The Foul Mouthed Chef
He'd curse at the Steak and Kidney pies
and swear if the souffle's failed to rise
he'd jump up and down in a rage
if he disliked the taste of the Sage.
Losing his rag he'd throw a dish
if he didn't like the look of the fish
and if the soup just wasn't quite right
he'd be in a mood the rest of the night.
Even with customers he'd cut up rough
if they complained that the Beef was too tough
in temper his face would turn Red
and sweat would drip down from his head.
He'd become a big star on the Telly
for shouting abuse at a bowl of Jelly
in the kitchens he'd go berserk
if a simple recipe had failed to work.
And if a meal was just one minute late
he'd rant and rave and smash a plate
kick and punch a hole in a door
and throw cutlery down onto the floor.
But tasting gravy he swore was too thick
he suddenly became violently sick
the foul mouthed chef drew his last breath
Arsenic was the cause of his death!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Shout Shout
Correct me if you think that Im mistaken
I wouldnt want to overstate my case
But while Im the one bringing home the bacon
Ive got a right to be heard around this place
You seem to think that life dealt you a bad deal
On the day we both pronounced the words I do
You yell at me for hours about what bugs you
Well thats a waste of time cos I can do that too
Shout shout dont leave a doubt
Smash up the place or throw things about
You wont change a thing by doing that
Rant rave pull out your hair
Turn on the tears, I still wont care
You dont move me an inch when you do that
Im trying my best to be your husband
And a father to our little baby girl
And Id rather rely on my own judgement
Than the vagaries and fashions of this world
If you wanted a doctor or a lawyer
You should have married one of them instead of me
Or some other guy who would ignore you
When hed make a point and you would disagree
Shout shout dont leave a doubt
Smash up the place or throw things about
You wont change a thing by doing that
Rant rave pull out your hair
Turn on the tears, I still wont care
You dont move me an inch when doing that
And now Ill make my confessing
I love to row as much as you
But while it might be fun, in the long run
Its not going to change a thing we do
Again I make my confession
I love to row as much a you
But while it might be fun, in the long run
Its not going to change a thing we do
Shout shout dont leave a doubt
Smash up the place or throw things about
You wont change a thing by doing that
Rant rave pull out your hair
Turn on the tears, I still wont care
You dont move me an inch when you do that
Shout shout dont leave a doubt
Smash up the place or throw things about
You wont change a thing by doing that
Rant rave pull out your hair
Turn on the tears, I still wont care
You dont move me an inch when you do that
song performed by by Proclaimers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ever Had a Nine-course Meal?
Ever had a nine-course meal to set you on your way?
Perhaps to start, a glass of wine aside a cheese soufflé.
The second dish could be of fish, so how about Paella?
Check with Chef to see it's cooked – you don't want salmonella!
Now for the third we'll hot it up with spicy beef kebab –
You know we wouldn't want the feast to feel a little drab!
Before the fourth, you'll need a lager – taken from the keg.
And in this cooling interlude, enjoy a chocolate egg
Before the launch of number five: a roaring Indian curry –
And since our table's near the loo, you'll have no need to worry!
But now to take the heavy stuff: a whopping great lasagna;
However, this is rather special – a recipe from Romania!
Risotto makes the seventh course with red Italian wine,
Then you'll benefit from dessert, with chocolate mousse divine!
Oh - and afterwards a stretcher as we serve course number nine!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Animal Rights (A Restaurant Sold Fried Fish Cruelly)
In Taiwan, there was a restaurant,
sale promotion gimmick of which was very abhorrent.
It was a smoky fried fish,
a spicy and good -smelled dish.
There was a glass fish pond,
swimming in it were fish...big, fat and long.
Beside it was a fish net,
by which the chef would catch.
Then he quickly removed the scale with a knife,
and on the body he cut and sprinkled with salt and spice,
while the fish was still alive.
Then with wet towel he grabbed the fish head,
while the gill huffing and puffing to catch the breath.
Into the sizzling hot oil, the body was slowly dipped,
which in painful agony, flapped and flipped.
