Mutton
Gently stir and blow the fire,
Lay the mutton down to roast,
Dress it quickly, I desire,
In the dripping put a toast,
That I hunger may remove --
Mutton is the meat I love.
On the dresser see it lie;
Oh, the charming white and red;
Finer meat ne'er met the eye,
On the sweetest grass it fed:
Let the jack go swiftly round,
Let me have it nice and brown'd.
On the table spread the cloth,
Let the knives be sharp and clean,
Pickles get and salad both,
Let them each be fresh and green.
With small beer, good ale and wine,
Oh ye gods! how I shall dine.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Related quotes
For Molly, Concerning God
Is God the one who eats the meat
off the bones of dead people?
-Molly Miranda Jong-Fast, age 3 1/2
God is the one,
Molly,
whether we call him
Him,
or Her,
treeform or spewing
volcano,
Vesuvius or vulva,
penis-rock,
or reindeer-on-cave-wall,
God is the one
who eats
our meat,
Molly,
& we yield
our meat
up willingly.
Meat is our
element,
meat is our
lesson.
When our bodies fill
with each other,
when our blood swells
in our organs
aching for another,
body of meat,
heart of meat,
soul of meat,
we are only doing
what God wants
us to—
meat joining meat
to become insubstantial air,
meat fusing
with meat
to make
a small wonder
like you.
The wonder of you
is that you push
our questions
along into
the future—
so that I know
again
the wonder of meat
through you,
the wonder of meat
turning to philosophy,
the wonder of meat
transubstantiated
into poetry,
the wonder of
sky-blue meat
in your roundest eyes,
the wonder of
dawn-colored meat
in your cheeks & palms,
the wonder of meat
becoming
air.
You
are my theorem,
my proof,
my meaty metaphysics,
my little questioner,
my small Socrates
of the nursery-schoolyard.
To think that
such wonder
can come from meat!
Well then,
if God is hungry—
let Him eat,
let Her eat.
poem by Erica Jong
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Three Students
Three students once tarried over the Rhine,
And into Frau Wirthin's turned to dine.
'Say, hostess, have you good beer and wine?
And where is that pretty daughter of thine?'
'My beer and wine is fresh and clear.
My daughter lies on her funeral bier.'
They softly tipped into the room;
She lay there in the silent gloom.
The first the white cloth gently raised,
And tearfully upon her gazed.
'If thou wert alive, O, lovely maid,
My heart at thy feet would to-day be laid!'
The second covered her face again,
And turned away with grief and pain.
'Ah, thou upon thy snow-white bier!
And I have loved thee so many a year.'
The third drew back again the veil,
And kissed the lips so cold and pale.
'I've loved thee always, I love thee to-day,
And will love thee, yes, forever and aye!'
poem by Johann Ludwig Uhland
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From The German Of Uhland
Three students once tarried over the Rhine,
And into Frau Wirthin's turned to dine.
'Say, hostess, have you good beer and wine?
And where is that pretty daughter of thine?'
'My beer and wine is fresh and clear.
My daughter lies on her funeral bier.'
They softly tipped into the room;
She lay there in the silent gloom.
The first the white cloth gently raised,
And tearfully upon her gazed.
'If thou wert alive, O, lovely maid,
My heart at thy feet would to-day be laid!'
The second covered her face again,
And turned away with grief and pain.
'Ah, thou upon thy snow-white bier!
And I have loved thee so many a year.'
The third drew back again the veil,
And kissed the lips so cold and pale.
'I've loved thee always, I love thee to-day,
And will love thee, yes, forever and aye!'
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Savant
Slice the roast as we toast the savant.
Sip the wine and let's dine with cresçents.
A special honor is bestowed upon him.
The one with chosen 'gifts' within.
No clue he leaves he believes himself great!
But we must show him we at least appreciate...
The patience he has shown for the waste,
Average men like us create!
Slice this roast as we toast the savant!
Sip the wine and let us dine
With cresçents all we want!
