Have I got swine flu?
Your coughing and sneezing
and your head is pounding away
but you can't go to the doctors
if you do there will be hell to pay.
It used to be plain old influenza
you could get rid of it in a week
but this thing is related to a pig
so watch out for the signs of a squeak.
I think i may well have got it
because I've begun to wallow in mud
and I hate the smell of bacon
but I'd eat truffles all day if I could.
The diagnosis isn't looking good
I've been told to stay in and not go out
still they say it should clear up soon
but I'll be left with a tail and a snout.
I'll probably end up in a slaughterhouse
just a piece of meat on a hook
then on to the local butchers shop
as pork sausages all ready to cook.
So if your feeling under the weather
and you think you have got swine flu
if I was you I'd keep it to yourself
or you could end up being eaten at a barbecue!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Related quotes
Upon Visiting A Dying Woman In The Hospital At Room 108
actually the barbecue
is more than what it appears to be
its scent of meat
and the hotness of the spice
and delicacy of
the sauce
it is the front of something
that is hidden
there is something behind its shape
and odor
i cannot speak to you about it
so i offer you that
pork barbecue
i know that hunger that
does not want to be fed
time fills that
grief
that cannot be appeased
the barbecue is cold
set aside in one of the corners
of the table
grease is solidified
no one
not one from those who see
the emaciated body
of the dying woman
wants to take
the bite
someone does
but eventually there is that
obstruction in the
throat
and so the tongue
expels that piece
of pork barbecue
again
what a waste!
yet we can never voice
this matter out
the eyes speak a lot
but you know then
they have no voices
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sausage Sam
Our Sam is quite fussy when it comes down to food,
Unless it's just right she'll just sit there and brood;
But if truth it be told, when she's in the right mood,
She sure does love her sausages.
Now a sausage is only a long tube of meat,
That you cook on a grill in a great deal of heat;
But for these our Sammy would fly down the street,
'Cause she sure does love her sausages.
'The bigger the better' I once heard her say,
'I could eat two big jumbos then go out to play;
And for supper I'll eat two again, If I may,
'Cause I sure do love them sausages.'
A nice piece of lamb isn't her cup of tea,
And what she DOES eat wouldn't fill up a flea;
But at fighting I think she would kill forty-three
If they stood in the way of her sausages.
Now you wouldn't believe if you look at her figure,
How such fatty food just does not make her bigger;
If 'they' grew in the earth she would be a great digger,
I tell you she LOVES her sausages.
Well each to his own, I suppose that it's true,
And our Sam's got the right to like what she wants to;
When she gets up to heaven 'they'll' be on the menu,
Then FOREVER she'll be eating sausages.
(Written Sept 1994)
poem by John Carter Brown
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The Love of the World Reproved: or, Hypocrisy Detected
Thus says the prophet of the Turk;
Good musselman, abstain from pork!
There is a part in every swine
No friend or follower of mine
May taste, whate'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
Had he the sinful part expressed,
They might with safety eat the rest;
But for one piece they thought it hard
And set their wit at work to find
What joint the prophet had in mind.
Much controversy straight arose,
These choose the back, the belly those;
By some 'tis confidently said
He meant not to forbid the head,
While others at that doctrine rail,
And piously prefer the tail.
Thus, conscience freed from every clog,
Mahometans eat up the hog.
You laugh! - 'tis well, - the tale applied
May make you laugh on t'other side.
Renounce the world, the preacher cries; -
We do, - a multitude replies,
While one as innocent regards
A snug and friendly game at cards;
And one, whatever you may say,
Can see no evil in a play;
Some love a concert or a race,
And others, shooting and the chase.
Reviled and loved, renounced and followed,
Thus bit by bit the world is swallowed;
Each thinks his neighbour makes too free,
Yet likes a slice as well as he,
With sophistry their sauce they sweeten,
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten.
poem by William Cowper
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I Didn't Know That Butchered Animals Do Not Feel Pain
sexy, so sexy,
and meaty and
tasty....
tenderloin steak,
spare ribs,
pork barbecue,
menudo,
sausages, and
chicharon, and
brain chops
sexy, so sexy,
butchered meat
feeling no pain
well cooked and
too spicy on my
table.
do i hear
the sound of red
blood dripping?
send it the specialty of this house.
sexy, so sexy,
and meaty and tender and juicy....
that is how i want things to be.
i don't mind the pain too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Im Ready
Im ready
Id like to see you, thought Id let you know
I wanna be with you everyday
Cause Ive got a feeling that beginning to grow
And theres only one thing I can say
Im ready - to love you
Im ready - to hold you
Im ready - Im ready
Im ready as Im gonna be
She left me a long note when she left me here
Told me that love was hard to find
But baby its easy and Ill make it clear
Theres only one thing on my mind
Im ready - to love you
Im ready - to hold you
Im ready - Im ready
Im ready as Im gonna be
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hate Is...
