR CARE
WITHOUT GATTING A LASH CHICKEN AND RICE WAS THERE
THE DOCTORS TOLD YOU BLAND, AND THAT WAS FINE BY ME
CHICKEN AND RICE MADE BLAND SPECIAL FOR ALL TO SEE
AT FIRST AFTER DAY'S OF HAVING THIS SERVED TO ME
I WAS PISSED AS HELL TILL I HAD A TALK WITH MY BUDDY
EVERY DAY HE'D COME OVER TO GET ME TO PLAY
AND HE'D SEE ME FINISHING MY CHICKEN AND RICE EVERY DAY
HE SAID THAT YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE YOU
SHE MAKES THAT EVERY DAY, AND ON THE WEEK ENDS TO
SHE GOES IT SO QUICKLY AND IT SMELLS SO GOOD
YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE, I WISH MY MOMMY WOULD
I LOOKED AT MY BUDDY AND SAW IN HIS FACE
THE TRUTH AND THE HONESTY ALL PLAIN IN PLACE
AND FROM THAT DAY FORWARD I SMILED WHUEN I HEARD
MY MOM CALL MY NAME TO COME EAT THOSE THREE WORDS
CHICKEN AND RICE, CHICKEN AND RICE I SAY
MY MOM MADE THE BEST, IN HER OWN SPECIAL WAY
WHEN EVER I AM FEELING WSPECIALLY NICE
I WOULD ALWAYS FIND AN EXCUSE TO HAVE CHICKEN AND RICE
SO MOMMA, YOU NEEDED TO JUST HERE ME SAY
I APPRECIATE THE LOVE THAT YOU GIVE ME EVERY DAY
AND THOUGH IT MAY SEEM LIKE I AM BEING UNKIND
IF SO, I'M JUST BEING FOOLISH AND MANIPULATIVE THAT TIME
YOU ALWAYS COULD BRING OUT THE BABY IN ME
AND FOR THAT AND THE CARING THIS POEM YOU DID SEED
THANK YOU MOM, DEAR LADY FOR ALL OF THE ABOVE
AND THE CHICKEN AND RICE AND THESE MEMORIES OF LOVE
poem by Talile Ali
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Mamma's Baked Chicken And Rice
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW SPECIAL AND NICE
I FELT ABOUT MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
BUT FOR ME AT THE TIME IT WAS BEYOND PRICE
EVERY DAY MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
WHEN I WAS SICK AND NEEDED YOUR CARE
WITHOUT GATTING A LASH CHICKEN AND RICE WAS THERE
THE DOCTORS TOLD YOU BLAND, AND THAT WAS FINE BY ME
CHICKEN AND RICE MADE BLAND SPECIAL FOR ALL TO SEE
AT FIRST AFTER DAY'S OF HAVING THIS SERVED TO ME
I WAS PISSED AS HELL TILL I HAD A TALK WITH MY BUDDY
EVERY DAY HE'D COME OVER TO GET ME TO PLAY
AND HE'D SEE ME FINISHING MY CHICKEN AND RICE EVERY DAY
HE SAID THAT YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE YOU
SHE MAKES THAT EVERY DAY, AND ON THE WEEK ENDS TO
SHE GOES IT SO QUICKLY AND IT SMELLS SO GOOD
YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE, I WISH MY MOMMY WOULD
I LOOKED AT MY BUDDY AND SAW IN HIS FACE
THE TRUTH AND THE HONESTY ALL PLAIN IN PLACE
AND FROM THAT DAY FORWARD I SMILED WHUEN I HEARD
MY MOM CALL MY NAME TO COME EAT THOSE THREE WORDS
CHICKEN AND RICE, CHICKEN AND RICE I SAY
MY MOM MADE THE BEST, IN HER OWN SPECIAL WAY
WHEN EVER I AM FEELING WSPECIALLY NICE
I WOULD ALWAYS FIND AN EXCUSE TO HAVE CHICKEN AND RICE
SO MOMMA, YOU NEEDED TO JUST HERE ME SAY
I APPRECIATE THE LOVE THAT YOU GIVE ME EVERY DAY
AND THOUGH IT MAY SEEM LIKE I AM BEING UNKIND
IF SO, I'M JUST BEING FOOLISH AND MANIPULATIVE THAT TIME
YOU ALWAYS COULD BRING OUT THE BABY IN ME
AND FOR THAT AND THE CARING THIS POEM YOU DID SEED
THANK YOU MOM, DEAR LADY FOR ALL OF THE ABOVE
AND THE CHICKEN AND RICE AND THESE MEMORIES OF LOVE
poem by Talile Ali
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Bananas And Cream
(Kinky Friedman)
Well, a long time ago in old Tokyo
By the softly flowing stream
I left her there with the stars in her hair
On the other side of a dream.