A special honor comes to him...
He with unlimited patience
To allow us to feed,
From the treasures upon us he descends!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Hannibal's Lecture a cautionary tale
She was pretty clean and neat
from her head to her bare feet.
The kind of girl to whom I cater.
She looked good enough to eat.
so I did I cooked and ate her.
Now she has become part of me.
Although perhaps you won’t agree
I did the only thing I could
I made a maiden fricassee
I have to say she tasted good.
My given name is Hannibal
an unasham’ed cannibal.
I see no reason to waste meat
I am convinced that after all
Fresh human flesh is good to eat.
I was locked up but I broke free
as I think rather cleverly.
I prowl the streets in search of prey.
There is no prison can hold me.
Maybe you’ll meet me one fine day.
I do look rather ordinary
There’s nothing visible to see
to mark me out from other men
I tell you confidentially
That I intend to feast again.
Perhaps I have selected you
to be one of the chosen few
To satisfy my appetite,
to braise or roast or make a stew.
To dine upon tomorrow night
But do not worry you won’t know.
I’ll kill you with a single blow
I don’t believe in cruelty
I’ll kill you quick but cook you slow.
Enjoy you Gastronomically
Although recognise my name
I am quite certain when I claim
That should we meet one day by chance,
as part and parcel of life’s game
I would not rate a second glance.
This is the key to my success
I do not dress up to impress.
So should I ask you out to dine
there is no chance that you might guess
That the pleasure will be all mine
I’m Hannibal the Cannibal
a predatory animal
I find the taste of humans sweet
To you its reprehensible
to me you are a source of meat.
I dare to break this strict taboo
which makes me different from you
I see no reason for the ban
Although you may deny it’s true
but man has always preyed on man.
Now who am I to change the rules?
although they are not taught in schools.
I believe that they should be
If only to protect the fools.
From roving predators like me.
30-Nov-08
Http: // blog.my space.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Meat And Potato Man
meat and potato man
I like my steak well done, my taters fried
Football games on monday night
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I like my coffee black
Oltv shows
My women hot and my beer ice cold
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I dont like caviar, sushi bars,
The irs or phony stars
Im a haggard fan
A meat and potato man
I like my fishinholes, lightninbugs
Flatt nscruggs, and my womans love
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I like my wrangler jeans, cowboy boots
Cornbread and beans and country roots
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I dont like politics, hypocrites
Folks with poodles dressed like kids
Im a hounddog fan
A meat and potato manyeah, thats what i am,
A meat and potato man
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meat & Potato Man
Meat and potato man
I like my steak well done, my taters fried
Football games on monday night
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I like my coffee black
Oltv shows
My women hot and my beer ice cold
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I dont like caviar, sushi bars,
The irs or phony stars
Im a haggard fan
A meat and potato man
I like my fishinholes, lightninbugs
Flatt nscruggs, and my womans love
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I like my wrangler jeans, cowboy boots
Cornbread and beans and country roots
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I dont like politics, hypocrites
Folks with poodles dressed like kids
Im a hounddog fan
A meat and potato manyeah, thats what I am,
A meat and potato man
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Muse From The Forest
The white gold,
The black gold,
The red gold,
The yellow gold,
'Obroni-Nephew' is about to teach you all;
Like the very call of a muse from the forest.
The Chinese eat all animals, fish and insects;
The very call from the forest with a view but,
Do you like to be fed with crocodile meat?
The lizard meat,
The lion meat,
The tiger meat,
The snake meat,
The elephant meat,
Life is like that for many who eat everything;
The Chinese eat all animals, fish and insects.
Life is like a visit to the biggest cemetery on earth,
Do you like to be fed with cockroaches?
Whatever we eat today,
We will be burried one day.
