Ballade 2
In Antwerp, Bruges, Ostend and Ghent
I used to order food with flair,
But in every inn to which I went
They always brought me, with my fare,
With every roast and mutton dish,
With boar, with rabbit, pigeon, bustard,
With fresh and with salt-water fish,
Always, never asking, mustard.
I ordered herring, said I'd like
Carp for supper at the bar,
And called for simple boiled pike,
And two large sole, when I ate at Spa.
I ordered green sauce when in Brussels;
The waiter stared and looked disgusted;
The bus boy brought in with my mussels
As always, never asking, mustard.
I couldn't eat or drink without it.
They add it to the water they
Boil the fish in and-don't doubt it-
The drippings from the roast each day
Are tossed into a mustard vat
In which they're mixed, and then entrusted
To those who bring-they're trained at that-
Always, never asking, mustard.
Prince, it's clear a spice like clove
can drop its guard. It won't be busted.
There's just one thing these people serve:
Always, never asking, mustard.
poem by Eustache Deschamps
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Margo Wants The Mustard
I watch her move up and down the beach, well
The fellows drool, but shes out of their reach, and
These are not a part of the scheme, but
Let them hope, and let them dream
So many dreams in the mind of the men, well
Come to life through a good one love
Margo walks in another place, well
Its in their minds, and its on her face
Some like it cool
Some like it hot
Some give a little
Some give a lot
Some wanna give everything that theyve got
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, she needs a little spice
Margo wants the mustard
Then shell spread it on real light
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, shell never ever stop
Margo wants the mustard
It will take her to the top
Shes only got to smile that way when
It lifts your heart, throws your troubles away, and
When she moves, well Ive got to say
This rhythm method goes a long, long way
Its in the bones, and its in the head
This precious thing has got to be fed, well
I shouldnt say, but it must be said
Its even better when its in your bed
Some like it cool
Some like it hot
Some give a little
Some give a lot
Some wanna give everything that theyve got
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, she needs a little spice
Margo wants the mustard
Then shell spread it on real light
Margo wants the mustard
Shell never ever stop
Margo wants the mustard
It will take her to the top
(a wop bop a loo mop, a lop bom bom)
[classic es solo]
I cant explain what she motivates, but
Its all around, but its hard to relate
It must be close to heavenly bliss though
How I wish I could follow this and
Splashing out all over the place
Pour it all over the human race, yeh
I may be starting another sin, but
Sit right back, watch the fun begin
Some like it cool
Some like it hot
Some give a little
Some give a lot
Some wanna give everything that theyve got
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, she needs a little spice
Margo wants the mustard
Then shell spread it on real light
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, shell never ever stop
Margo wants the mustard
It will take her to the top
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, she needs a little spice
Margo wants the mustard
Then shell spread it on real light
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, shell never ever stop
Margo wants the mustard
It will take her to the top...
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
When You Touch Me
when you touch me
something in me grows
like a mustard
and then as Jesus once said
the mustard
becomes a tree and i am here
on top of everything
flowering fruiting
blooming ripening
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mustard's no good without roast beef.
quote by Chico Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Mustard 'And' Pudding?
Climbing out the crib,
To take care of personal business...
Is taught.
And becomes a necessity.
A work ethic.
A game daily sought to play,
As a way of life to survive.
Thriving on lip does not cut the mustard.
It would be nice to have a team-mate,
To relay strategies.
But when one is taught to win,
Only those accustomed to hitting homeruns...
Get the attention.
Time is rarely given,
To those boasting of what they've done.
Action is the key to unlock doors these days.
'What do you mean by...
Thriving on lip does not cut the mustard? '
Show me your attempts of a wish to succeed.
I don't want to 'hear' about your expectations.
The proof is in the pudding.
'Mustard 'and' pudding?
Ugh!
I can see why you live alone.
That's a little too eccentric for me.'
You are not the one I am soliciting.
'Trust me...
I don't know which one of us is happier.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: The Mustard Seed
How great a power fills a mustard seed-
A miniscule sphere, packed with silent life!
That falls in soil right, turning tree to feed
Both beasts and human beings, in much strife.
What creative mind made the mustard seed,
That rudely wakened, sprouts to mammoth tree!
With multitude of leaves verdure indeed,
And branches which nest birds, so proud and free.
God’s Kingdom too is like a mustard seed
That grows infinitesimally big with time,
And houses righteous souls that always heed
To Maker’s code regardless of earth’s clime.
The beauty of Heaven is foretold thus:
So fathomless, that none should ever miss!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-2-2007
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Mustard Seed Develops Exponentially?
Sometimes an apology
is aesthetically necessary.
To excuse a moment of muddled
distracted introverted preoccupation.
Even though or when inferably...
an apology is not necessary.
Sometimes an apology
is absolutely necessary.
