The Song Of The Sandwich
We
met at night in the season's hight,
Mid revel and mirth and song.
I looked in your eye with a mute, mute cry,
As you elbowed your way through the throng.
Alone in that crowd of men who bowed,
And flattered, and flirted around,
Your quick thought guessed the woe in my breast,
And you sprang to my side with a bound.
In a whisper as faint as a south wind's plaint,
I murmured my need to you.
'A sandwich!' I wailed, then your strong eye quailed,
For oh! they were thin and few.
And about them hustled and pushed and tussled,
A score of desperate men.
But you drew your breath, and you hissed ''Sdeath!'
And then you turned back again.
'Ladye!' you cried with haughty pride,
While your dark eye flashed on me,
'If I risk my life in yon seething strife
What shall my guerdon be?'
'May I hope for a line that shall be all mine,
A song by the world unheard?
From rivals detested, shall the sandwich be wrested,
If thou wilt but say the word.'
'If you reach that goal, I vow by my soul,
(I spoke in a desperate tone)
And I live till that time, I will write you a rhyme,
A rhyme to be all your own.'
'Nay more, if you try, and in warfare die,
As sometimes befalls the brave,
In lines of glory I'll wreathe your story
And lay them upon your grave.'
Like a knight of old, with an air that was bold,
You turned from my side and went,
Past salad dish, past deviled fish,
Past cake and condiment.
With a step unswerving and a speed deserving
A better reward-alack!
You crossed the room 'neath the red globes' gloom,
Bent on the sandwich's track
My heart stood still in a nameless chill,
As I saw you stride away,
For fair girls' smiles, and punch bowl's wiles,
Both by your roadside lay.
With the fever fire of hunger dire,
I saw you pass them straight,
And I almost wept as your bold hand swept
To the waning sandwich plate.
Then back you came with your cheek aflame,
And the victor's glow in your eye;
Oh! it was grand to see you stand
With the sandwich held on high.
So here and now, I keep my vow;
(Tho' the sandwich is no more)
I would rise from my hearse and write that verse,
If it were not written before.
Envoi
Poet, we know that many men go,
Forth on that self-same track,
With purpose as high, to do or die,
But they bring no sandwich back.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Writing In A Way
writing in a way is like
taking a spoon of mayonnaise
and you brush it on one side
of a sandwich
and you take another
clean sandwich and you
join them together
into one edible sandwich
to fill your empty stomach
and then you
regret having done such
a meaningless routine
when you could have
talked instead to a friend
waiting for you at the
porch of your house
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poke Chop Sandwich
(about lightnin hopkins drummer who used to keep a porkchop sandwich on his floor tom, for snacking during the breaks. recorded with hopkins drummer, spider, present in the studio.)
Poke
Better watch that
Poke chop sandwichwaitin in th? sack
Ridin a tom tom, a double fat back
Got my poke chop sandwich? /p>
Layin on da drum
Poke chop greazyIm gonna get some
Get some a? dat poke chop
Poke chop sandwich
Poke chop
Poke chop sandwich
Yeah yeah twenty five
Louisiana back beat and th? texas bop
Do a hollywood shuffle jes? cant top it
New york turn around and
Th? london stomp
African good luck combination
I know that ya want
Poke chop
Poke chop sandwich
Poke chop
Double poke chop sandwich
Play on
Spider & lightnin hopkins got
Th? big bad beat
Aint no question what they gonna eat
Spider wanna a bottle,
Lightnin? wanna a can
Theyll take in a bucket
cause they dam well can
A poke chop
A poke at dat chop
Cut dat poke chope
Poke chop sandwich
Feel like, I feel like a poke chop sandwich
Give me dat sandwich in wax paper
Pork chop sandwich
song performed by by ZZ Top
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peanut-Butter Sandwich
I'll sing you a poem of a silly young king
Who played with the world at the end of a string,
But he only loved one single thing—
And that was just a peanut-butter sandwich.