Of the brown gold,
Of the orange gold,
Of the green gold,
Of the blue gold,
The Chinese eat all meat, fish and insects.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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One Meat Ball
(l. singer-h.zaret)
The little man walked up and down
To find an eating place in town
He read the menu through and through
To see what fifteen cents could do
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
He told the waiter near at hand
A simple dinner he had planned
The guests were startled one and all to hear
That waiter loudly call
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, this here gent wants one meat ball
Little man felt very bad
One meat ball was all he had
And in his dreams he hears that call
Ya gets no bread with one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, you get no bread with one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
All he could afford was one meat ball
One meat ball
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Schatz
I remember tasting lips so sweet that they drove my blood sugar level high to the sky
Sweet lips divine so to wine and dine must be a crime
So great the taste I ate till late
From front to back speech tenderly soft and pink I drink
Taint that nice tickling gently to soften moans uttered and muttered
Calm are the seas no more for sickened cured
Tasty liebling lions salute for you are so cute
Face in love I push and shove
Juices sweet and so much to eat
Meat I dine between the sheets for vegetarian I still be
Vegan I am not for I taste the spot so hot
Kitty so pretty rest on my chin I grin
It was on the tip of my tongue for songs I sung
Laps of fire was my desire taken higher
It was like dope that helped me cope
What can I say with you I lay
Thank you liebling for a magical evening
Now left to history for no more the mystery
I would not stop to think of cherry wine to drink
Lips to taste I could not waste a dropp of tender morsel
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Royal place
Painted fresh
Red and white
With even little squares
To Give a rich look
The look of royality
A table cloth
Laid out for a Queen.
Evenly placed on the ground..
A royal place
A splended place
For my knee to rest
Am I worthy
Comming before the Queen.
There on the cloth
Its settings
The plate
The cup
The numbers were in two
Off to the side a deep green
Bottle of wine
My Invitation
But my knee is resting on the ground
Her hand extended toward me
Beckoning my kiss
My lips caress her wrist.
Her invitation
Is to dine with royality.
poem by Howard Johnson
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James And The Shoulder Of Mutton
YOUNG Jem at noon return'd from school,
As hungry as could be,
He cried to Sue, the servant-maid,
'My dinner give to me. '
Said Sue, 'It is not yet come home;
Besides, it is not late. '
'No matter that, ' cries little Jem,
'I do not like to wait. '
Quick to the baker's Jemmy went
And ask'd, 'Is dinner done?'
'It is,' replied the baker's man.
'Then home with it I'll run.'
'Nay, Sir, ' replied he prudently,
'I tell you 'tis too hot,
And much too heavy 'tis for you. '
'I tell you it is not.'
'Papa, mamma, are both gone out,
And I for dinner long;
So give it me, it is all mine,
And baker, hold your tongue.
'A shoulder 'tis of mutton nice!
And batter-pudding too;
I'm glad of that, it is so good;
How clever is our Sue! '
Now near the door young Jem was come,
He round the corner turn'd,
But oh, sad fate! unlucky chance!
The dish his fingers burn'd.
Now in the kennel down fell dish,
And down fell all the meat:
Swift went the pudding in the stream,
And sail'd along the street.
The people laugh'd, and rude boys grinn'd
At mutton's hapless fall;
But though ashamed, young Jemmy cried,
'Better lose part than all.'
The shoulder by the knuckle seized,
His hands both grasp'd it fast,
And deaf to all their gibes and cries,
He gain'd his home at last.
'Impatience is a fault,' cries Jem,
'The baker told me true;
In future I will patient be,
And mind what says our Sue. '
poem by Ann Taylor
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Invitation: to Fabullus
You’ll dine well, in a few days, with me,
if the gods are kind to you, my dear Fabullus,
and if you bring lots of good food with you,
and don’t come without a pretty girl
and wine and wit and all your laughter.
I say you’ll dine well, and charmingly,
if you bring all that: since your Catullus’s
purse alas is full of cobwebs.