To excuse a moment of extreme stupidity
or faux pas various social misdemeanors.
Even when we may be absolutely innocent
framed misunderstood or sadly guilty as sin.
Such socially interactive afterthought
and kind commendable consideration.
Is a character forming trait
that can appease elevate beautify.
A mere agitated mortal into
a person attaining great compassion.
These are tiny mustard seeds
of apparent insignificance.
From which the mighty
mustard tree may grow.
‘The kingdom of the heavens
is like a mustard grain, ...
and becomes a tree, so that the birds
of heaven come and find lodging...'
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Mustard Tree
Sometimes an apology
is aesthetically necessary.
To excuse a moment of muddled
distracted preoccupation.
Even though or when inferably...
an apology is not necessary.
Such socially interactive afterthought
and commendable consideration.
Is a character forming trait
that can appease elevate.
A mere agitated mortal into
a person attaining great compassion.
These are mustard tiny seeds
of apparent insignificance.
From which the mighty
mustard tree may grow.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tale of Custard The Dragon
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.
Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.
Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.
Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week!, which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.
Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.
Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.
But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.
The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.
Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.
Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.
poem by Ogden Nash
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Choices
i prefer smooth peanut butter
to crunchy
mind you
crunchy is all right
but i prefer smooth.
i prefer strawberry jam
to raspberry
mind you
raspberry is tasty
but it's got all those seeds
and i prefer strawberry.
i prefer mustard
to mayonaisse
mind you mayonaisse has it's place
amongst condiments
but is likely to go bad
if left out to long
and poison everyone
so on the whole i prefer mustard.
i prefer cooked meat
to raw meat
for much the same reason
as i prefer mustard to mayonaisse
although it also has to do
with the fact that i don't
like my meat to bleat
or moo or make chicken noises (BAGOCK!)
when i eat
so i tend to avoid the raw
though mind you
the meat that i prefer
may at some time have been raw.
i prefer not to say
why i think so
but i do
and i suppose it's all
just a matter of taste
so if you'd prefer to think so
then crunchy is better
than smooth
even if it does interfere
with the texture of the
peanut butter
and jelly (strawberry) sandwich
which ought to be somewhat
devoid of substance
merely a sticky sweet something
to fill your stomach
put mayonaisse on it
if you like
i'd prefer not to think about it.
poem by Laura Sewell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Confidence is going after Moby Dick in a rowboat, and taking the tarter sauce with you. A Bullfighter who goes in the ring with mustard on his sword.
quote by Zig Ziglar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Spices
Of the spices of life,
Of the spices of love,
Of the spices of peace,
Of the spices of my mind,
Life in Africa maters to me lot.
Of Black Cumin,
Of Red Peppercorns,
Of Black Mustard,
Of Cayenne Pepper,
Of White Mustard,
Of Mixed Peppercorns,
Of Mahaleb Cherry,
Of Szechuan pepper,
Almost everybody is with a mobile phone in Africa!
But strong alcohol are consumed daily by the majority unemployed.
In Africa,
My mind sits and writes;
Because, life in Africa matters to me a lot.
Of Coriander, Ground Ginger, Fenugreek, Turmeric and Paprika!
Like the struggles daily in Africa for a survival;
But one day, we will get there.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Faith- wavering's loss and unwavering's key.
The limitation of a shallow mind
better still, a faithless soul
little like a mustard seed is all I need
but like a 'grain' of salt have I not
so big the belief sometimes but in it like a balloon it is
a little pin in my 'big' faith- so be it.R.I.P- I am bidding
the word explicit
ask anything- In faith
receive nothing- In doubt
pins exist to balloons
then flee with the balloons
better then, make the balloons solid
grip tight by grasping
never let go to receive
my heart wanders
no wonder I have to pass by shadows of darkness
the key to any thing's- faith- reception
like a bird in it's cage this minute but in the air the next
How can I close this cage?
roam only but remain in my solitude
How can I feed this mustard seed to growth
not leaving it to perish by taking away the much needed factors
I desire many even every
I know what is key to unlocking my receipt
stupid as it sounds
More trying times but also more strength to hold on at such times
Which would you like to be diagnosed of- Malaria of cancer?
but which would teach after God's healing to hold fast to faith
when one amasses thousands will hundreds be a problem?
poem by Adedolapo Olisa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Collection February 24,2012
yellowing marriage blanket
she wonders what
to say to him
lost virginity
every time as she sees
zip
a burst of laughter
the old pant zip works well
for her trousers
artist's new dawn
the horizon streaked with
yellow acrylic
buddha birthplace visit
the mustard fields
swirling with grace
buddha birthplace visit
the mustard fields
firing up my curiosity
infinite X - a lost Star
God and that file to help us
find the murderers
files X, XX, XXX
all the things that you
should not know
Chinese death penalty
his name on a panel
crossed with red
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mustard field
One day while walking in a mustard field,
I found a swing hanging on a mango tree,
mustard flowers were swirling with breeze,
birds were singing on tree,
there I found a swing on mango tree,
its ropes were long and thick,
I rode on it,
it moved up in the air like a bird,
and return back to move up there,
I saw a well from up there,
and bird nest on tree on back in the air,
the swing was moving here and there,
it was not aware of who I am,
just it was giving me feeling divine,
without any question or discrimination,
I found joy to fill my heart and I lived that moment like a bird!
poem by Hemu Gupta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Market Women’s Cries
APPLES
COME buy my fine wares,
Plums, apples and pears.