The fish struggled in a desperate attempt,
causing the hot oil to splash,
onto the chef's hand,
making him cry in pain as if the world was going to end.
Before the fried fish was going to be served,
he put into the mouth of it the lighted cigarette,
an act so sickening,
horrifying and disgusting.
Then the Animal Rights Group lodged a strong protest.
The chef was afraid his business got into the red.
removed that dish from the list of menu.
He was almost legally sued,
making his mood get into the blue.
The chef sells the fish in a way so cruel and selfish,
to the animals he shows pity, not a little bit.
4. Shopping and Chopping
Have you got pigs liver?
Said a lady in my shop
No I said politely
But I have a nice pork chop
Could I have some kidney?
With a half a pound of steak
To make a lovely gravy
With the pie she was to bake
The scales shows two and sixpence
Three bob a little more
She didn’t want the piece of steak
I’d just dropped on the floor
I parcelled up her purchase
And placed it with her shopping
Put the money in the till
Then went back to my chopping
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Grandmother Would Drive
My grandmother could make a biscuit taste like steak.
And she did everything from 'scratch'.
Including making her own soap too.
The only thing I disliked,
That my Grandmother Clara ever did...
Was to get her driver's license.
My grandmother would drive,
And have an entire conversation...
Without looking at the road!
I had heard rumors of this...
But to witness it,
Was right out of Six Flags.
Or Disney World.
Don't ask me how she did this.
I was too busy trying to keep myself alive.
That 'imaginary' brake on the passenger side,
Of my grandmother's car...
Had worn a hole through the carpeted car floor.
And my grandmother never got a speeding ticket either.
She turned to me and asked why I had the door handle,
In my hand when speeding along the highway.
I did not realize I had pulled the handle from the door.
She frightened the 'hell' out of me.
'Grandma, I gotta use the bathroom.'
~And...? ~
'Pee.'
~You bet not be doin' that in my car, boy!
Why didn't you say somethin' when we were at the carwash? ~
'I didn't think I had to THEN, grandma.
But driving with you has proved me wrong.
I think I've got to throw up too! '
The only thing I disliked,
That my Grandmother Clara ever did...
Was to get her driver's license.
She said she didn't need to wait,
For my grandfather to take her anywhere...
She wanted to go.
And rarely did I see my grandmother,
Using the rearview mirror.
Or...
Keep her eyes on the road.
'Grandma, I gotta use the bathroom.
I'm serious.'
~And...? ~
'Pee.'
~You bet not be doin' that in my car, boy!
Why didn't you say somethin' when we were at the carwash?
You slowing me. You slowing me down. Geeesssshhh.
Precious Lord...hmmm hmmm...Lead me...hmmm.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wonky Spoon Cafe
She makes a decent apple pie
at the Wonky Spoon Cafe
where eggs are easy over
and chips all deep fat fried.
Full English breakfast every day,
the bacon is real good
but how she scowls is scary
and turns folk off their food.
She makes the cream turn sour
and customers all cringe
as they slurp their mugs of tea
and eat their mushy peas.
Her face can scare most patrons
but worse, far worse than this
her husbands manic chortles
can cause their bums to hiss.
So if you'd like a pasty,
don't try the Wonky Spoon
for though the food is passable
the atmosphere is cruel.
She nails down all the cutlery
and though she lends out plates,
God help you if you dare return
a single plate too late.
She'll scold you and berate you
call you thief and more,
she'll bar you from the cafe
and throw you out the door!
A nasty piece of work,
there's no one can deny
but blow me down and whistle
she makes mean apple pie.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gravy On You
Well, I think youre obnoxious
And I think that you stink
I think youre a moron
A slob, and a fink
Youre one of the biggest turkeys I know
And that is the reason Im going to
Throw gravy on you
And throw gravy on you
And throw gravy, gravy on you-ou-ou-ou-ou
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Screw
When you screw up your eyes
When you screw up your face
When you throw out your arms
And keep changing your shape
Taste the taste in your mouth
Taste the taste on your tongue
On the film on your eyes of what i've become
What do i do when you screw up your eyes?
