For the Love of Swine
Breakfast without bacon,
Seems like no breakfast at all.
Without Italian sausage roasted or baked...
In spaghetti.
It would be like having a milkshake,
Without milk.
Or Easter without ham.
With leftover sandwiches to make.
And those porkchops are delicious.
Especially fried.
And if they are seasoned just right to eat...
Some can be cooked to bring tears to eyes.
Smoked shoulder, and pickled pigfeet.
Neckbones and hamhocks.
With hotsauce on pork rinds.
A meal with neither of these,
On many Southern tables...
Is worse than committing the most horrendous crime.
For the love of swine,
People the world over can not resist.
Some relationships have ended...
Over spareribs and chitterlings,
If they were not properly fixed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Remembering Favourite Foods
last night we late cooked
an old time kiwi favourite
yes hot baked beans on
toast with a side of marmite
on toast to keep it company
sweet simple kiwi luxuary
can’t buy my favourite band
Watties Baked Beans legendary
settled for a can of Heinz yes
you guessed it baked beans
in hot tomato sauce with melted
cheese in hot baked beans mixed
I had Sanitarium kiwi Marmite
on toast another kiwi favourite
as my side dish winter dynamite
real kiwi boys palate to excite
it is simple home foods we miss
Sanitarium Weet-Bix favourite
New Zealand's No.1 breakfast
cereal loved by kiwi generations
milk over golden wheat biscuits
with a sprinkling of brown sugar
acquired taste Marmite spectacular
my beloved ETA salt and vinegar
potato chips can’t find here miss
Cadbury Crunchie Bar local star
milk chocolate over a honey comb
center a delicious treat by Cadbury
Brunswick Sardines in soybean
oil or spring water and Canadian
sockeye salmon other favourites
sacrifice living here I really miss
but for a real kiwi smile happy
Watties Baked Beans legendary
spaghetti or beloved baked beans
are my choice “it must be Watties”
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Be or Not to Be?
To be or not to be on diet?
That is the question!
I think I won’t.
I better prefer an entrecote.
I certainly love to eat,
My favorite dishes are so sweet.
I never ignore a cake.
How delicious is a juicy steak.
Sandwiches with caviar,
Spaghetti and meatballs,
Pilaf and goulash,
Cucumbers and fish …..
Why should I lose weight?
To eat is never late.
Why shouldn’t I eat?
I can stand on my feet.
Why should I care of my waist?
I so much enjoy the food’s taste.
I will not listen to anyone.
It’s the greatest fun
To eat fried mushrooms with sour cream.
Food is so good cooked on a steam.
Chickens in the oven I’ll bake,
Pancakes on the stove I’ll make.
Then I will drink wine
And my eyes will shine.
Someone will be surprised,
But some will be just enticed.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For The Happy Housemaid...
early morning
the housemaid turns on the radio
in full volume that the
neighbors know that
she is already awake
and cooking breakfast
the house smells fried
egg and bacon and
steamed rice
when i come out my room
she smiles and
turns off the radio and
says that breakfast is
ready
only to be told that
no one likes to eat breakfast
(unlike the two the housemaid
likes it much to eat all these matters
alone by herself,
she is attuned like a loud radio
early morning
and she does not mind what
the housemaids' neighbors say)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Making Breakfast - a study in consciousness
Breakfast. Slick operation. You could
make it in your sleep..
you’ve refined the quantities,
the cooking and the timing
like a pro..
and eating it – you’re even more
brilliant at that – you can
eat breakfast, read the paper,
listen to the radio or tv,
half listen to the wife and kids,
make and take those cellphone calls;
then bestow a salty bacon,
sweet marmaladey kiss on several lips
or cheeks – and off..
But today something gotten to you:
the sun is shining; all’s well with the world;
this isn’t Monday breakfast, this is
Saturday breakfast…
You find yourself making breakfast
as if you’d never made it in your life before;
you hear the cereal on its way
from the packet to the bowl;
smell the coffee before drinking it;
never has the toast been browner, crisper,
eggs more eggy, tomatoes so.. well, tomatoey;
sweet meeting salt in tasting mouth..
the world’s made new today; and
somehow, you feel as if
you know that much more about yourself;
some sure sense of direction
seems to fill your heart and mind;
you’re on good terms with
the Creation as of now.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Breakfast In Bed
(eddie hinton / donnie fritts)
Youve been cryin
Your face is a mess
Come in baby
You can dry the tears on my dress
Shes hurt you again
I can tell
Oh, I know that look so well
Dont be shy
Youve been here before
Pull your shoes off, lie down
And I will lock the door
And no-one has to know
Youve come here again
Darling it will be
Like its always been before
Come on over here
Breakfast in bed
And a kiss or three
You dont have to say you love me
Breakfast in bed
Nothing need be said
Aint no need
Whats your hurry?
