Hear some chattering
It's rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb
Tart - teeth chatter too!
quote by by Ernestine Northover
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Give me the rhubarb and you may take the senna.
Why Can't I Be More Like My Cat?
Rhubarb, my soft orange cat
Lies sleeping on the bed
His head curled tight
Against his chest
His tail twitches slowly
To a rhythm only he can hear.
Why can’t I be more like my cat?
He sleeps deeply, peacefully.
He doesn’t worry about today
Or tomorrow
He never stares in the mirror
To see how he looks.
He is what he is.
Does my cat know I envy him
In his approach to life
In his view of life-
To be who you are
And not concerned
How others see you?
Why can’t I be more like my cat?
poem by Thomas Noel Smith
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White Girl
The white girl came to an expected end
after she took Charlie as a friend.
There was only one way for her to go
when she slid that slope of snow.
You could plainly see her slow demise
with dilated pupils and reddened eyes.
Her lack of appetite and loss of weight,
incessant talking which wouldn’t abate.
She ground her teeth and couldn’t keep still
and giggled on to her next tripping pill.
Rhubarb and custard, and snappers too
left her vomiting and asleep in the loo.
Everyone knew that this couldn’t go on,
but she was out of it and too far gone.
One morning she was found out of her head
and died of an overdose in a hospital bed.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Crutches and Dreams
I’ve got a twisted view of
Pain and passion
Intertwined among the
Masses. I believe in
Sky.
And sometimes the sky
Believes in me.
We are intimate, patient
Victims of over ambition.
Verbatum, rhubarb sayings
In broken phrases
She
Haunts my dreams, but
I still believe in
Sky
And sometimes the sky
Still believes in me.
We all have crutches.
We all have dreams.
poem by Byron Headrick
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Well, Art is Art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water. And east is east and west is west and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does. Now you tell me what you know.
quote by Groucho Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flight Q 124
So, here I sit, drink rhubarb wine
and dream about my Valentine.
She's in New York to see a wizard
the telly showed a great big blizzard.
Meanwhile the wine is warming me
and sets romantic feelings free.
I ponder why my heart still flutters,
my accent-laden voice, it stutters.
And goosebumps occupy my hide
when you are sleeping by my side.
Tonight, the bed caresses Freddy
the cuddly, brown Bavarian Teddy.
And me? I sit here with my wine
and wait for you, my Valentine.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Digging 2
To-day I think
Only with scents, - scents dead leaves yield,
And bracken, and wild carrot's seed,
And the square mustard field;
Odours that rise
When the spade wounds the root of tree,
Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed,
Rhubarb or celery;
The smoke's smell, too,
Flowing from where a bonfire burns
The dead, the waste, the dangerous,
And all to sweetness turns.
It is enough
To smell, to crumble the dark earth,
While the robin sings over again
Sad songs of Autumn mirth.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Sonnet XIV: Alas, Have I Not
Alas, have I not pain enough, my friend,
Upon whose breast a fiercer gripe doth tire,
Than did on him who first stole down the fire,
While Love on me doth all his quiver spend,
But with your rhubarb words you must contend,
To grieve me worse, in saying that desire
Doth plunge my well-form'd soul even in the mire
Of sinful thoughts, which do in ruin end?
If that be sin which doth the manners frame,
Well stayed with truth in word and faith of deed,
Ready of wit and fearing nought but shame:
If that be sin which in fix'd hearts doth breed
A loathing of all loose unchastity,
Then love is sin, and let me sinful be.
poem by Philip Sidney
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An Educated Crocodile Is Still A Crocodile
Rabbit
with a habit
lived in a hole
next to Vole.
And his habit was his link with the beginning of it all
and kept him looking different
from his neighbour, Vole.
So they laid a proper treat on,
washed his face and brushed his hair;
and they took him off to Eton
to be educated there.
There, they dressed him in a boater,
smart black jacket, white bow-tie;
and then they took his photo,
just to please his Auntie Vye.
And they fed him on cucumbers,
Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, Keats.
And they taught him compound numbers
and such intellectual treats.
He learned to say, 'What rot! '
And would ask 'How do you do? '
So they popped him in a pot,
part of a rabbit and rhubarb stew!