Hate is a feeling that boils with rage.
Hate is a feeling you lose with age.
Hate is a feeling that eats inside.
Hate is a feeling we all should hide.
Hate is the feeling we dont understand.
Hate is the feeling of losing our stand.
Hate is the feeling of a thing called fear.
Hate is the feeling that hurts in here.
Hate is a feeling that grows some more.
Hate is a feeling, what good is it for?
Hate is a feeling that you have too.
Hate is a feeling I have for you.
society ***** FACE MASK FOR SWINE FLU SCARE
April 2009 and beyond
exactly at world hour
time has come
that the pig, the hog, the piglet
the boar, the swine
get back at their obsessed predators
excluding my muslim brods and
my Jewish canadian sniper
but they can't escape the killer flu
floating in the air
the airborne virus outbreak
could grow into fearful pandemic
like another holocaust of Hitler
nazis genocidal tragic past
if W.H.O. can't paralyzed the
magnified phobia against
swine vengeance threat
From outbreak's epicenter -
the country Mexico
to the panic cold countries
victims are caught flat-flooted
before handling face mask
to save lives
before day-count quarantine
for their health imprisonment
don't be paranoid
we can eat yet the holy
grail of pork
the slowly roasted pig
lechon as filipino fixtured dish
in all celebrations wake
its golden brown crunchy skin
juicy white meat
and be aware not to eat
near coughing and sneezing
guests
as you wash your hand
reflect my warn:
let the swines revenge for their rights
as you butchered and feasted their lives!
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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The Butcher's Shop - UK Style
Legs, Shoulders, Ribs and Shanks,
Chops, Sirloins, Breasts and Flanks,
These are all 'meats' of the Butcher's trade,
Where lots of delicious 'things' are made.
Hams, Pies, Pickles and Stuffing,
No I am really not bluffing,
Chicken, Goose, Turkey and Duck,
To buy these things you need some 'pluck'.
With these 'meats' you need to know,
How to steam and roast, real slow,
How to fry, simmer and grill,
It can be quite a difficult skill.
But the kindly Butcher will help you out,
You really only have to shout,
He knows the cuts, has all the info,
With all his knowledge, he's a real pro.
He knows how long to cook things for,
How the baste and how to score
The pork, so that lovely 'crackling' can be had,
Now think of it! That can't be bad.
There's livers, kidneys and chitterlings which,
Grab the taste buds, gee they're rich,
Bacon, sausages and corned beef slices,
Some with garlic, some with spices.
Whatever you like, it's all ready for you.
Even if you have to queue,
It's worth the wait, for what you'll get
It'll melt in the mouth, that I can bet!
Your friendly Butcher is a capable chap,
He'll answer your questions without a flap,
So try all his produce, the flavours are great,
You'll never have anything left on your plate.
There's variety beyond belief,
Try any 'meat' you'll come to no grief,
The choice is amazing, the recipes fab,
There's always a choice on the Butcher's slab.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Barbecue
When summer evenings are nice and hot,
The thing to do is find a spot,
Where a barbecue can be set up,
So everyone can come and sup,
Relax with a bottle, and sit for a spell,
Which would be really nice and would end the day well,
And enjoy the light hearted, cheerful chatter,
With friends, who to you, truly matter.
Right!
The table's set, the flares are lit,
The music should be a real hit
The friends have arrived, the drink if flowing,
Laughter starts, the barbecue's glowing,
The cooking has started, the aroma's divine,
Everyone is getting along fine,
When!
The barbecue begins to smoke,
The chef, who's coughing begins to choke,
The chops are burnt the spare ribs too,
Everyone's looking very blue,
Conversation has now come to a halt,
What has happened, who's at fault,
There's thick smoke spiralling into the air,
It's now giving everyone a scare,
People are suddenly beginning to panic,
Good heavens, they are going manic,
What can be done, the food is no more,
The wine has been spilt all over the floor,
Everyone is utterly desolated,
For the poor old barbecue has disintegrated,
On top of that, it has started to rain,
It is really driving the guests insane,
The garden's looking a real shambles,
It really is just one of those gambles,
That the weather will go and change her mind,
But it's left such devastation behind.