His scepter and his royal gowns,
His regal throne and golden crowns
Were brown and sticky from the mounds
And drippings from each peanut-butter sandwich.
His subjects all were silly fools
For he had passed a royal rule
That all that they could learn in school
Was how to make a peanut-butter sandwich.
He would not eat his sovereign steak,
He scorned his soup and kingly cake,
And told his courtly cook to bake
An extra-sticky peanut-butter sandwich.
And then one day he took a bit
And started chewing with delight,
But found his mouth was stuck quite tight
From that last bite of peanut-butter sandwich.
His brother pulled, his sister pried,
The wizard pushed, his mother cried,
'My boy's committed suicide
From eating his last peanut-butter sandwich!'
The dentist came, and the royal doc.
The royal plumber banged and knocked,
But still those jaws stayed tightly locked.
Oh darn that sticky peanut-butter sandwich!
The carpenter, he tried with pliers,
The telephone man tried with wires,
The firemen, they tried with fire,
But couldn't melt that peanut-butter sandwich.
With ropes and pulleys, drills and coil,
With steam and lubricating oil—
For twenty years of tears and toil—
They fought that awful peanut-butter sandwich.
Then all his royal subjects came.
They hooked his jaws with grapplin' chains
And pulled both ways with might and main
Against that stubborn peanut-butter sandwich.
Each man and woman, girl and boy
Put down their ploughs and pots and toys
And pulled until kerack! Oh, joy—
They broke right through that peanut-butter sandwich
A puff of dust, a screech, a squeak—
The king's jaw opened with a creak.
And then in voice so faint and weak—
The first words that they heard him speak
Were, 'How about a peanut-butter sandwich?'
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Why?
Unaccountably, while I was making a liverwurst sandwich
(with mustard and cornichons on rye)
the poem took a dive
off the countertop, I don't know why,
onto the floor and burst into words
which can be either blunt or sharp, God knows.
There was nothing to do
but vacuum it up
eat the sandwich and, and,
put on shoes.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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That Sandwich
as you take that sandwich
i remember 1971
the ham, and mayonnaise
the purple sliced onions
and cucumber
that you slip between
a big sandwich which you
say is too delicious
that is not how i saw it in the 70's
you were too young then
to know the connotation of the word
or the metaphor of being sandwiched
between two warring forces
who wanted to win by killing each other
they were all civilians mind you
sandwiched between the armed and dangerous government
and the armed and more dangerous rebels
the ham, and mayonnaise
the purple sliced onions
and cucumber
that you slip between
a big sandwich which you
say is too delicious
in the 70's they were not delicious at all
they were maimed, and bloody, killed on the streets
and public plazas bombed and brains scattered
on the hot cemented pavements
people kept in hog wires and secret
detention places
brothers all but so insensitive to the
the roots of humanity
Cains and Abels
the ham, and mayonnaise
the purple sliced onions
and cucumber
that you slip between
a big sandwich which you
say is too delicious
when all i need is simply a bitter tasting coffee
without the sugar and cream
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Selective Dieting
Yes, I admit...
I live where some,
Could not quietly sit...
Without having themselves medicated.
And I love the ambiance,
Of what had been once called a ghetto.
Where people like me,
Feel quite comfortable and free to be...
With a socializing done with neighbors I know.
While those 'existing' in sprawling suburban divisions,
Pretend with their mounting debt...
They enjoy living lives they do not regret!
And I enjoy making a sandwich materialized,
Out of thin air!
That's my response to the few I have visited there!
How they manage to do it?
By means of selective dieting!
Hey...
That's what I'm told.
So I go with what I know!
Although...
I want the taste of real mayonnaise and tomato,
On any whole wheat sandwich I make!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Toe Saga.
Ready for the op' ready to go,
Ring up, its still okay.
Then they say 'No',
'No beds they say'.