(MORAL: AN EDUCATED HABIT IS STILL A RABBIT!)
poem by Brian Taylor
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(My Corona) -2U
I want for nothing
But buttercups
And
The illume of
The afternoon
When the sun
Is due South
To be carried
'Cross meadows
Summer sweet
With Rhubarb and
Berries of varied
Colours picked
Laid ever so gently
In my basket
Bathed in the sweet
Honey Comb
Of The Bee
To be serenaded
By the Songbirds
In the trees
This honor is bestowed
Upon me
As i delight in dreamy
Reverie
Flowers-yes flowers
Are an absolute must
But only fresh picked
Will do
Picked near a valley
Filled to the full
Perhaps the Daffodil
And it's e'er Golden Hue
Absolute magic surrounds
Me now
I ask for nothing more
As i want for none
God's gifts have been
Given
And my life is nearly done
I have wake up calls
From: The Light
I bathe in it
Every night
For i shall not be
Pulled into the dark
As i remember
The call of the
Meadow Lark
Informing me
That day has arrived
Broken hearted
My love
But
I shall survive
poem by Theodora Onken
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There Is A Happy Land
There is a happy land where only children live
They dont have the time to learn the ways
Of you sir, mr. grownup
Theres a special place in the rhubarb fields underneath the leaves
Its a secret place and adults arent allowed there, mr. grownup
Go away, sir
Charlie brown gots half a crown, hes gonna buy a kite
Jimmys ill with chicken pox, and tommys learned to ride his bike
Tiny tim sings prayers and hymns, hes so small we dont notice him
He gets in the way but we always let him play with us
Mother calls, but we dont hear
Theres lots more things to do
Its only 5 oclock, and were not tired yet
But we will be, very shortly
Sissy steven plays with girls, someone made him cry
Tony climbed a tree and fell, trying hard to touch the sky
Tommy lit a fire one day, nearly burned the field away
Tommys mum found out, but he put the blame on me and ray
There is a happy land where only children live
Youve had your chance and now the doors are closed sir, mr. grownup
Go away, sir
Boo, boo, boo, boo doop ...
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dead Silence of the Heart
i dreamt of strawberry-rhubarb pie,
and fresh brewed black coffee...
long slow tender sensual sex,
lips hungry for mine.
the sound of rain in the night,
wrapping the earth in stillness.
walking in the frozen sunrise
with my old dog by my side.
climbing Hawksbill on a spring day,
looking down over the gorge in awe.
barefoot, planting a garden,
believing in the sun and the rain.
playing an old Gibson on the porch,
deep rich tones lost in the breeze.
the taste of good bourbon, and a smoke,
paying tribute to the sunset.
standing by the stone in a cementary,
talking without words, still heard.
writing poetry with a shovel,
and a borrowed pen...
flying with the hawk to eternity,
sprouting green leaves
on frozen branches... listening
for the sound of your voice...
in the dead silence of the heart.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dead Silence Of The Heart
I dreamt of strawberry-rhubarb pie,
and fresh brewed black coffee...
long slow tender sensual sex,
lips hungry for mine.
The sound of rain in the night,
wrapping the earth in stillness.
walking in the frozen sunrise
with my old dog by my side.
Climbing Hawksbill on a spring day,
looking down over the gorge in awe.
barefoot, planting a garden,
believing in the sun and the rain.
Playing an old Gibson on the porch,
deep rich tones lost in the breeze.
the taste of good bourbon, and a smoke,
paying tribute to the sunset.
Standing by the stone in a cementary,
talking without words, still heard.
writing poetry with a shovel,
and a borrowed pen...
Flying with the hawk to eternity,
sprouting green leaves
on frozen branches... listening
for the sound of your voice...
In the dead silence of the heart.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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5. Friends
I remember in the fifties we didn’t have a lot
We were always pleased with everything we had
I remember how we utilised the things that we had got
Making things we knew would make each other glad
I remember sticks of rhubarb were red but mainly green
Tasting sour it would shrivel up your face
I remember hide & seek we tried hard not to be seen
Or running fast and calling it a race
I remember playing football in the middle of the road
Using jackets as a makeshift sort of goal
I remember by the pond on the day we found a toad
Where the tadpoles swam around it in a shoal
I remember in the summer playing out till it was dark
Made up games from almost anything we found
I remember bits of wood that we took down to the park
Wickets, bats a ball we had a cricket ground
I remember setting standards for other kids to beat
Always being there to set the latest trends
I remember summer sun that gave out a pleasant heat
But I remember most those very special friends
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Rhubarb Mixture
When I sip my bitter & cheaper Beer mug
The nostalgic feeling of taste
Dragged me to my childhood memories.
If I am not mistaken approximately fifty years ago
I had a severe stomach ache and my poor Mom
Took me to a Government's free dispensary
Filling the address of a close by relative.