The hostess takes a deep breath and swallows her pride,
Waves everyone goodbye, takes it all in her stride,
Clears up all the mess, and calls it a day,
But will book another date and just hope and pray,
That the weather forecast might treat them well, so
With friends once again, they can dine alfresco.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Wallowings
I am in the Wallowing-
there I find my best and worse.
Pity-Wallow is where I focus
all on my self and go inward
for long moments of pity-filled indulgence of self.
Sorrow-Wallow allows me to grieve
on my own terms, yet not really suffer
too much.
Wallow-Defeats are my best
and where I re-learn over and over again
not to regret.
Good Wallow where I learn lessons
over and over again-
Down is the best way Up;
Out is the best way Back:
Wallow-Defeat is the path to Happiness-
if you Wallow quietly and accept
that a Good Wallow is where you
plan for the Wallow-Through
not stop and rest amid your Wallowings.
As my Mother used to say:
'Cry and Wallow that's ok
but use the time to plan to get
back on your feet again.'
A good Wallow is a terrible thing to waste.'
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Haggis
A haggis found itself in a butcher’s window
and had a feeling that it shouldn’t be there.
He had visions of being on a Scottish hillside
amongst the heather and free without a care.
He didn’t feel right being next to a chicken,
pork sausages, and various other things.
He realised that his beautiful tail had gone,
as well as his legs, head, and wings.
The butcher then wrapped him up in paper
and gave him to Mrs Macnee
who took him home for dinner
for her husband and family of three.
She unwrapped him and left him on the table
while she went to answer the door.
The Haggis was feeling nervous and unsteady,
and rolled from the table to the floor.
It gathered pace and rolled out of the kitchen,
past Mrs Macnee, and out of the door.
He’s never be seen since and for all we know
he’s back in the heather once more.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Pork Chops are Fun
chop chop chop the pork squeals over dinner
with it's fatty bits and tasty bites
it marinates on a stick over hot coal
who will taste it first who will finish the bowl
Wow Pork Chops with red wine
then dinner will be divine
chop chop chop the pork is done
with ginger, wine and lots of fun
it's time to have with a salty bun
chop chop chop see it go in the oven my friends
it's dinner time lets eat it all
then lets sit together and have a ball
chop chop chop the pork tastes good
with the meat so tender it bloody weel should
sometimes on the pan sometimes as a roast
call your freinds for dinner it's a dish one can boast
chop chop chop the pork is done
sprikle a little wine to make things bright
then the meat put it on light
watch it burn and tremble with delight
chop chop chop my pork chops are done
poem by Anuj Tikku
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I Believe In Love
I see faces!
Coverin an empty i
Empty spaces
Where there used to be a soul inside
Nothin and no one ever gets to them
Seems the wind could blow right through them
Believin in gods that never knew them
I believe in love
I believe in love, I do!
I believe Im feelin good
Im feeling love!
(feeling love is feeling good)
I believe in love
Feeling love is feeling good!
Worry!
Climbin up your money tree
Youve got to hide it
Monkey do what the monkey see
Youre on a one-way street and youre speedin
Missin the signs you should be readin
Thats the things youll later be needin
I believe in love
I believe it, nobody sold me
Always knew it, nobody told me
I believe in someone to hold me
I believe in love
I believe in love, I do!
I believe Im feelin good
Im feeling love!
(feeling love is feeling good)
(feeling love is feeling good, I believe in love)
(feeling love is feeling good)
I believe in love
(feeling love is feeling good, I believe in love)
Feeling love is feeling good!
(I believe in love)
Feeling love is feeling good!
(I believe in love)
Oh, never be lonely!
Sleepin in an empty bed
Shouldnt feel it, just a place to rest my head
But I dont want to find myself one day
Wakin up and lookin at monday
With some whats-her-name left from sunday
I believe in love
I believe it, nobody sold me
Always knew it, nobody told me
I believe in someone to hold me
I believe in love
I believe in love, I do!
I believe Im feelin good
Everybody should!
I believe Im feelin good
Believe in it
Believe in, love!
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sometimes I Feel so Evil
Sometimes I feel so evil
going crazy
ready to kill people.
I laugh
ready to go to the store
buy a gat.
Watch it go blast blast blast
Now watch your past
flash before your eyes
and who knew this would be the way you die.
But I won't be sad
Feeling so evil is the best thing I've ever had.
Ready to grab a gun and shoot your dad.
He hatted me anyway don't get mad.
This relationship is over I found a new wife
Its evil and a knife
Into your back, slice slice slice
You deserved it, you gave me lice
and told me lies.
You don't know how many times I've cried.
But evil will put a ring on my finger
all around me, you can smell, it's a clinger,
and it always lingers, the feeling
the presence even when I'm gone.
