Domestic Shades 3
Kitchen mine cited varieties
Recipies, utensils, strange personalities
And Pathamadai Parvathi..
Matted her tresses to a lulling shine
Out with her freckles and pimples
Powdering talcum on a tantrum
Eye lining into the mirror
At a whir of every possible minute
In my absence..
Cooked my anger; ate my temper
Old Parvathi paatti next
Chithi patti for everybody
Of tonsured wedlock in yester pathos
A needy helper
To cook off my in- laws' diabetes
Cooked, ate, drank
Cooked, ate, drank
Often and nasty
Hardship towed me
Timely bruised by my paralysed m'-in-law too
Fortune eloped with chithi patti
Misfortune betrothed me
Hell of two months..
Parvthi paatti back
For a pay through her nose
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Related quotes
Duck! Don't Stick Your Neck Out
How many quacks does a quack quack quack
before he ducks for fish?
How many ducks does a quack quack duck
before his fish is fished?
How many geese's goose is cooked
because they ate up all the fish?
How many cooks cook geese
before their goose is cooked?
How many fowl fall foul
of fowl hunting cooks?
How many fowls' geese are cooked
before they flew from a foul hunting cook?
How many ducks' goose is cooked
because he didn't duck duck duck
when a fowl cook reached for his neck?
poem by David Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Campfire Meal
There is nothing like a meal
From a flaming hot campfire
It cooks the kind of food
For which you’ll never tire
A slow cooked smoky brisket
The best you ever got
Along with homemade biscuits
Cooked right in a iron pot
The beans are so hot and spicy
Your taste buds will yell hooray
The food is so delicious
I don’t know just what to say
The sweet corn and potatoes
Are cooked on the campfire too
Grab a plate and get in line
That’s just what you want to do
It’s the cowboy way of cooking
I’ll grab some firewood
Join us at the Rockin L & H
Where nothing else tastes as good!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I don't cook - I can cook - but I'm not very good. I like being asked over for dinner, because she can't cook either. We would starve if it weren't for modern technology. I know how to work a microwave, but love home cooked meals.
quote by Mark Mothersbaugh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One’s life known is not authentic.
From no angle can one see
An object in full view.
The other side behind.
From no time can one see
An object in full growth,
The other growth away.
One’s biography is half cooked.
One’s autobiography is random cooked
Can history handed down be authentic?
06.10.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You should know what's being cooked in the kitchen otherwise you might eat a forbidden food.
I've never cooked. I can't do much more in the kitchen than make a cup of tea and some toast.
quote by Ethel Merman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Surviving Separation
Returning from the final violation
I was swallowed by the empty house.
The meal last cooked was there
in the weeping Frigidaire,
The room breathed emptiness.
Before it turns into a hell
I must leave things as they are,
the smell, the last used perfume,
the last reflection in the mirror,
I must freeze them all into a mummy.
All along I've been used to the presence
And now it was all disintegrating,
Crumbling with or without my touch
For unbearable days, months, years…
I yielded then to the rolling tears.
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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A person who arrives at a feast when the cooked meat is being pulled out of the pot does not know what was endured by others to catch and cook it.
Flavor Five is a book with recipes using five ingredients to possibly be cooked in just five minutes. It will be very user-friendly for the home cook on the run.
quote by Rocco DiSpirito
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My grandfather was a chef for a Baron in Sicily before he came to America. I grew up with him. I used to do my homework at one end of the kitchen table while he cooked at the other end.
quote by Vincent Schiavelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gift Of The Magi: Wedding Anniversary
she went to the market
then back to the kitchen
and cooked spaghetti
the table is set
green mantle, silver spoon and fork
silk hands
i went to the school and had
a legal lecture on
divorce and its consequences
in Philippine setting
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Satanic Power Ruled A Third Reich
In another age time another pyre place agonized
beyond measure-able distance far away stretched
crimes committed surpass comprehension civilized
forgiveness murdered discarded remains unquestioned
mounds of broken coke carbon fuel cooked oven bones
pre-cooked unto oblivion new dust cremated termite mounds
mounds lie piled still an aging testament to craven third Reich.
An extract from the poem ‘Stone Cross’.85? 87?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Who Have Done A Great Sin?
The person who killed a living being, say animal or bird
The person who has supported and witnessed the killing
The person who bought the meat of the deceased animal and bird;
If you think twice, even
The person who cooked the meat of the same and
The person who ate the cooked meat;
All the five are considered to have done a great sin.
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Transformation
To my noble parents sterling,
, I was their Daughter darling;
;
To my affable siblings, three,
I was their elder Sister, in glee.
To my beloved husband, in life,
I'm his devoted, fond Wife.
