En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Butcher Boosted

Why do they flock,
To have their meat...
Stripped clean of fat?

And who is that selected...
To do just that?
This butcher boosted,
Is preferred!
And slices exactly what is wished.
To rid them of maggots leeching.
And feed to them a diet to feast...
With an increased desire,
To eat from a substance...
More nutritiously dished!

Without those promises of expectations...
That have left them with tastebuds,
Long on delusion!
And not fed with sensations demanded.

This butcher boosted...
Openly will command,
With an exposed and uncloaked hand...
Those who witness the slicing that is done,
Will come to understand!
This butcher boosted is no joke.
And each stroke is meant,
To rid them from all deceptions hidden.

And qualified are the intentions made...
To open all eyes along the way!

'There is no fat on this cat's back!
Down to basics.
With an eye on facts.
Delivered and received!
To nourish a return of reality believed.'

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Didn't He Ramble

Didn't he ramble.... he rambled
Rambled all around.... in and out of town
Didn't he ramble....didn't he ramble
He rambled till the butcher cut him down
His feet was in the market place..his head was in the street
Lady pass him by, said..look at the market meat
He grabbed her pocket book..and said i wish you well
She pulled out a forty-five..said i'm head of personnel
Didn't he ramble...i said he rambled
Rambled all around...in and out of town
Didn't he ramble...oh didn't he ramble
He rambled till the butcher shot him down
(instrumental break)
He slipped into the cat house..made love to the stable
Madam caught him cold..said i'll pay you when i be able
Six months had passed ..and she stood all she could stand
She said buddy when i'm through with you
Ole groundhog gonna be shakin yo' hand
And didn't he ramble...he rambled
Rambled all around...in and out of town
Oh didn't he ramble......he rambled
You know he rambled...till the butcher...cut him down
I said he rambled..lord...'till the butcher shot him down

song performed by by Louis Armstrong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Butcher

There has been a butcher at my heart
I have been cut, severed and served
Diced up to a presentation
The mince of my forlorn desire
Left sitting in a bowl to waste
A consumption to indigestion
A poison to the pallet of love
The colour or romance blood red
Cut out drained away
There has been a butcher at my heart
Splicing, stabbing, hacking away
No delicate cuts to present
The back table offerings
Usually kept for the dogs
Is this all my heart has to offer
A bargain counter deal
On left over’s

poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Town Types No 20 - Mr Blades the Butcher

Mr Blades, the butcher, was a large and beefy man,
'Best him at a cattle deal,' 'twas said, 'no other can.'
He ate a lot and drank a lot and had a lot to say,
And he jollied all the ladies in his large and airy way.
His family was numerous, and helped him in 'the trade,'
And townsfolk had a deal to say of money what they made.
But Mr Blades just went his way, and had his bit of fun;
And joked about his appetite, his girth, or else his 'run.'

His 'run' - a stretch of scrubland at the back of Connor's place -
Was a joke about the district; for it did not bear a trace
Of building or improvement. Yet some said Mr Blades
Had ambitions as a squatter, and a secret scorn for 'trades' . . .
Then the cattle duffers started in the district. Connors raved,
But folk said it was wonderful how Mr Blades behaved.
Tho' he lost a hundred stores one night. But soon began the rows
When people in the town began to lose domestic cows.

Police surprised the gang one night out in the mulga shades,
And took the lot, red-handed, with their leader - Mr Blades.
Of course, the trial stirred our town, as nothing's stirred it since;
But when bad Blades got 'three years hard,' he did not even wince.
His family still strove to carry on the butcher's shop,
For folk refused to pay them, and demanded with some heat:
'Think you can charge for selling us our milkers back as meat?'

When Mr Blades came out of goal, he did not seem ashamed;
A little thinner now, perhaps, but not the least bit tamed.
He told the folk he'd paid his debts, and so, by gum, should they.
So he summoned all his debtors, and his debtors had to pay.
'For our own thieved and slaughtered cows!' wailed these bewildered folk.
But Mr Blades, the butcher, had his last and richest joke,
And, on the day he left the town, people who saw him said
He looked the picture of content - so beefy, large, and red.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The right one bows to the might.