What do i do when you screw up your face?
What do i do
When you throw out your arms
Fall on the floor
And keep changing your shape?
Jump right into your mouth?
Jump around on your tongue?
And the film on your eyes of the way i've become
Makes me sick at the way that i try
Anything in the world
To impress that i'm doing this
Only for you
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dish (cuisine) that talks
I am a dish that talks
and usually i want the chef
to do his stuff my way
wishing this, wishing that
hoping to be the next best dish
to top the restaurant list
as the chef sprinkles
his spices and salt onto me
i diffident would complain of
the excesses, the overindulgent
use of veggies and mutton
or mollusks, mustard
vinegar and pepper
and even the overheating,
charbroiled, stir fried
steam cooked or stewed
i want it my way giving
little regard to the chef's expertise
for fear of becoming an
offensive blandness on
the tongues of the masters
over enthusiastic over
what would turn out of me
only when my fragrance
spreads over the table
to trigger that salivating
nerves in mouths that
the buddha himself would
jump over the wall to
have me in his belly that
i realise the chef is correct
he is cooking me and he knows
how best i should be served
that exquisiteness that could only
result from an original recipe
the chef himself knows best
how he should turn out his creation
i take the opportunity to ask him
what he finds most in the way
as he tries to realise his dream of me
and he says 'Your load of bland ego
with the toughness of a three year old chicken.'
'It takes such a long time to just
boil them down to edible portions.'
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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30 I'm Sorry For You
I'm sorry for hurting you
I'm sorry for making you cry
I'm sorry I didn't realize why
I'm sorry for not understanding you new right
I'm sorry for all those fights
I'm sorry for not listening
I'm sorry for not trying
I'm sorry I failed you
I'm sorry I didn't try
I'm sorry for not caring
I'm sorry for not supporting you
I'm sorry I really am
I'm sorry it was too late
I'm sorry I cried all night
I'm sorry I never found you
I'm sorry your hearts lost
I'm sorry I couldn't cure it
I'm sorry but I'll try now
I'm sorry if its too late
I'm sorry but I have to try
I'm sorry for being so bad
I'm sorry for being so down
I'm sorry for not understanding you when I wasn't even around
I'm sorry for underestimating you
I'm sorry I let you fall that time
I'm sorry for losing your heart
I'm sorry I wish things where ok
I'm sorry for being a idiot
I'm sorry, I 'm sorry
poem by Damn Angel
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Two Ubiquitous Tragedies
Once Asylum was visited by a sage
And he saw two bonkers in a same cage.
And sage with a fazed face,
gazed in the oubliette
and heard both loonies
shouting, “Juliet”, “Juliet”.
And curious sage in a soft whimper
asked to a studious headshrinker:
“Why both have gone mad?
Why both appear sad?
Why one seems serious?
And other appears furious?
Headshrinker replied:
One Romeo failed to marry Juliet
Other’s marriage failed with Juliet.
And sage quipped:
There are two not three tragedies in a life
A life without a wife and life with a wife
poem by Hitesh Sheth
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Throwaway
Dry your eyes, say goodnight
I dont know if I can
Cut the ties, say goodbye
So I try and take it somewhere else
Pretending that were something else
Ive been trying to find my way to you
Through the anger and the sorrow
I just cant let you go
And throw it away, throw it away
And even when we dont know
Well find a way, well find our way
Anything to escape but were going nowhere
Late at night when you cry
Cuz were living like were someone else
And wishing we were somewhere else
Losing everything that I used to know
Disconnected and hollow
I just cant let you let go
And throw it away, throw it away
And even when you dont know
Well find a way, well find our way
Pulling me closer, drowning in you
Ill hit the bottom with you
But I cant let you go
And throw it away, throw it away
And even when we dont know
Well find a way, well find our way
I just cant let you let go
And throw it away, throw it away
And even when you dont know
Well find a way, well find our way
song performed by by Lit
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Throw It All Away
It's taken all this time to work you out
And if I wasn't sure before now I'm in no doubt
You're running out of things to say and I can see it in your face
You're going to throw it all away
Chorus:
Makes no difference what you say cause you can't hide it
Cause every moment slips away there's no denying
That I know, yes I know
You're going to throw it all away
You've been running for so long you've lost your way
It doesn't matter what you do it's getting closer every day
You're running out of things to say and I can see it in your face
You're going to throw it all away
(Chorus)
You're going to throw it all away
You're going to throw it all away
You're going to throw it all away
(Chorus)
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Calling All
when i arose
like a plot twist in prose
i found my head in a box
with jagged rocks and those
cuts ran as rivers.