Well, I traveled through with a heart full of blue
Never quite making my way
Till I come upon a strawberry blonde
Living in Pittsburgh, P.A.
Ah, bananas and rice they used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now it's bananas an cream.
I stood hypnotized, I stared in her eyes,
She smiled and I suddenly knew
If I made her my bride then the other side
0f my dream would finally come true.
Ah, bananas and rice they used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now it's bananas and cream.
Well, a long time ago in old Tokyo
By the softly flowing stream
I left her there with the stars in her hair
On the other side of a dream.
Ah, bananas and rice they used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now it's bananas and cream.
Bananas and rice used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now it's bananas and cream.
Bananas and rice used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Bananas and rice ...
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bananas & Cream
(kinky friedman)
Well, a long time ago in old tokyo
By the softly flowing stream
I left her there with the stars in her hair
On the other side of a dream.
Well, I traveled through with a heart full of blue
Never quite making my way
Till I come upon a strawberry blonde
Living in pittsburgh, p.a.
Ah, bananas and rice they used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now its bananas an cream.
I stood hypnotized, I stared in her eyes,
She smiled and I suddenly knew
If I made her my bride then the other side
0f my dream would finally come true.
Ah, bananas and rice they used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now its bananas and cream.
Well, a long time ago in old tokyo
By the softly flowing stream
I left her there with the stars in her hair
On the other side of a dream.
Ah, bananas and rice they used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now its bananas and cream.
Bananas and rice used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Oh, oh, bananas and rice they used to be nice
But now its bananas and cream.
Bananas and rice used to be nice
On the other side of a dream.
Bananas and rice ...
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Green-Hand Rouseabout
Call this hot? I beg your pardon. Hot!—you don’t know what it means.
(What’s that, waiter? lamb or mutton! Thank you—mine is beef and greens.
Bread and butter while I’m waiting. Milk? Oh, yes—a bucketful.)
I’m just in from west the Darling, ‘picking-up’ and rolling wool.’
Mutton stewed or chops for breakfast, dry and tasteless, boiled in fat;
Bread or brownie, tea or coffee—two hours’ graft in front of that;
Legs of mutton boiled for dinner—mutton greasy-warm for tea—
Mutton curried (gave my order, beef and plenty greens for me.)
Breakfast, curried rice and mutton till your innards sacrifice,
And you sicken at the colour and the smell of curried rice.
All day long with living mutton—bits and belly-wool and fleece;
Blinded by the yoke of wool, and shirt and trousers stiff with grease,
Till you long for sight of verdure, cabbage-plots and water clear,
And you crave for beef and butter as a boozer craves for beer.
Dusty patch in baking mulga—glaring iron hut and shed—
Feel and smell of rain forgotten—water scarce and feed-grass dead.
Hot and suffocating sunrise—all-pervading sheep yard smell—
Stiff and aching green-hand stretches—‘Slushy’ rings the bullock-bell—
Pint of tea and hunk of brownie—sinners string towards the shed—
Great, black, greasy crows round carcass—screen behind of dust-cloud red.
Engine whistles. ‘Go it, tigers!’ and the agony begins,
Picking up for seven devils out of Hades—for my sins;
Picking up for seven devils, seven demons out of Hell!
Sell their souls to get the bell-sheep—half-a-dozen Christs they’d sell!
Day grows hot as where they come from—too damned hot for men or brutes;
Roof of corrugated iron, six-foot-six above the shoots!
Whiz and rattle and vibration, like an endless chain of trams;
Blasphemy of five-and-forty—prickly heat—and stink of rams!
‘Barcoo’ leaves his pen-door open and the sheep come bucking out;
When the rouser goes to pen them, ‘Barcoo’ blasts the rouseabout.
Injury with insult added—trial of our cursing powers—
Cursed and cursing back enough to damn a dozen worlds like ours.
‘Take my combs down to the grinder, will yer?’ ‘Seen my cattle-pup?’
‘There’s a sheep fell down in my shoot—just jump down and pick it up.’
‘Give the office when the boss comes.’ ‘Catch that gory sheep, old man.’
‘Count the sheep in my pen, will yer?’ ‘Fetch my combs back when yer can.’
‘When yer get a chance, old feller, will yer pop down to the hut?
‘Fetch my pipe—the cook’ll show yer—and I’ll let yer have a cut.’