A hundred a penny,
In conscience too many:
Come, will you have any?
My children are seven,
I wish them in Heaven;
My husband ’s a sot,
With his pipe and his pot,
Not a farthen will gain them,
And I must maintain them.
ONIONS
Come, follow me by the smell,
Here are delicate onions to sell;
I promise to use you well.
They make the blood warmer,
You’ll feed like a farmer;
For this is every cook’s opinion,
No savoury dish without an onion;
But, lest your kissing should be spoiled,
Your onions must be thoroughly boiled:
Or else you may spare
Your mistress a share,
The secret will never be known:
She cannot discover
The breath of her lover,
But think it as sweet as her own.
HERRINGS
Be not sparing,
Leave off swearing.
Buy my herring
Fresh from Malahide,
Better never was tried.
Come, eat them with pure fresh butter and mustard,
Their bellies are soft, and as white as a custard.
Come, sixpence a dozen, to get me some bread,
Or, like my own herrings, I soon shall be dead.
poem by Jonathan Swift
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
This Art Work
The love of a muse,
The pen of an artist,
This ink work will teach many yet unborn.
This art is from a realm to guide you,
This art work is like a mustard seed aroun you;
It is original!
It comes from a realm unknown;
It will inspire you.
This art is real to abstract your minds,
The innovative nature of my mind to you all;
It is the act of my dreams beyond imaginations!
This art will teach many,
It will inspire you all that love the muse.
This art work,
It is like a mustard seed;
It will grow to give you joy!
It is like the muse next door,
It will touch and influence you;
This art work ia sll that i have as an artist
This art work is never known,
It is called, 'Pen-Painting Graphics Abstracts'.
This art will teach many,
My innerself from the realm of imaginations!
This art will teach you;
But, the artist is never known.
This art is from a realm to guide you into my heart,
This art is from a realm to bring you into my world,
This is the love of a sweet muse to you all;
This art is from the pen of an artist who,
Is yet to be known.
This art is here to stay,
This art is all that i have for you all;
Cos', he who proves his skills proves his realms.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Storm
A big storm is hitting the eastern seaboard of North America,
it has just hit Cuba and other little island; fifty people killed,
but we didn´t get an intensive coverage as we get now.
By all means it is an immense storm and no doubt America feels
it doesn´t deserve this and there is no one to drones to attack
for this onslaught on Americas’ soil. Yes, we can build walls we
can built fortresses in the hope of being safe from the world,
but in the eye of a storm by nature or a storm caused by lack of
justice and freedom, the storm will be equally furious those
storms will, if we are lucky, clean our corrupt social system,
we call democracy- a practice that gives the right of the rich to
exploit the poor and obscenely try to make the neediest enjoy
slavery of being consumers, where going to the mall is highlight
of the week… Meanwhile the storm blows and if two tramps would
be killed or two seamen drown, every TV channel in the world will
record their demise and there will be a charity in their name;
“we shall not forget their suffering.” But as water retreats and
hamburger joints opens- The past, in our world, has no memory,
it is about mustard or ketchup; and it is quite easy really,
the red little bag is tomato ketchup and the yellow bag is mustard.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ohh Annie...
Last night I had a dream
I was looking for my dog
Where is my beautiful yorkshire?
Tired and out of breath
Keep on walking and looking
In the nearby pond
I found a lot of dogs
Big dogs small dogs
All dead floating
I finally found Sinta
Down below by my feet
Almost invisible in the dirty pond
I picked her up very carefully
She was all brown like caramel
I was going to give up and cry
But instead I pumped her small chest
Really carefully not to hurt her
Then she coughed up water
After three or four times
Her color changed back
Black and gold
Her hair started to shine
And when I slightly caressed her hair
Mustard starts appearing
Underneath her wet hair
She was all covered with mustard!
I woke up
I was thinking “what a dream”
Then I looked for Sinta
She was lying down by my feet
Sleeping... Snoring...
And then I slightly caressed her hair
At Five o'clock
Still tired from walking all night I got up
Brushed my teeth and made some coffee
I checked my phone messages
This is bad news
My sister passed away
poem by Kay Barcelon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!