yet i didnt care to find the key
i hadnt known if there was a key
to unlock the door at the end
of the hallway
and there was no way out.
hope,
like string, was neither thick
enough nor long enough
to decorate my neck
in the void of space.
eyes bled as i looked upon the
sun
who's face looked upon me,
i failed him, and he wasnt about
to bail me out again.
and again
i rest my case-head on the chopping block, the breath
i taste, is not my own but those
chopped before.
in a world where pennies are scraped from our fabricated pockets to bury the dead, and they are young.
poem by Malcolm McGill
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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T'was the Night Prior to the Real Nightmare
Failed concepts...
Are diminishing by the minute.
And those who are in it,
Have to sit and finish them off!
T'was the night prior to the real nightmare.
People were sunbathing without a thought or care!
Mockings of inner city people were good and well done!
And out of the blue,
Bird doo hit the head of someone,
And he became startled, baffled and stunned!
Was that the bird of truth?
His nervousness begun!
People stopped listening to him like they should.
He sent in fresh missionaries to keep the 'hood' good!
He took away the alcohol from his kids...
Took away their weapons,
Although they had some hid from him they did!
He spoke to his pastor...
Who was also his lawyer,
Banker and baker of his bread!
He didn't know what to say,
About his dread.
And it was dreadful!
He tried his best,
To provide for everyone.
By selling the land,
Running it!
And racking up bills as he ran,
As far as he could from reality!
And now he wants to be perceived,
As the one most willing...
To piece together a portrait of universal love!
And this...
Will be yet another,
Failed concept!
Laid out on the table....
From a chair he sits that is much too big!
Failed concepts...
Are diminishing by the minute.
And those who are in it,
Have to sit and finish them off!
Failed concepts...
Are diminishing by the minute.
And those who are in it...
Are no closer to an exit,
Than the first exit plan they claim...
Would win the game!
Failed concepts...
Are diminishing by the minute.
And those who are in it
Must do something quick,
Or sit and be finished off!
T'was the night prior to the real nightmare...
People were sunbathing without a thought,
And none dared to care.
Until out of no where...
Strange Beings appeared.
With pierced skin and tattoos from toe to ear.
They were quite drugged,
And their focus wasn't clear.
But they began to stalk...
In growing numbers.
Surrounding those...
In numbing fear!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wild Oats
I saw a fair youth, with a brow broad and white,
And an eye that was beaming with intellect's light:
And his face seemed to glow with the wealth of his mind;
And I said, 'He will grace and ennoble mankind:
He is Nature's own king.'
We met yet again. I saw the youth stand
With a bowl that was flowing and red in his hand;
And he filled it again, and again did he quaff,
And his friends gathered round him, and said with a laugh,
'He is sowing his oats.'
Ah! his eye was too bright, and his cheek was too red,
And I gazed on the youth with a feeling of dread;
And again as he laughingly lifted the bowl,
I turned from the scene with a shuddering soul:
It was terrible seed!
We met but once more. I found in the street
A corpse half-enveloped in mud and in sleet:
A foul, bloated thing; but I saw in the face
A something that told of its boyhood's grace:
He had reaped the dire crop.
O youths who are sowing wild oats! do you know
That the terrible seed you are planting will grow?