The goat can’t expect mercy from the butcher.
The butcher has no guilt for his act on it.
The weak have necessarily to succumb
To the might, with their right notwithstanding.
24.11.2007

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Catch The Man

Catch the man who escapes for something,
His entrance to the jaws of life conveys nothing;
Might and power betrays the worker in outer life,
Mastered knowledge is the reality.

Caught in the act, a dog and man are the same,
The thief surpasses a butcher, but does the thief
Also butcher the one who is in his way,
The one in the way of success and prosperous conversation?

poem by Naveed Akram
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Imogen: The lamb entreats the butcher: where's thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
When I desire it too.
Pisanio: O gracious lady,
Since I received command to do this business
I have not slept one wink.

line from Cymbeline, Act III, Scene 4, script by William Shakespeare (1611)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Adorn That Rainbow

Hey...it's twenty ten.
Enjoy the treasures delivered from the universe,
You deserve.
Over and over and over again.
And again.

Allow no one to throw dust on your boosted thrust.
Oh no!
Glow!
Don't 'follow'.
Adorn that rainbow.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Feed Me Love

Feed me love!
That's it.
All of those other promises,
To nourish my diet...
Has not left my appetite encouraged,
One bit!

Feed me some love as a main course.
Do not tease me with it as if it is dessert!
Whatever you say it will do for me,
I want that fed to me as an entrée first.
Feed me with it to quench my thirst.
Do not tease the love I hunger and deserve.

Feed me love!
That's it.
All of those other promises,
To nourish my diet...
Has not left my appetite encouraged,
One bit!

Feed me love,
And fill me up with it!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In a Boast Stayed Boosted

Consumed,
With a self hatred.
And makes more room....
For a mind to sit,
Assuming doom.

Consumed,
With a self hatred.
And makes more room....
For a mind to sit,
Assuming doom.

Eyes on demise!
With fire and brimstone in their sights.
And tantillized by cries of crisis.
To observe with a wish not to grow from it.
That validates misfits witnessed!

Consumed,
With a self hatred.
And makes more room....
For a mind to sit,
Assuming doom.

Consumed,
With a self hatred.
And makes more room....
For a mind to sit,
Assuming doom.

Proud,
To be among those rowdy!
Those who show no benefit,
That comes to those who stir conflict.

And gloom is a boast stayed boosted.
That feeds upon such limitness,
Of those who love it on their minds and lips.
And...
Consumed,
With a self hatred.
To observe with a wish not to grow from it.
That validates misfits witnessed!

And proud,
To be among those rowdy!
Those who show no benefit,
That comes to those who stir conflict.
And proud,
To be among those rowdy!
Those who show no benefit,
That comes to those who stir conflict.
And proud,
To be among those rowdy!
Those who show no benefit,
That comes to those who stir conflict.

And giving up more attitude...
To those who view them useless,
And...
Consumed,
In a boast stayed boosted!

And ready to be roosters noosed...
Plucked to be served after roasting,
With a juice or good brew!

And...
Consumed,
In a boast stayed boosted!
And...
Consumed,
In a boast stayed boosted!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Colin The Cumberland Sausage

Colin the Cumberland sausage
was as happy as a pig in mud.
Today the master butcher made him
for the table of Mr Wood.

So full of beans was Colin
he was nearly bursting from his skin,
until the butcher wrapped him in paper
for the errand boy to deliver him.

Colin the Cumberland sausage
was delivered the very same day
to Publican Wood at the Barley Mow pub
who would cook him in the usual way.

Colin was laid out on the table
ready to go in the pan,
but Wuffer the dog entered the kitchen
and took Colin in his mouth and ran.