Please dont eat and run
You can let her wait, my darling
Its been so long
Since Ive had you here
You will come again
Darling it will be
Like its always been before
Hey child
Breakfast in bed
And a kiss or three
You dont have to say you love me
Breakfast in bed
Nothing need be said
Breakfast in bed
And a kiss or three
You dont have to say you love me
Breakfast in bed
Nothing need be said, yeah
You dont have to
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Simple Pleasure
This morning I had eggs
Sunny side up
Cooked in the grease
Of sage pork sausage
Seasoned generously with
Louisiana hot sauce
and freshly ground
Tellaberry pepper
I ate until
I could barely stand
And if I should chance…
To die this day
I won't care…
I'll die a happy man
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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438
To Choose Between A
Hot Breakfast Ready On The Table
And Finishing Another Poem
I Choose The Breakfast
Together With My Wife
This Poem Can Be Suspended
In Time
And Become Another Unfinished
Act Of Creation
By A Man Wanting To Fill This
World With Poems
After A While
When I Have My Fill And When
I Make Some Nice Conversations With My Wife
And My Dog Beside The Table
Looking At Me
For A Piece Of Fried Pork
When The Sipping Of Coffee Is Over
When I Finally Wipe My
Chin With The Sky Blue Napkin
When I Consider
Eating As Finally Over
As Promised
I Will Come Back Again
And Finish This Poem
And There Is Something
Nice In This
Act Of Creation
You Feel It
It Is Warm Like The Hand Of
A Beautiful Woman
It Is As Hot As Ever
Like This Wanton Desire
Lovely,
As Lovely As You Love Each Letter
Of The Word
Of Your Poetry
I Am Feeling It In The Bone
Of My Soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Breakfast Is Ready
(7: 45 in the morning)
to choose between a
hot breakfast ready on the table
and finishing another poem
i choose the breakfast
together with my wife
this poem can be suspended
in time
and become another unfinished
act of creation
by a man wanting to fill this
world with poems
after a while
when i have my fill and when
i make some nice conversations with my wife
and my dog beside the table
looking at me
for a piece of fried pork
when the sipping of coffee is over
when i finally wipe my
chin with the sky blue napkin
when i consider
eating as finally over
as promised
i will come back again
and finish this poem
and there is something
nice in this
act of creation
you feel it
it is warm like the hand of
a beautiful woman
it is as hot as ever
like this wanton desire
lovely,
as lovely as you love each letter
of the word
of your poetry
i am feeling it in the bone
of my soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dont Quote Me On That
Its all eggs bacon beans and a fried slice.
Did you see the one, yeah yeah,
The one they wrote in the paper just the other day,
Well, well would you believe it,
Well what I said, they took it all the wrong way.
Now youve gotta be careful, bout what you say,
Cos theyve got a bad habit
Were you reading in between the lines?
Or is that what I said? , now I just cant remember
They seem to have a very good memory though
But as far as Im concerned, as as far as Im concerned
You don;t have to be black white, chinese or anything really
Just enjoy, shut up, listen and dance...
Its all eggs bacon beans and a fried slice
Dont quote me on that, dont quote me on that
Dont quote me on that, please dont quote me
Dont quote me on that
Dont quote me on that
Hey hey, you know something, I said I liked that guy,
But thats not what I read in the paper
I dont have anything against them,
Its just eggs bacon and a fried slice
Dont quote me on that dont quote me on that
Dont quote me on that please dont quote me
Dont quoe me on that
Dont quote me on that.
You know, now we get worried about what we say
We shouldnt be that way
You know, I dont care who comes,
Cos as far as Im concerned,
Its, eggs bacon beans and a fried slice
Dont quote me on that
Dontr quote me on that
Please dont quote me
Mama mama, you know Im still friends with mickey
They say I shouldnt like him anymore, because Im all white,
Well hes allright by me
Dont quote me on that
Please dont quote me
Dont quote me on that
Dont quote me on that
Now what I do, I bring all my old friends along to see the show
And if you have the wrong ideas well,
Its all eggs bacon beans and a fried slice
Dont quote me on that oh no
(dont quote me on that)
Please dont quote me
(dont quote me on that)
I never said that
(dont quote me on that)
Thats not what I meant
(dont quote me on that)
Well I suppose you could take it that way
(dont quote me on that)
But thats not what I meant to say
(dont quote me on that)
Wont you give me another chance
(dont quote me on that)
Please please
Dont quote me on that....
Id like to say thank you to pete, peter tosh
And all the other people who come and they believe in us for the fun and the music
Cos all Ive got to say to you press now is
Its all bacon beans and a fried slice
Eggs bacon beans and a fried slive
Go to maggies caff
132 liverpool road
Just down the road, just round the corner
Only theres not much corner
Its just chairs and tables and theyve even got a space invaders machine...