But accept endearments in return for the wine
or whatever’s sweeter and finer:
since I’ll give you a perfume my girl
was given by the Loves and Cupids,
and when you’ve smelt it, you’ll ask the gods
to make you, Fabullus, all nose.
poem by Gaius Valerius Catullus
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One Mans Meat
Cold beer and a strange cigarette
Getting you high getting you wet
Falling in love falling out of debt
Straight gay black or white
Strutting in the dark hiding in the light
Doing it wrong doing it right just doing it
You got your life on the one hand
Mine in the other
I got the right we all got the right
One mans meat is the other mans lousy luck
One mans meat is someones empty well
One mans meat is some guys aching butt
One mans meat is another mans living hell
Short fat thick or thin
Take it in the gut take it on the chin
Living in glory living in sin
Hard days work going down slow
Riding the road where the greengrass grows
Watching in die what dyou know
Watch it
You got your life on the one hand
Mine in the other
I got the right
One mans meat is the other mans lousy luck
One mans meat is someones empty well
One mans meat is some guys aching butt
One mans meat is another mans living hell
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Romantic Nights
Dim lights, soft music, sun setting
a table set for two by the patio
a white cloth drapes the table
a single red rose, two wine glasses
a bottle of the finest wines
love Ballads on the radio
beautiful you dress so elegant
a sexy red dress made of silk
lovely long leg, finished with red high heels
long wavy hair, gorgeous eyes, Beautiful smile
heaven sent a sexy gorgeous you, makes my heart melt
gently I reach for your hand and swing you tightly to me
a romantic dance under the sun to our song
kissing you and whispering sweet loving
being with you makes the world go round
every night is a romantic night with you
every sunset make a beautiful background
with you dancing and swaying to the music
makes me desire and want you more
Everyday is so picture perfect with you.
you make every night a Romantic Night
poem by Michael Peterson
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Not Able To Recall Each Word Anymore...
yes, we burn all the leaves
we do not really like to see the ashes on the ground
so we summon the rain
to spread the foul smell of the dead
thin
and unrecognizable and we ask the grass
to spread
as quickly as possible
to cover the tracks
and then that summer what we see
we like to see
green grass, blue sky, fresh air
flying birds, fluttering green butterflies
we love those conversations
though we do not recall each word anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Albert and the 'Eadsman
On young Albert Ramsbottom's birthday
His parents asked what he'd like most;
He said to see t' Tower of London
And gaze upon Anne Boleyn's ghost.
They thowt this request were unusual
And at first to refuse were inclined,
'Til Pa said a trip t' metrollopse
Might broaden the little lad's mind.
They took charrybank up to London
And got there at quarter to fower,
Then seeing as pubs wasn't open
They went straight away to the tower.
They didn't think much to the buildin'
'T weren't what they'd been led to suppose,
And the 'Bad Word' Tower didn't impress them,
They said Blackpool had got one of those.
At last Albert found a Beefeater
And filled the old chap with alarm.
By asking for Ghost of Anne Boleyn
As carried her 'ead 'neath her arm.
Said Beefeater 'You ought to come Fridays
If it's ghost of Anne Boleyn you seek,
Her union now limits her output
And she only gets one walk a week.
'But,' he said, 'if it's ghosts that you're after,
There's Lady Jane Grey's to be seen,
She runs around chased by the 'Eadsman
At midnight on th' old Tower Green.'
They waited on t' green till near midnight,
Then thinking they'd time for a sup,
They took out what food they'd brought with them
And waited for t' ghost to turn up.
On the first stroke of twelve, up jumped Albert,
His mouth full of cold, dripping toast,
With his stick with the 'orses 'ead 'andle
He pointed, and said 'Here's the ghost!'
They felt their skins going all goosey
As Lady Jane's Spectre drew near
And Albert fair swallered his tonsils
When the 'Eadsman an' all did appear.
The 'Eadsman chased Jane round the grass patch
They saw his axe flash in the moon
And seeing as poor lass were 'eadless
They wondered what what next he would prune.
He suddenly caught sight of Albert
As midnight was on its last chime
As he lifted his axe, father murmered
'We'll get the insurance this time.'