Get there, they've got no x-ray, ?
'Oh dear' heard him say.
Go to the anesthetist,
First needle a doubt.
However he did persist,
And knocked me out.!
All done, 'Sandwich, cup of tea, '
'Bloody starving, yes please'I say with glee.
'Something for the pain',
'No'I say but yet again.
Both offers ‘two hours' late,
Tea warm, sandwich dry, pain stoppers had to wait.!
Asked, 'What op' did they do'?
She didn't have a clue! !
Found out next day,
They didn't replace, ‘just took bits away'!
Hope it's been a success,
Got to hope for the best.
Stay clear of those bugs, some gets,
So far no regrets...?
25/04/08
poem by Guy Lipmore
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Poppy The Fairy
Upon a bank beneath a tree
Beside a trickley brook,
Upon an upturned nutshell I saw a fairy stood.
I offered her a sandwich and asked of her, her name?
“Poppy Bell”, she quick replied, and “This ham is rather tame, ”
I thought this oh so curious as in the bread was game.
I took the fairy home with me for a cup of tea,
“Would you like one lump or two? ” Said she “I will take three! ”
I’d never known a fairy take three sugars in her tea.
So filled to brim with sandwiches and tea up to her head,
That little Fairy Poppy Bell dozed off upon my bed
At lunchtime she was snoring loud by teatime she was dead!
It may have been the sandwiches; it may have been the bed,
It may have been the sugared tea that to Poppy’ I fed,
I’m not sure what it really was that made that fairy dead.
I quickly took a shoebox -
After taking out the shoes,
And in it I placed Poppy on her everlasting snooze.
I went back to the trickley brook,
I stood beneath the tree,
And there I buried Poppy with her sugars - One, two three.
No sooner had I buried her,
That on that very bank
The reddest little Poppy grew and bowed to me in thanks.
I picked the little Poppy
All red and bright and new,
And now I always wear it upon my favourite shoe.
It was a short time later
Whilst rambling through a wood,
That on an upturned nut shell I saw a fairy stood.
I offered her a sandwich and asked of her, her name?
“Poppy Bell! ” she quick replied,
“It’s me! I’m back again.”
poem by John Thomas
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A Canary, And Peanut Butter, And Jelly, Sandwitch.
I once ate a sandwich made of peanut-butter and jelly...
This sandwich, by someone, tasted quite rotten, and smelly.
Into my stomach, uneasily, it went down...
To my face, was sadly, put a frown.
I went to the hospital to have my stomach pumped, where I met a sailor...
Who obviously, had a bad tailor.
You might say, 'that this lad, was a seaman'...
But-for the Navy, he worked, and so-he was no, free man.
This seaman, could not swim...
You might say 'that he joined, on a whim'.
This non-swimming seaman, had a cat...
That was known by all, to eat mice, dogs, or even a bat.
One day this cat, ate a bat, that was owned by a witch...
This witch, got quite angry, at the cat that ate her bat, and
was acting like, a ticked off, bitch.
This witch, turned this cat, into a canary...
How frightening to this canary, this seemed as scary.
Now, this canary, bird...
Got eaten by another cat, and now, was nothing more,
than a rug stained, cat-splattered, turd.
poem by Michael Gale
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Hasty Marriage
Burden of a Hasty Marriage.
He saw her at the cafe she a cup of cacao and eating a cream cake,
he had a sandwich with cheese and ham. She looked up and smiled,
he knew she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Shy, as he was, still found the courage to get up and walk over to her
table and ask if he could eat his modest sandwich with her; she said
yes and they sat there in silence, just eating. Dimly he knew he had to
say something, but couldn’t but couldn’t find the words so he ate
the cup and saucer, the table cloth, serviettes and crumbs of her cake,
when he began eating the table she told him to stop. Ice broken he said
he loved her, she said she loved him, not to waste time they got married
in the afternoon. Found a hotel room and stayed in bed for a fortnight.