To my endearing children, four,
I'm their doting Mother spore;
To my nephews and nieces, reasoning,
I'm their dear Auntie, loving.
Alas! The label of daughter, nice,
Vanished with my parents' demise! .
My children, one by one, in course of time,
Were married, in their youth prime.
I begot sons-in-law and a daughter-in-law,
And am their affectionate Mother-in-law.
Ah! My siblings three, passed away—
The call of Sister, with them went away!
Now, when my sweet grand-children seven,
With love and care, me, they smother,
Calling me ‘Paatti'(Granny) 'Paatti'(Granny)
,
I the proud Grandmother
Am in rapture, transported to Heaven.!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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I sung sometimes
I sung sometimes my thoughts’ and fancy's pleasure,
Where then I list, or time serv’d best and leisure,
While Daphne did invite me
To supper once, and drank to me to spite me.
I smil’d, yet still did doubt her,
And drank where she had drank before, to flout her.
But oh while I did eye her,
My eyes drank love, my lips drank burning fire.
poem by John Wilbye
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter XIX: Fruits
grow the fruit till it's big enough
grow the fruit till the color turns red
grow the fruit till it smells good
grow the fruit to be cooked
don't be tricked of what is edible
a beautiful fruit can be sour
a big fruit can be raw
a delicious fruit can be poison
a cooked fruit can be forbidden
be careful of what is edible
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Prayer To Pipal Pillaiyar
Gorgeously pregnant with varieties of dumplings
Vadas, appams, puffed and flaked rice
Cooked, baked chickpeas and raw rice idlis
Payasam with ghee-fried cashews and raisins
Added to the core of sweets
Fruits of jack, jumblem, mango, banana, wood-apple
Guava and of modernity simla apple, pineapple
And tangerines; Also on availability whole sugarcanes
Main offering of potful of cooked rice
With little dal purified on with ghee
Whole and halved coconuts, betel and areca
Little water from panchapaathra....Pillaiar
Signalling to nap, Your paunch belched uptrunked
This peepal tree on this tank-resort
You chose to sit under for rest..
Gentle breeze peepal tree strokes so sweet
Mind-sweeping and You're in a pleasant mood
Delicacies bulge though in real bulges your omniscience
In full prostration seeking Your blessings oh Lord!
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Young Men in Maun
The house, on which the moonlight fell
Leaving a ghostly shadow mark
Had a porch, a low white wall
On which my Norwegian friend
Perched with the trophies of his hunt
He worked in the village hospital
A laboratory technician, he knew
Exactly who had tested and for what
But it was not so bad, those were
The years before the HIV
Once a month, just after pay day
When the moon was full over the plains
We'd open the door
Loudly unleash
My late 70s dance mix tapes
And invite the council workers in,
The nurses and the Danish volunteers
He bought the beer, I bought the bream
From the fisheries depot, cooked it up
With lemon juice in thick wide pans.
Six days a week John drove to work
Never bringing his lab tests home
Preparing for his doctor's life
He stocked the fridge with kudu meat
I cooked quietly, not touching his peace
Far from perfect, but beautiful
Ruled by the codes and by the moon
Like the lovers of our nights, with whom
We visited the riverside
Drank beer and coke and watched for birds
And that house - still standing, probably
These twenty-five years on
Protected district property
Its small garden of moon
Drunk dry by brazen sun.
poem by Frank Bana
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Cooking and taste
eating the same tasteless dinner at the only diner
the umpteenth time, a thought came to my mind
am i a guinea pig or one of its kind
or was there a conspiracy behind
has my taste buds gone out of date
why is all so tasteless, that is the food i ate
i dared to ask the manager why the taste is so bad
bang came a caustic reply, this is by the best cook he ever had
(insinuating a problem not with his cook but with my taste)
well then it has to be my taste buds i thought
directing all my efforts to the food i had bought
then came storming, the savior, inside the hall
in his hand was the same food for which i have taken the fall
indignanlty he shouted at the manager
this food is so bad that even his dog had refused to had
hell i thought even the dog has a better taste
why, why am i such a waste
the dog in me forced me to start cooking that very day
the dog in me does sometimes refuses to eat what i cook
the human in me requests him to hav another look
for, when people are struggling for one square meal a day
how can i keep the food i cooked at bay,
hence i eat, taste or no taste, everything i cook, every day.
A Bad Day, That Is What It Is
there is no gas for the stove
and the fish is half-cooked
the rice smells like rotten worms
and the kitchen looks like
a garage full of junk
she is still praying
and you wonder if breakfast still exists
you pack your things
and move out trying to spell out
other women's names
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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