Now nobody knows what became of Colin
we assume he was eaten by the dog,
but don’t be surprised to see his brother
on the table of the Barley Mow pub.

poem by Orlando Belo
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Petrified lamb

The petrified lamb shivered
It wailed in vain
Searching for the herd
He was separated from
But no one was in sight

The poor animal cried all night
The biting cold was hurting him
Tied to a pole near a ramshackle
Meat shop he felt lonely
He was sold to a butcher
By the villager who always
Used to fondle him while grazing
How could he be so cruel
Thought the poor lamb

Even before the butcher came
Customers reached the shop
To buy fresh stock of meat
The poor animal felt
Someone would rescue him
From this precarious predicament

Not knowing the fate in store for him

The butcher came with his son in tow
Sharpened the knife
On a block of stone
Held the poor lamb to the ground
And slit its throat

Fountain of blood
Was on the floor
The lamb struggled
Before lying dead on the ground

Skinned, cleaned and hung
Upside down
Ready for buyers to select
The portions that they
Liked to buy
What a horrible scene
Repeated every day
On poor mute creatures
Who like us
Would like to live

poem by Vijay Menon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stripped Away

Fuel - Stripped Away
I must have left my soul cracked open
like a door. . .
in the night. . .
Seizing the opportunity
while i lay there sleeping
all the beggars and thieves walked in
and they stole
all i stored inside
I woke to find
a shell of a man
and all i had once believed . . .
Stripped away . . .
Stripped away
Well i sat at Satan's table
and I drank the wine
in a feast of revelry
Till my eyes were red and swollen
and my soul was so held with stains
that just won't come clean
and i tell myself
that i am in youth
What all i could achieve
Stripped away . . .
Stripped away
Well i stared at my own reflection
But i know that those eyes can't be me
My sprit floats in desperation
on dreams like I've never seen
So i reach for you
and draw you near
and pray that you won't be. . .
Stripped away
Stripped away

song performed by by Fuel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Not Certified With Those Qualifications

I've come to you to feed you love.
Not treat you with a desserting,
Of an agony you've been told to keep.
And you gaze upon me,
As if I am here to threaten.
As if I am here to take away...
Your enjoyment to taste defeat.

No!
I am not here to fulfill,
Those opportunities you seek.

I've come to you to feed you love.
Not treat you with a desserting,
Of an agony you've been told to keep.
As if I am here to take away...
Your enjoyment to taste defeat.

No!
I am not here to fulfill,
Those opportunities you seek.

I've come to you to feed you love.
But I am not one,
To do a force feeding done.
Or nourish you back to mental health.
I'm not certified with those qualifications.
Nor will you see my ego boosted,
To be declared on public walls.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Near-Miss

A mouse, all gray with tiny ears
was crying salty rodent tears.
A cat had cornered him and planned
to eat him as he ate his aunt.

Just when the cat had opened wide
a voice was heard from the outside.
Dog Brutus, who resided near
had just decided to appear.

He barged, as he was fond of doing
inside and saw the trouble brewing.
And since he liked all little mice
he told the cat 'now you be nice'.

The cat, however, was not used
to be directed and abused.
And with the swipe of its big paw
the mouse went down into the craw.

By now, the dog was mad as hell
and things looked for the cat not well.
He gulped the cat (and thus the mouse)
and wandered off to his own house.

And as he settled down to snooze
he saw a pair of Rockford shoes
approaching from across the street
he knew it was the butcher, Pete.

The butcher was a nasty man
and always fought with brother Stan.
He carried in his hand a knife,
the dog now feared for his own life.

Now let me tell you how it ended,
the butcher, who had been offended
by the mere presence of the mutt
just stood there scratching his big gut.

That was the signal for the cat,
which in the dog's own stomach sat.
The cat responded to her master
who, instantly, sensed a disaster.

She bounced and jumped, the mouse did follow
the air was sparse inside the hollow.
And through the movement Brutus shivered
when on command his brain delivered

a burp of monumental size
and this now triggered a surprise.
The cat, (and thus the mouse as well)
exploded outward with a yell.