Made love in every position one could think of; they even forgot to eat.
Entwined they slept until a knock on the door, something about paying
for the room. For him was a welcomed distraction, got up had to go to
his bank he told her, two weeks in bed it stunk like a pig sty. Paid his bill
but didn’t enter their room, he was cured of love based on sex alone
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Numbers
Two more days as haze on Time's horizon
divides my world from total change to come.
Two boys play as Fate Time's separation
prepares, as smiles exchanged shall soon fall dumb.
Eight hundred miles, as crow can be relied on
to fly the distance cutting two from one,
seven hour sandwich slice time to be cried on
as isolating father from each son.
Four years span a double generation,
though no tears run from troubled heart undone.
Fifty years trip towards degeneration
as two hands write wry rhyme upon Time's drum.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Saturday night is your big night. Everybody used to fry up fish and have one hell of a time. Find me playing till sunrise for 50 cents and a sandwich. And be glad of it. And they really liked the low-down blues.
quote by Muddy Waters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Part 1 of Trout Fishing in America
THE COVER FOR
TROUT FISHING IN AMERICA
The cover for Trout Fishing in America is a photograph taken
late in the afternoon, a photograph of the Benjamin Franklin
statue in San Francisco's Washington Square.
Born 1706--Died 1790, Benjamin Franklin stands on a
pedestal that looks like a house containing stone furniture.
He holds some papers in one hand and his hat in the other.
Then the statue speaks, saying in marble:
PRESENTED BY
H. D. COGSWELL
TO OUR
BOYS AND GIRLS
WHO WILL SOON
TAKE OUR PLACES
AND PASS ON.
Around the base of the statue are four words facing the
directions of this world, to the east WELCOME, to the west
WELCOME, to the north WELCOME, to the south WELCOME.
Just behind the statue are three poplar trees, almost leafless
except for the top branches. The statue stands in front
of the middle tree. All around the grass is wet from the
rains of early February.
In the background is a tall cypress tree, almost dark like
a room. Adlai Stevenson spoke under the tree in 1956, before
a crowd of 40, 000 people.
There is a tall church across the street from the statue
with crosses, steeples, bells and a vast door that looks like
a huge mousehole, perhaps from a Tom and Jerry cartoon,
and written above the door is 'Per L'Universo.'
Around five o'clock in the afternoon of my cover for
Trout Fishing in America, people gather in the park across
the street from the church and they are hungry.
It's sandwich time for the poor.
But they cannot cross the street until the signal is given.
Then they all run across the street to the church and get
their sandwiches that are wrapped in newspaper. They go
back to the park and unwrap the newspaper and see what their
sandwiches are all about.
A friend of mine unwrapped his sandwich one afternoon
and looked inside to find just a leaf of spinach. That was all.
Was it Kafka who learned about America by reading the
autobiography of Benjamin Franklin..............
Kafka who said, 'I like the Americans because they are healthy
and optimistic.'
poem by Richard Brautigan
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Decadence
Before the florid portico
I watched the gamblers come and go,
While by me on a bench there sat
A female in a faded hat;
A shabby, shrinking, crumpled creature,
Of waxy casino-ward with eyes
Of lost soul seeking paradise.
Then from the Café de la Paix
There shambled forth a waiter fellow,
Clad dingily, down-stooped and grey,
With hollow face, careworn and yellow.
With furtive feet before our seat
He came to a respectful stand,
And bowed, my sorry crone to greet,
Saying: "Princess, I kiss your hand."
She gave him such a gracious smile,
And bade him linger by her side;
So there they talked a little while
Of kingly pomp and country pride;
Of Marquis This and Prince von That,
Of Old Vienna, glamour gay. . . .
Then sad he rose and raised his hat:
Saying: "My tables I must lay."
"Yea, you must go, dear Count," she said,
"For luncheon tables must be laid."