Have you thought how your God will require some day
An account of the life you are throwing away?
Have you thought, O rash youth?
It will soon be too late, there is no time to waste;
Then throw down the cup! do not touch, do not taste!
It is filled with destruction and sorrow and pain:
Throw it down! throw it down! do not lift it again:
It will soon be too late!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bacon Biscuit Blues
Put your biscuits in the oven
Honey, put your buns in bed
I wanna come inside your kitchen
Wanna taste your shortening bread
I want to jump into your skillet
Honey, tickle your home fries
I gotta hambone working fill it
Wont you try it on for size
Uh uh uh uh uh
Baby ask me no questions
Ill tell you no lies
Put your biscuits in the oven
Honey, watch my dumplin
Rise up - early in the morning
Rise up - late at night
Rise up - gotta get me a warning
Rise up - gonna whet your appetite
Gonna shake and bake you honey
I want a catcher in the rye
I wanna sop up all your gravy
From your deep dish apple pie
So open up your menu
I wanna slice your honey dew
I love it honey when you
Do me like you do
Uh uh uh uh uh
And if you ask me no questions
And tell me no lies
Put your biscuits in the oven
Honey, watch my dumplin
Rise up - early in the morning
Rise up - late late late at night
Rise up - giving me no warning
Rise up - gonna wet your appetite
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get Your Way
You make demands, youre out of hand and soon enough youre gonna get your way.
You rage and roar, you pace the floor and soon enough youre gonna have your day.
Get your way.
Got no time for temperament.
Bad attitude wont make a dent.
Dont cry baby, dont cry at all.
Got no need to take the fall.
Dont go on strike. you know what I like. you know how to love me, daddy - loose but tight.
Your mood is down, Im losing ground and soon enough youre gonna have your day.
Get your way.
Theres no need to stay at home alone.
No need for slamming the phone.
Got no need to kick the cat or get too high.
No need for that.
The silences when you dont speak - much worse than when you scolding me.
The silences when you wont speak - its not the silence thats golden to me.
Look out!
Im coming!
Im coming!
Im coming!
You make demands, youre out of hand and soon enough youre gonna get your way.
You rage and roar, you pace the floor and soon enough your gonna get your way.
Dont go on strike. you know what I like. you know how to love me, daddy - loose but tight.
Your mood is down, Im losing ground and soon enough youre gonna have your day.
Get your way.
You know I always get my way.
Im hot!
I do succeed.
Like washington at valley forge, I get just what I need.
Like iron mike with a tko and jesse james with a .44, I keep on coming moving slow and put them on the floor.
Get up!
Turn it up a bit.
Get up!
Turn it up a bit.
Im self contained.
I use my brain and I keep the people entertained.
Its a long way up with no elevator, but Im gonna get there sooner or later cuz the last thing that Im gonna do is not do what I wanted to.
Get up!
Turn it up a bit.
Get up!
Turn it up a bit.
Like frankenstein and danger mouse Im gonna make some noise and rock the house!
You have been demanding. throwing temper tantrums. soon enough your gonna get your way.
You have been highhanded. setting super standards. soon enough youre gonna get your way.
You have been vindictive. you can go and stick it. pretty soon youre gonna get your way.
Dont you go on strike. you know just what I like now. pretty soon youre gonna have your day.
Get your way.
Youre so dramatic, youre too emphatic, but soon enough youre gonna get your way.
Weve been conflicting. youd better start thinking and pretty soon youre gonna get your way.
Dont go on strike. you know what I like. you know how to love me, daddy - loose but tight.
Your mood is down. Im losing ground and soon enough youre gonna have your day.
Get your way.
You make demands, youre out of hand and soon enough youre gonna get your way.
You rage and roar, you pace the floor and soon enough youre gonna get your way.
Your mood is down. Im losing ground and soon enough youre gonna get your way.
Youre so dramatic. youre too emphatic, but soon enough youre gonna get your way.
Have your day.
Get your way.
You have your day. yeah, you get what you want. uh huh.
Get your way. have your day.