Thus now you know that dogs that belch
throw up (but only if they're Welsh) .
You didn't think that cat survived
inside? Of oxygen deprived?

You're right of course, but let me say
the mouse and cat inside DID pray.
And, in the end, I told my spouse,
it all came down to Mouse to mouth.

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shock

The shock of what is not,
Is more disturbing...
Than the acceptance of what is!
Once what is not,
Is stopped and dropped...
A reality delivered,
Ceases attempts...
To make what is not,
Meant to limit with intent.
Meant to have many consent...
To a controlled existence with contempt!

And what is 'not'...
Loses the attention given.
Loses an illusion driven,
To have and behold delusion.
And delusion and reality...
Do not a couple make.
Not today,
When earthquakes are shaking foundations...
Once believed permanent,
Because they were man made!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Robin Hood And The Butcher

Come, all you brave gallants, and listen awhile,
With hey down, down, an a down,
That are in the bowers within;
For of Robin Hood, that archer good,
A song I intend for to sing.

Upon a time it chanced so,
Bold Robin in forrest did 'spy
A jolly butcher, with a bonny fine mare,
With his flesh to the market did hye.

'Good morrow, good fellow,' said jolly Robin,
'What food hast [thou]? tell unto me;
Thy trade to me tell, and where thou dost dwell,
For I like well thy company.'

The butcher he answer'd jolly Robin,
'No matter where I dwell;
For a butcher I am, and to Nottingham
I am going, my flesh to sell.'

'What's [the] price of thy flesh?' said jolly Robin,
'Come, tell it soon unto me;
And the price of thy mare, be she never so dear,
For a butcher fain would I be.'

'The price of my flesh,' the butcher repli'd,
'I soon will tell unto thee;
With my bonny mare, and they are not too dear,
Four mark thou must give unto me.'

'Four mark I will give thee,' saith jolly Robin,
'Four mark it shall be thy fee;
The mony come count, and let me mount,
For a butcher I fain would be.'

Now Robin he is to Nottingham gone,
His butchers trade to begin;
With good intent to the sheriff he went,
And there he took up his inn.

When other butchers did open their meat,
Bold Robin he then begun;
But how for to sell he knew not well,
For a butcher he was but young.

When other butchers no meat could sell,
Robin got both gold and fee;
For he sold more meat for one peny
Then others could do for three.

But when he sold his meat so fast,
No butcher by him could thrive;
For he sold more meat for one peny
Than others could do for five.

Which made the butchers of Nottingham
To study as they did stand,
Saying, 'Surely he 'is' some prodigal,
That hath sold his fathers land.'

The butchers stepped to jolly Robin,
Acquainted with him for to be;
'Come, brother,' one said, 'we be all of one trade,
Come, will you go dine with me?'

'Accurst of his heart,' said jolly Robin,
'That a butcher doth deny;
I will go with you, my brethren true,
As fast as I can hie.'

But when to the sheriffs house they came,
To dinner they hied apace,
And Robin Hood he the man must be
Before them all to say grace.

'Pray God bless us all,' said jolly Robin,
'And our meat within this place;
A cup of sack so good will nourish our blood,
And so do I end my grace.'

'Come fill us more wine,' said jolly Robin,
'Let us be merry while we do stay;
For wine and good cheer, be it never so dear,
I vow I the reck'ning will pay.

'Come, 'brothers,' be merry,' said jolly Robin,
'Let us drink, and never give ore;
For the shot I will pay, ere I go my way,
If it cost me five pounds and more.'

'This is a mad blade,' the butchers then said;
Saies the sheriff, 'He is some prodigal,
That some land has sold for silver and gold,
And now he doth mean to spend all.

'Hast thou any horn beasts,' the sheriff repli'd,
'Good fellow, to sell unto me?'
'Yes, that I have, good master sheriff,
I have hundreds two or three;

'And a hundred aker of good free land,
If you please it to see:
And Ile make you as good assurance of it,
As ever my father made me.'