He sighed: from his alpaca jacket
He pressed into her hand a packet,
"Sorry, to-day it's all I'm rich in -
A chicken sandwich from the kitchen."
Then bowed and left her after she
Had thanked him with sweet dignity.
She pushed the package out of sight,
Within her bag and closed it tight;
But by and bye I saw her go
To where thick laurel bushes grow,
And there behind that leafy screen,
Thinking herself by all unseen,
That sandwich! How I saw her grab it,
And gulp it like a starving rabbit!
Thinks I: Is all that talk a bluff -
Their dukes and kings and courtly stuff:
The way she ate, why one would say
She hadn't broken fast all day.
poem by Robert William Service
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I No
Rain is wet, and sugar is sweet
Clap your hands, and stomp your feet
Everybody, everybody knows
When love calls, u gotta go
(I know) {{repeated in the background}}
([listen, the soul of this song belongs to god])
Welcome 2 the new power generation
The reason my voice is so clear
Is theres no smack in my brain
Hundalasiliah
Ha na na-sha na na na na na na
I know there is a heaven, I know there is a hell
Listen 2 me people, I got a story to tell
I know there was confusion lightnin all around me
Thats when I called his name dont u know he found me
No! is what spooky electric say, its not ok
But I know love is the only way till my dying day
No - til my dying day Ill be ok
Cuz lovesexy is the one til my day is done
Hundalasiliah
I know there is a devil because he talks so loud
He makes u do things that your friends do, hang out with the crowd
But my lord he is so quiet when he calls your name
When u hear it your heart will thunder
U will want 2 hear it every day
No! (people) is what spooky electric say (everbody say)
But dont u know that I know
Love is the only way, til my dying day
No - til my dying day Ill be ok
Cuz lovesexy is the one til my day is done
Hundalasiliah
Alright yall, everybody in the house (serve it up, frankie)
Heres what I want u 2 do
Raise your hand up, straight in the air
Swing it 2 the right, savoir faire
Up on the 2, swing on the 4
Everybody on the dancefloor
Sha-ho, sha-ho, sha-ho, sha-ho
Sha-ho, sha-ho, sha-ho, sha-ho
Yall aint got it together
Go ahead, go ahead, go ahead
Raise your hand up, straight in the air
(lets get it up, lets get it up)
Yeah
Say no
(say no) no - if u cant find your way - everybody say
(say no) no - if ure afraid, everybody aint got it made
(say no) - if u want a drug other than the God above
No - if u need a drink every single day...
Blow that devil away!
Say yes
Yes - if u want this feeling called love
(come on ya, say)
Yes - if u want it now raise your hand 2 the man above
(yes) up on the 2, swing right on the 4
We want everybody 2 open this door!
Say no - if u dont wanna live life under the gun
(I know) we know a better way 2 have some fun
(I know) I know - there is a heaven and a hell
I know there is a heaven and a hell
{{ song breaks down into a crowd noise... }}
Tell ya what...
Man, are we on the guest list?
Guest list? guest list?
I dont see no 5 dollars u owe...
Ok
Im gonna go to the car
Im goin home.
Im gonna have one of them sandwiches.
[sleep] sandwich, thats right
I need the green three sheets.
Thats right. (thats what Im talkin about)
A peanut-butter sandwich (her and her girlfriend)
(the one that was standin)
{d} (right next to my woman...)