Soon enough youre gonna get it, yeah.
Youre gonna get your way.
Have your day. get your way. uh huh. uh huh.
Dont go on strike. you know what I like.
song performed by by Blondie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jeane
Jeane
The low-life has lost its appeal
And i'm tired of walking these streets
To a room with its cupboards bare
Jeane
I'm not sure what happiness means
But i look in your eyes
And i know
Oh ...
That it isn't there
Oh, we tried, and we failed
Oh, we tried, and we failed
We tried and we failed
We tried and we failed
We tried
Oh, jeane
There's ice on the sink where we bathe
So how can you call this a home
When you know it's a grave ?
Yet you still have that greedy grace
As you tidy the place
But it will never be clean
Jeane
We tried and we failed
We tried, and we failed
We tried and we failed
We tried and we failed
And we tried
Oh ...
Cash on the nail
It's just a fairytale
Oh ...
And i don't believe in magic anymore
Jeane
But i think you know
I really think you know
Oh ...
Oh yes, i think you know the truth
Jeane
Oh ...
No heavenly choirs
Not for me and not for you
Because i think you know
I really think you know
Oh ...
I think you know the truth
Oh, jeane
We tried, and we failed
We tried, and we failed
We tried and we failed
We tried and we failed
We tried
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hole in the Bathroom Wall
The cottage was old, it needed some work
The walls were of crumbling stone,
The windows, like eyes in a tumbledown Kirk
Were staring, like sockets of bone;
I hadn't much money, I hadn't much choice,
'I'll take it, ' I said to the man,
If only I'd known what the future would bring
I would never have shaken his hand.
My marriage had failed, I had my young son
Just three and a half in the spring,
We bought an old bed and a table, two chairs,
Drove up there and went to move in;
The floorboards were creaky, the walls were damp,
The place was as filthy as hell,
I sat the young lad on the floor by a lamp
And I cleaned, until darkness fell.
The rooms were all empty, they echoed and stirred,
I thought I heard whispers and moans,
The ghosts of the past tried to warn me, I guess,
I couldn't interpret their groans;
I tucked up the lad after dinner, in bed,
And I wandered the house overall,
Then checked out the water, and turning my head
Saw a hole in the bathroom wall.
It wasn't that big, but was over the bath,
I could see through the damp and the rot,
It wouldn't take that much to fill it, I thought,
Then I took a long walk, and forgot;
For days I was painting, cementing and fixing
The cracks were all over the place,
But never a thought of that hole in the wall -
To my ultimate shame, and disgrace.
Outside the cottage, a paddock ran back,
All burnt up and brown in the sun,
There wasn't a leaf or a stick that was green
The summer had barely begun;
Old pieces of iron lay thick on the ground
And lizards lay under their shade,
I should have been warned, but it just didn’t dawn
On me then, to my utter dismay.
A month had gone by, the weather was dry,
So hot that we suffered like hell,
I drew a warm bath, only tepid and low
So the lad could cool off for a spell,
I reached for a towel, but nothing was there,
I remembered it out on the line,
Then ran out the back to retrieve it, and saw
What has ever since haunted my mind.
For over behind the old cottage, there slid
A brown skinned, and hideous snake,
Six foot in length it ignored me and went
For the hole where the wall was baked,
Slowly its body slid into the hole
As I stood there just shaking in fear,
My beautiful baby was sat in the bath
As his deadly opponent drew near.
I ran through the door and I screamed as I ran,
I made for the bathroom door,
Everything seemed to go suddenly slow
As I slid on the muddy, wet floor,
I finally got to the bathroom door,
Reached out, as I started to fall,
The snake had reared up, preparing to strike
From the hole in the bathroom wall.
We often remember 'the day of the snake'
Since my son has grown taller than me,
He has this aversion to lizards and snakes,
And goanna's and skinks in the tree,
We regularly walk round the cottage and fix
Any cracks, any holes, overall;
I lost my right arm from the snake as it struck
From the hole in the bathroom wall.
12 March 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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