The sheriff he saddled his good palfrey,
And, with three hundred pound in gold,
Away he went with bold Robin Hood,
His horned beasts to behold.

Away then the sheriff and Robin did ride,
To the forrest of merry Sherwood;
Then the sheriff did say, 'God bless us this day
From a man they call Robin Hood!'

But when a little farther they came,
Bold Robin he chanced to spy
A hundred head of good red deer,
Come tripping the sheriff full nigh.

'How like you my horn'd beasts, good master sheriff?
They be fat and fair for to see;'
'I tell thee, good fellow, I would I were gone,
For I like not thy company.'

Then Robin set his horn to his mouth,
And blew but blasts three;
Then quickly anon there came Little John,
And all his company.

'What is your will, master?' then said Little John,
'Good master come tell unto me;'
'I have brought hither the sheriff of Nottingham
This day to dine with thee.'

'He is welcome to me,' then said Little John,
'I hope he will honestly pay;
I know he has gold, if it be but well told,
Will serve us to drink a whole day.'

Then Robin took his mantle from his back,
And laid it upon the ground:
And out of the sheriffs portmantle
He told three hundred pound.

Then Robin he brought him thorow the wood,
And set him on his dapple gray;
'O have me commanded to your wife at home;'
So Robin went laughing away.

poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fat Fed Leeching People

What they 'really' want?
A more greedier life to live.
What they 'really' hunger for?
Is less from them to give!

A me-me-I-I society...
Hooked on feeding greed.

What they 'really' want?
A more greedier life to live.
What they 'really' hunger for?
Is a leaner 'truth'
To soothe their whims.

Fat fed leeching people,
Poisoned to feed.
Don't understand,
Their demands are fading.

Fat fed leeching people,
Have been led to believe...
Deceptions and lies,
Reflect their real lives.

What they 'really' want?
A more greedier life to live.
What they 'really' hunger for?
Is a less 'truth' than that 'truth'...
Really IS!

Fat fed leeching people,
Want a less truth,
Than that truth...
Really IS!

Fat fed leeching people,
Want a less truth,
Than that truth...
Really IS!

Fat fed leeching people,
Want a less truth,
Than that truth...
Really IS!

AND,
Poisoned to feed...
On a less 'truth'
Than that truth...
Really IS!

AND,
Poisoned to feed...
On a less 'truth'
Than that truth...
Really IS!

Fat fed leeching people...
Will keep eating,
What's been fed to them.
AND,
Fat fed leeching people...
Will keep eating,
What's been fed to them.
AND,
Fat fed leeching people...
Will keep eating,
What's been fed to them.

UNTIL...
The end!

Fat fed leeching people,
Want a less truth,
Than that truth...
Really IS!

Fat fed leeching people,
Want a less truth,
Than that truth...
Really IS!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Asking what I considered an impossible salary when I didn't want to work for someone has boosted my pay again and again.

quote by Ethel Waters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Substitute of Meat

What process is this,
If it is not a learning one?
What process is this,
If comprehension isn't done?

Wasted sagas are meaningless,
And shallow.
Do nothing there to uplift.
Although,
A purpose to keep mentalities narrow...
And quite hollow does succeed.

What process is this,
If it is not a learning one?
What process is this,
If comprehension isn't done?

And what purpose is served,
By keeping minds fed dessert...
In substitute of meat.
We already witness the disadvantages,
Of too much sugar and spice.
Leaving sweetened appetites in our streets,
Without substance to nourish!
With all taxes increased.

'Meat?
I thought you were vegetarian? '

Meat for the mind,
Fool!

'I'll have you know,
I am a qualified imbecile...
Thank you!
Any references declaring me to be a fool,
I find appalling and offensive.'

There is 'something' about that to be admired.
Perhaps that's why it captivates.
And nothing about your situation advances.
It's soooo...
Impressively expressive.
And excuses an accepted abuse!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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