(right next to my woman)
Let us praise God {e}
With the fruit of the vine ((my names andre crabtree iii))
Our [innocent] symbol of glory ((Ive got more holes than a golf course))
And thank him 4 lessons
Of the past, for life, prince... (I said who popped the question? )
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A month before the season, I don't order fries with my club sandwich.
quote by Mario Lemeiux
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jazz and The Hobo
It was a Saturday morning
And you were 19
and you were racing along
Victoria Street having just left
Victoria Railway Station
on your way to Dobell's
Jazz Record Shop
moving quickly
through the sea
of humanity
thinking of jazz
and what record
you were going to buy
at the shop that day
imaging yourself
fingering through LP sleeves
taking a mental note
of which one
you might buy
a John Coltrane or Miles Davis
an Art Blakey or maybe
a Dizzy Gillespie
a jazz record being played
over the loudspeakers
in the shop
you mingling with others
in the crowded place
when this hobo stopped you
taking hold of your jacket gently
and said
have you got some small change
for a sandwich?
no
you replied
I haven't
and rushed on
through the crowd
fingering in your pocket
loose change
silvery coins
and his voice
in your head
as you raced along
and your conscience
nagging you
maybe the voice
of the believed in Christ
so you stopped
and turned around
and made your journey back
through the people
passing by
your fingers taking hold
of the coins
the silvery loose change
and there he was
the hobo asking others
the same question
and they too went by
shaking their heads
or saying
no sorry no change
and you took his hand
and put in the loose silver
into his open palm
and said
here go buy yourself
a sandwich or whatever
and you turned
and left looking over
your shoulder
and he stood there
staring at his palm
and the coins shining
in the morning sun
and then you looked ahead
thinking of the record shop
and the LPs and the jazz music
being played
but deep down
in some other part of you
you knew you'd given
to one who maybe
was hungry
and had unconsciously
prayed.
poem by Terry Collett
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Another Day
having the low down blues and going
into a restraunt to eat.
you sit at a table.
the waitress smiles at you.
she's dumpy. her ass is too big.
she radiates kindess and symphaty.
live with her 3 months and a man would no real agony.
o.k., you'll tip her 15 percent.
you order a turkey sandwich and a
beer.
the man at the table across from you
has watery blue eyes and
a head like an elephant.
at a table further down are 3 men
with very tiny heads
and long necks
like ostiches.
they talk loudly of land development.
why, you think, did I ever come
in here when I have the low-down
blues?
then the the waitress comes back eith the sandwich
and she asks you if there will be anything
else?
snd you tell her, no no, this will be
fine.
then somebody behind you laughs.
it's a cork laugh filled with sand and
broken glass.
you begin eating the sandwhich.
it's something.
it's a minor, difficult,
sensible action
like composing a popular song
to make a 14-year old
weep.
you order another beer.
jesus,look at that guy
his hands hang down almost to his knees and he's
whistling.
well, time to get out.
pivk up the bill.
tip.
go to the register.
pay.
pick up a toothpick.
go out the door.
your car is still there.
and there are 3 men with heads
and necks
like ostriches all getting into one
car.
they each have a toothpick and now
they are talking about women.
they drive away first
they drive away fast.
they're best i guess.
it's an unberably hot day.
there's a first-stage smog alert.
all the birds and plants are dead
or dying.
you start the engine.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Jig-Saw Puzzle
There's a tramp sittin' on my doorstep
Tryin' to waste his time
With his methylated sandwich
He's a walking clothesline
And here comes the bishop's daughter
On the other side
She looks a trifle jealous
She's been an outcast all her life
Me
song performed by by Rolling Stones from Beggars Banquet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cup Of Wonder
May I make my fond excuses
For the lateness of the hour,
But we accept your invitation, and we bring you beltanes flower.
For the may day is the great day, sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did lay
Will heed the song that calls them back.
Pass the word and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the cup of crimson wonder.
Ask the green man where he comes from, ask the cup that fills with red.
Ask the old grey standing stones that show the sun its way to bed.
Question all as to their ways,
And learn the secrets that they hold.
Walk the lines of natures palm
Crossed with silver and with gold.
Pass the cup and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the cup of crimson wonder.
Join in black decembers sadness,
Lie in augusts welcome corn.
Stir the cup thats ever-filling
With the blood of all thats born.
But the may day is the great day, sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did lay
Will heed this song that calls them back.
Pass the word and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the cup of crimson wonder.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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