You remember what you felt the
evil will drive you insane. Your brain will melt.
Start whippin your kids with belt, leavin welts,
all up and down there back, the evil passes
and they attack. Now they hate you,
they say 'a father I lack'. Letting go getting fat
off sugary snacks. But its okay cause the
evil will pass.
The evil I wish it would last.
poem by Matthew Petranovich
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Ad Ministram
Dear Lucy, you know what my wish is, -
I hate all your Frenchified fuss:
Your silly entrées and made dishes
Were never intended for us.
No footman in lace and in ruffles
Need dangle behind my arm-chair;
And never mind seeking for truffles,
Although they be ever so rare.
But a plain leg of mutton, my Lucy,
I pr'ythee get ready at three:
Have it smoking, and tender, and juicy,
And what better meat can here be?
And when it has feasted the master,
'Twill amply suffice for the maid;
Meanwhile I will smoke my canaster,
And tipple my ale in the shade.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Persicos Odi
Dear Lucy, you know what my wish is, --
I hate all your Frenchified fuss:
Your silly entrées and made dishes
Were never intended for us.
No footman in lace and in ruffles
Need dangle behind my arm-chair;
And never mind seeking for truffles,
Although they be ever so rare.
But a plain leg of mutton, my Lucy,
I pr'ythee get ready at three:
Have it smoking, and tender, and juicy,
And what better meat can here be?
And when it has feasted the master,
'Twill amply suffice for the maid;
Meanwhile I will smoke my canaster,
And tipple my ale in the shade.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Crawfish
(words & music by weis - weisman)
Crawfish
Well I went to the bayou just last night
There was no moon but the stars were bright
Put a big long hook on a big long pole
And I pulled mr. crawfish out of his hole
Crawfish
See I got him, see the size
Stripped and cleaned before your eyes
Sweet meat look, fresh and ready to cook
Crawfish
Now take mr. crawfish in your hand
Hes gonna look good in your frying pan
If you fry him crisp or you boil him right
Hell be sweeter than sugar when you take a bite
Crawfish
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When it rains it pours
Rain is a strange thing
when you want it
it never comes,
and when you don't
it arrives in bucket loads.
Like at a barbecue
it will put a stop to that,
but you need it for your plants
so you won't get none for weeks.
You go out in just a t.shirt
and you get soaking wet,
but the weatherman said
it will stay dry all day.
I wonder if the weather people
told Noah it wasn't going to rain?
Don't worry I bet they said,
just the odd shower possible.
Rain stops sporting events
waterlogged pitches,
rain stopped play at Cricket
no Tennis at Wimbledon.
Grown ups dislike rain
but it doesn't bother kids
adults walk around puddles
but children just dive on in.
Rain can ruin holidays
sat in a caravan all week,
but you can guarantee one thing,
on your last day the sun will come out!
poem by Kevin Halls
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The Thing Is?
The thing is?
A matter of speech
It also sits alone on the mantlepiece
Just out of reach
The thing is?
A matter of words
A feeling condensed
In a texture and touch
A familiar sight
Or a smell or sound
That you love/hate too much
The thing that is hanging around is?
A private thing
A certain eccentric comfort
A childhood memory
It is both loved and despised
A hidden piece of you unmarked unpriced
In the disguise
Of
A favourite cup with an elephant's head
A purple cushion for resting your head
An old pair of shoes
A strange hat
Or some gloves
A one legged teddy
A old saucepan circa 1980
A jelly baby
A wind up chick
A notebook of songs
An old walking stick
A set of grandads dentures
That don't fit
A smell of orange peel
Some old tin foil
A potted plant
The smell of soil
Barry Manilow, yes 'Barry Manilow's greatest hits
Don't ask me why,
He made me cry in circa 1979
The thing is, that's just it!
poem by Yvette Smith
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So What Are You Saying?
I am emotionally distraught.
But I will get over my anxieties.
'Good.'
What do you mean, 'Good'.
Aren't you going to express,
Some kind of empathy?
Some kind of emotional attachment?
'What did you expect?
Weeping?
Or a prolong sympathetic eulogy,
For the attempt you are making...
To escape a near death experience? '
Well...
Yes! Something close that shows,
I am more to you than a piece of meat!
'It's like this...
When that piece of meat heals.
And is ready for my tenderizing?
I'll toss in an ember or two in that flame.'
So what are you saying?
'When the meal is ready and prepared the way I like it...
I'll show more interest.
But I'm not accepting anything leftover that has occured,
Over and over and over to leave it tasteless!
That's what I'm saying! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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