A cup of tea, thats fine for me,
Cos its all eggs bacon beans and a fried slive
Are you sure you turned that tape recorder off?
Are you sure? ,
Are you sure?
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Exquisite Candidate
I can promise you this: food in the White House
will change! No more granola, only fried eggs
flipped the way we like them. And ham ham ham!
Americans need ham! Nothing airy like debate for me!
Pigs will become the new symbol of glee,
displacing smiley faces and 'Have A Nice Day.'
Car bumpers are my billboards, billboards my movie screens.
Nothing I can say can be used against me.
My life flashes in front of my face daily.
Here's a snapshot of me as a baby. Then
marrying. My kids drink all their milk which helps the dairy industry.
A vote for me is not only a pat on the back for America!
A vote for me, my fellow Americans, is a vote for everyone like me!
If I were the type who made promises
I'd probably begin by saying: America,
relax! Buy big cars and tease your hair
as high as the Empire State Building.
Inch by inch, we're buying the world's sorrow.
Yeah, the world's sorrow, that's it!
The other side will have a lot to say about pork
but don't believe it! Their graphs are sloppy coloring books.
We're just fine—look at the way
everyone wants to speak English and live here!
Whatever you think of borders,
I am the only candidate to canoe over Niagara Falls
and live to photograph the Canadian side.
I'm the only Julliard graduate—
I will exhale beauty all across this great land
of pork rinds and gas stations and scientists working for cures,
of satellite dishes over Sparky's Bar & Grill, the ease
of breakfast in the mornings, quiet peace of sleep at night.
by Denise Duhamel and Maureen Seaton
poem by Denise Duhamel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Easter at Spanish Cove
As always when a holiday is here
Food miraculously arrives
For Spanish Cove they have
Cooks where perfection thrives
Fresh, delicious and tasty
Tables set up with such style
Folks lined up to fill their plates
Food that satisfies for awhile
Lovely flowers graced the tables
And put everyone in the mood
For Easter dinner is special
Nowhere can you find better food
The color and freshness of fruit
Adorned the enormous salad bar
Looking very festive as well
And wanted to be the star
I hope you had a special Easter
Like the folks who love to rove
A delicious dinner like the ones
Who had Easter at Spanish Cove!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Are the Results of Our Seductions
Dieting on erotic products,
Induces an hypnotic feeling started.
And like a narcotic,
We are quick to become hooked.
Baited with temptations...
Seasoned to fry,
Or baked like a fish cooked.
And this mainlining,
Done to us without the prick of needles.
Afflicted with addictions done...
Without the prick of needles.
Dieting to get a fix,
Without the prick of needles to assist it.
Baited with temptations...
Seasoned to fry,
Or baked like a fish cooked.
Hooked!
We are the results of our seductions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coked, Pineappled And Baked
I like ham cloved.
Then coked, pineappled and baked.
However...
I prefer my chicken fried.
And seasoned to taste.
'And...? '
And?
And what?
'That's it?
Nothing political to say?
Nothing racist to incite disdain?
What about relationships?
And the appalling disrespect?
Mediocrity and the rise of ignorance?
What about dumbdowning more dummies?
The lack of discipline? '
Who's
Poem...
Is this?
'It's yours.'
Thank you.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pelican Restaurant
Pelican Restaurant is run by Tara Sami who is sweet,
she makes her restaurant cute and upbeat.
A cozy decor that has a quaint beach town feel,
the Pelican Restaurant makes great delicious meals.
For breakfast is the Lamb Keema which has a flavorful taste,
it comes with home fries that taste great.
Have a spinach omelet made by Chef Brian Stone,
tastes hearty like cooked fresh in the kitchen at your home.
Pelican is open 7am to 12 noon, bring a friend or two.
Even open 6 to 10 on Friday nights with Indian plates to satisfy your appetite.
Indian dishes which is out of sight, like the Lentil fritters for price of $7.95,
served with cilantro & jalapeno sauce, making your tastes buds come alive.
Try the slowly roasted marinated cilantro and ginger on the Nihan beef shank.
cooked on the bone with spicy savory curry to make it taste great.
Vegetarian and meat dishes served with yogurt, naan, and basmati rice,
this adds to your dinner to make it extra nice.
Also your dog is welcome, sit with them at a table outside,
you can enjoy your meal with them in the sunshine.
Remember the Pelican restaurant only accepts cash,
it's a great eating experience when visiting on Lake Ave.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on October 13,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The 'Potato' Poem
I love potatoes chopped up into chunky chips.
I love spicy potato wedges, served up with dips.
I love potato slices which have been fried in a pan:
Of sautéed potatoes, I am the world's biggest fan.