At that, Mother rose, taking umbridge;
She said, 'Put that cleaver away.
You're not cutting our Albert's 'ead off,
Yon collar were clean on today.
The brave little lad stood undaunted
'Til the ghost were within half a pace.
Then taking the toast he were eating,
Slapped it, dripping side down, in his face.
'T were a proper set-back for the 'Eadsman
He let out one 'owl of despair,
Then taking his ladyfriend with him
He disappeared - just like that, there.
When Pa saw the way as they vanished
He trembled with fear and looked blue,
'Til Ma went and patted his shoulder
An' said, 'Sallright lad, we saw it too.'
Some say 'twere the drippin' as done it,
From a roast leg of mutton it came,
And as th' 'Eadsman had been a Beefeater
They reckon he vanished from shame.
And around Tower Green, from that moment,
They've ne're seen a sign of the ghost,
But when t' Beefeaters go on night duty,
They take slices of cold drippin' toast.
poem by Marriott Edgar
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I Better Be Good
If I ain't cool
My daddy gonna send me
To Military School
If I ain't nice
My girlie gonna freeze me
With cold shoulder ice
If I'm real late
My teacher gonna use me
For alligator bait
So, I better be good
I better be good
If I jump on the gas
The cops are gonna jump
All over my back
If I smoke too much
Doctor says he's gonna
Put my lungs in a crutch
If I'm caught without my pants
Consuelo's dad is gonna shoot
Until he sees me dance
So, I better be good
I had better be good
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - Uh, uh, uh, uh
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
You better be nice tonight
If I spray it on the seat
Lady gonna tie a big knot
In the meat
If I spewey too fast
Lover's gonna stick
My Wrangler in a cast
If zipper grabs skin
I'll know I had it out
When I shoulda kept it in
Ow.
I better be good
I better be good
I better be good
Ooh.
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - Uh, uh, uh, uh
Nice, nice, nice
I'd better be nice tonight - yeah
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Labour Night
April passed away with its fragrant airs,
And it was the bright hot day of the month next;
Evening began to befall; the men and women
Halted their vehicles in the commodious lawn,
XLIs, Mercedes and Paradoes dazzled the eyes.
They were producers, manufacturers, and firm-owners
And were heading to the egg-white grand building:
The rain-washed edifice of the five stars hotel,
Green grass had a virgin tread of the gents and ladies.
They all went up the stairs of the first floor,
Entered sluggishly into the gigantic hall
Rounding arms around waists of the rented-whores.
They sat in the chairs placed along the rectangular tables
Laden with the rare roses, sheeted with
The red shining cloth hemmed silky golden.
In the first phase they were offered rare beverages
Warming their bodies, wakening the contents of lust,
They snivelled in intimacy of the hired-beloveds.
Then a stout bald man spoke gently to attract their ears,
And began to tattle on the new-fangled labour policy,
Behind played an orchestra synchronizing the occasion.
In the final course they ate the rare items of the dinner,
Chicken steamed, mutton steaks, things of the minced meat,
Then they took in the arms the dainty graceful ladies,
And entered they into the luxuriant ample rooms
To commemorate the night of the Labour Day.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Son Of A Gun
I wish I had a barrel of rum
and sugar three hundred pound.
I’d put it in the College bell
and stir it ‘round and ‘round.
Let ev’ry honest fellow
drink his glass of hearty cheer,
For I’m a student of old Dartmouth
and a son of a gun for beer.
I’m a son of a, son of a, son of a,
son of a gun for beer.
I’m a son of a, son of a, son of a,
son of a gun for beer,
Like ev’ry honest fellow I like my whiskey clear.
For I’m a student of Old Dartmouth
and a son of a gun for beer.
And if I had a daughter, sir,
I’d dress her up in green;
I’d put her on the campus
just to coach the freshman team.
And if I had a son, sir,
I’ll tell you what he’d do
He’d yell, ‘To Hell with Harvard!’
like his Daddy used to do.
(Chorus)
poem by Anonymous Americas
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