Shearer yells for tar and needle. Ringer’s roaring like a bull:
‘Wool away, you (son of angels). Where the hell’s the (foundling) WOOL!!’
Pound a week and station prices—mustn’t kick against the pricks—
Seven weeks of lurid mateship—ruined soul and four pounds six.
What’s that? waiter? me? stuffed mutton! Look here, waiter, to be brief,
I said beef! you blood-stained villain! Beef—moo-cow—Roast Bullock—BEEF!
poem by Henry Lawson
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It Tastes Like NECTAR
To be an unwanted guest
sitting alone in the absence of the host
eating food 'hot and shining like an eye of a cat',
It is not delicious, but considered 'bitter like neem';
If you happen to eat in a house
where you are greeted kindly with respect,
the host also accompanies you to dine,
however they are poor;
Even if they provide cold watery gruel,
prepared with poor quality rice grains,
It tastes like NECTAR,
imbibes with your mind and body.
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Inspired by Issa - your rice field, my rice field
your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our dreams in tokyo
your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our sons in tokyo
inspired
your rice field
my rice field
the same green
-Issa,1815
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A physician without a knowledge of Astrology has no right to call himself a physician.
quote by Hippocrates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wise Giver....
this is your rice cake
i am handing this to you
this is all yours
on these conditions:
you will not eat it
you have to guard it against
the flies and ants
take care of it
do not eat it for i do not allow it
it gets consumed and
then be gone
and that is bad for you
& me
at night
guard it still from mosquitoes
for they bring diseases
see to it that you heat it
in the oven
lest it gets moldy and
become spoiled
against the light
by that oil lamp
the rice cake casts a shadow
on the table
that is what you can eat
that alone
now partake
of my kindness
satisfy your hunger
on that shadow
slice it with a knife
and on small chunks
feed your mouth
nourish your body
till that rice cake is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You can't get at the precious sago without first breaking the bark.
Mutton
In the everlasting summer, when the town is limp with heat,
and the asphalt of the footpath curls your boots and burns your feet:
When you're creased and crabbed and sodden, and can hardly raise a crawl,
And the persperation's drippin' in a constant waterfall;
There's a penetratin' odor gets abroad and fairly roars;
It will creep in through the keyholes and it sneaks beneath the doors;
And it fills your happy home up from the cellar to the roof,
Until ev'ry other odour holds its breath and stands aloof.
That's Mutton! Mutton!
Everlastin' Mutton!
All-pervadin', never-fadin' smell of cookin' sheep.
Into ev'ry room 'twill roam, chasin' you from house and home,
Mutton flaunted, mutton-haunted, even in your sleep.
You can smell it in the parlour, you can feel it in the hall,
you can HEAR it in the kitchen, where it hugs you like a pall,
Hov'ring o'er your couch at midnight, wafting thro' your troubled sleep:
First to greet you in the mornin' when the day begins to peep.
Seek you vainly to evade it in an open-air retreat,
It will rise and upper-cut you, from the gratin's in the street.
Vain are all your disinfectants, for they fail the woes to drown
Of a mutton-ridden people in a mutton-scented town.
Oh, the irony of hearin' songs about the home, sweet home;
When you swelter in an oven where the kitchen odours roam.
When each kindly word is wafted on a mutton-scented breeze,
And each sigh stirs up remembrance of a week of hashed-up teas;
Where endearing terms are flavoured with a touch of mutton raw,
And you sample last week's dinner, ev'ry tender breath you draw.
Do you wonder that our home-life isn't what it ought to be?
Do you know what sets us drinkin', in our abject misery?
It's Mutton! Mutton!
Soul-destroyin' Mutton!
Over-cloudin', odour-shroudin' all in life that's bright;
By a thoughtless movement stirred, chokin' down a kindly word,
Ever-present, effervescent, mornin', noon and night.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Varied Menu
Chicken and rice.
Fish and rice.
Rice and chicken.
Rice and fish.
Varied menu - 'ish!
Nice jungle place.
There's plenty of space.
Fresh clean air
But that dietary pair,
Fish or chicken
.....Not again!
So more trekking with a frown
Back to Georgetown.....
poem by George BernardBloodyShaw
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I Sowed for Sorrow
In my inner grove, I sowed for sorrow.
Oh, how it grew below my skies,
such marvelous sight in my eyes.
I lived for sorrow -
till it grew too large in my grove,
I wept;
and watered my sorrow with tears.
I sowed for sorrow till it lived
and grew so strong, so fine.
It lived to take away my life...
It lived and then I died.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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The young physician starts life with 20 drugs for each disease, and the old physician ends life with one drug for 20 diseases.
quote by William Osler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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