(Some restrictions for outer area patients.)
The Tamil Lady Doctor Mrs.Sathgurunathan
Who resembled the actress Saroja.Devi
Simultaneously she gave me two tablespoonful of Rhubarb Mixture
For purgative and stomachic bitter,
And the acute pain disappeared at once.
What a pity?
Oh! This Goddess was missing during the ethnic violence in our country.
I dreamed the kind Lady Doctor and my poor deceased Mom
Practise together in a free dispensary of a better World!
I come there soon for my parasitic worms in my knotty bowels
And I hope that soothing elixir still remain in your heavenly premises.
* A friend is the one who comes in when the whole World has gone out.
-Unknown
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Tomorrow Night
Tomorrow night Im goin home
Tomorrow night Im goin home
Goin to see my friends and my family
My dog my old brown ? ? ?
Thats an ice ? ? ? cool for
Good stuff down on the south side
They keep me flowin
Good times is goin smiling and rolling
I gots to run into my old time used to be
Used to be with me
Gonna catch my love on this weekend
If shes still speakin to me
Comeon jenny lee
Gotta get you into my ride
Gonna drive all over the city tonight
Checkin down by the river
Two tired to go ? ? ?
Yeah, tomorrow night Im goin home
Well tomorrow night Im goin home
Welcome home boy
Well how you been
Its good to see you
Hello friend
Youve got a fine car
And some cool threads
Its good to see you
Well hello friend
I had to leave my home and get out
Ive been all around town to town
Room to room
Moon to moon
Found my groove ? ? ?
Smooth as I should be but theres time changing
Then I ? ? ? myself
Watch out every door is on my trail ? ? ?
Comin down like hail
I lose em now
Im homeward bound
Ive seen the past flash in my eye
Days like clouds in the sky
Talk about the days
Will listen but I cant hear
Yesterday yesterday
Ready for some cookin
Moms fixin chicken
Strawberry rhubarb crisp
Its good like this
Later on I gots ta go see the catman
My boy ? ? ?
I dont know got some new girl
Every time we speak
Freaks glazed in the heat
Coolin on second with the wet green sneaks
And this course ? ? ?
Feelin nice
Im goin home
Im goin home
Yeah, tomorrow night, Im goin home
Oh, tomorrow night, Im goin home
Yeah, Im goin home
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Story Made
The table with its sunshade wide,
listened to the chattering.
Old and young sat side by side
around it, gaily nattering.
The birds perched nearby in the trees,
listened to the chattering
rising up on a light breeze.
Indeed the sounds were shattering.
The sun that shone down from the sky,
listened to the chattering.
Knew that once the rain came by,
there would be gentle pattering.
The young and old who felt the drops,
ceased to do the chattering.
Went indoors under rooftops,
resuming their loud yattering.
The sunshade dripping from the hail,
listened to the chattering.
Felt so sorry for a snail,
getting such a harsh battering.
The chairs where everyone had sat,
listened to the chattering.
Many were now lying flat.
there had been quite a scattering.
And so all these things a story made,
all about the chattering.
The elements well displayed,
when all received a splattering.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Tart
Hear silver trumpets will trill in Arabic streets of Seville
Oranges roll in the gutter
And you pick them up
And peel back the skin
To the red fruit within
But the flavour is
Tart
And the flavour is
Tart
Is it something you crave?
And you say that you only feel bitterness
When you know it's a lie, lie, lie
Wild with a blackberry bush
There were blossoms of cherries to crush
There, at the edge of the asphalt tempting fingertips
They stain your hand, press too hard
They'll colour your lips
But the flavour is
Tart
And the flavour is
Tart
Is it something you crave?
'Cos you say that you only feel bitterness
Would it kill you to show us a little sweetness?
Repeat chorus
Odd, where nothing else grows
It was something like love that she chose
Always a creature of habit
When pity would do
She wore down that heel with no feeling
She kept on her shoes
Repeat chorus
Nylon was hung from a peg
And a kohl black seam ran down her leg
Fishermen look for their nets
And send their regrets
The bug lay there broken
She spoke, "Is this some kind of joke?"
But the flavour is
Tart
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Teeth
English Teeth, English Teeth!
Shining in the sun
A part of British heritage
Aye, each and every one.
English Teeth, Happy Teeth!
Always having fun
Clamping down on bits of fish
And sausages half done.
English Teeth! HEROES' Teeth!
Hear them click! and clack!
Let's sing a song of praise to them -
Three Cheers for the Brown Grey and Black.
poem by Spike Milligan
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