I love potatoes which have been pummelled and bashed
With butter and milk to make a real light, fluffy mash.
Jacket potatoes, I find a bit dry, but with a nice filling
Such as chilli, to give them a try, I am more willing.
With breakfast, I love hash browns or potato cakes,
And I love potatoes mixed up with leeks in a bake.
Crispy, golden potatoes, served up with Sunday roast
Are among the kinds of potato which I love the most.
Mixed in soups and casseroles, I love potatoes diced.
On top on minced beef hotpot, I love potatoes sliced.
Fluffy potato stuffed inside a crispy potato croquette
Is also rather nice, and, for me, it is another safe bet.
I love potatoes cut into crisps: the slices, wafer thin,
And, as a starter, I simply love loaded potato skins:
I do adore a delicious dish of Bombay potato curry:
For me, it is a taste which I won't forget in a hurry.
I like potatoes diced up with creamy mayonnaise,
Served up with salad on really hot summer days.
But I don't like potatoes which have been boiled:
From potatoes, cooked this way, in horror, I recoil.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pelican Restaurant
Pelican Restaurant is run by Tara Sami who is sweet,
she makes her restaurant cute and upbeat.
A cozy decor that has a quaint beach town feel,
the Pelican Restaurant makes great delicious meals.
For breakfast is the Lamb Keema which has a flavorful taste,
it comes with home fries that taste great.
Have a spinach omelet made by Chef Brian Stone,
tastes hearty like cooked fresh in the kitchen at your home.
Pelican is open 7am to 12 noon, bring a friend or two.
Even open 6 to 10 on Friday nights with Indian plates to satisfy your appetite.
Indian dishes which is out of sight, like the Lentil fritters for price of $7.95,
served with cilantro & jalapeno sauce, making your tastes buds come alive.
Try the slowly roasted marinated cilantro and ginger on the Nihan beef shank.
cooked on the bone with spicy savory curry to make it taste great.
Vegetarian and meat dishes served with yogurt, naan, and basmati rice,
this adds to your dinner to make it extra nice.
Also your dog is welcome, sit with them at a table outside,
you can enjoy your meal with them in the sunshine.
Remember the Pelican restaurant only accepts cash,
it's a great eating experience when visiting on Lake Ave.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on October 13,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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ET Came To Breakfast (Fun Poem 10)
My breakfast was going snap, crackle and pop,
when suddenly in the chair opposite something went plop.
I looked across the table and was astonished to see,
a little green man looking at me.
I blinked a couple of times,
even pinched myself to make sure it was real.
He was, you can believe,
and my breakfast he was trying to steal.
We pulled at the bowl,
no one getting the upper hand,
and then he stuck his finger in the bowl,
and sucked out the blinking lot,
milk and my snap, crackle and pop.
The moral of this story.
If a little green man comes to breakfast,
Get an extra bowl.
28 April 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'll Eat The Fish
I use to like it well done not rare.
Prepared tenderly as if one cared.
I had to have my steak well cooked and baked.
I use to slice it into pieces split,
With fried potatoes...
And some wine to slowly sip.
But when I changed my diet I got into fish.
And I discovered baked fish was quite delicious.
That was it.
And today there is no beef for me,
I'll eat the fish!
I use to slice my beef into tiny pieces split.
But when I changed my diet I got into the fish.
That was it.
That was it.
And today there is no beef for me I will eat the fish!
That is it for me...
Today I'm on the fish!
I use to like it well done not rare.
Prepared tenderly as if one cared.
I had to have my steak well cooked and baked.
I use to slice it into pieces split,
With fried potatoes...
And some wine to slowly sip.
But today there is no beef for me I will eat the fish!
That is it for me...
Today I'm on the fish!
Today there is no beef for me I will eat the fish!
That is it for me...
Today I'm on the fish!
Even fish sticks,
Will be eaten very quick.
I will handled eating up those fish sticks very quick.
Especially if they're deep fried and battered!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rockin L & H
Nothing tastes nearly as good
As it does on the outside grill
Camping out in my childhood
I have sweet memories still
Beans slow cooked and smoky
Bacon and bar-b-q sauce within
Biscuits light and fluffy as well
Sharing food with friends and kin
Corn so sweet and delicious
Yet crunchy against your teeth
The smell of the smoke in the air
Of wonderful smoky pork or beef
There’s a place that you’ll truly enjoy
Where you’ll never want to eat in haste
Because the food is so delicious
It is called the Rockin L & H!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Wordy Meal
A strange (learn ad) friend John
ate delicious dictionaries daily
for breakfast lunch and tea
at mourn noon and night.
A thesaurus is a ponderous meal
best not served at bedtime
a meal John spat out like hearty tacks
in sentences aimed at unsuspecting strangers.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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