0285 A Pretty Kettle of Wish
Meltdown. A new kettle urgently
required for the gas stove. Men
love an excuse to wander around
the Aladdin’s cave of an ironmongers
the older the better.
Shock-horror. Rattly, thin as
they can get away with, and outrageously,
the same price as technology’s
masterpieces of electric jug…
long gone, the solid kettle which sits
so friendly on the hob of open fire…
So it’s off to the Oxfam thriftshop.
a short prayer to the goddess
of the hearth (Hestia, in case
you wonder, poetically) – and lo
and behold, abracadabra, hey presto –
a Designer Kettle in all its glory –
solid, shining, copper-flashed-bottom,
two-note whistle in two-tone brass,
chromium-bright finish, ingenious
spout-opener, handle in clever cool plastic, the whole
a vision, part Futurist image fit for a painting,
part evoking a Mussolini-era steel helmet, and
a theft at the price.
The two-tone whistle packed up the first week
despite prodding and poking its gleaming brass;
the spout-lifter burned the fingers – I had
to grow a long thumbnail to survive;
the gleaming surface scratched when cleaned;
the copper bottom crumbled off;
the short spout made filling a teapot
dangerous on two counts: the steam, and
the aim, endangering the hands.
Was it designed by a woman
or a man? You’ve guessed it. Who’s
the more practical?
The debatable poetic conclusion
of this poet: men go for
form; women go for content.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
A Chocolate Teapot
I wanted a chocolate tea-pot
As a gift for a good friend’s birth-day
But I did feel a bit of a clot
Searching for this on e-Bay
I found a chocolate giraffe
And a chocolate kangaroo
But they wouldn’t give her the laugh
That a chocolate teapot would do
I decided to make one myself
And bought a huge Galaxy slab
Very bad for the general health
But for my plan was perfectly fab
I fashioned it into a pot
Melting it using some heat
Using kettle and water so hot
It really was quite a feat
This teapot I have to confess
Had lumps for handle and spout
And although I got in a mess
Was happy the way it turned out
My friend sent a note in blue ink
“My teapot is fab, may I say....
It wasn’t as useless as most people think
I scoffed the lot in one day! ”
copyright Victoria George
poem by Victoria George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Copper Kettle
Get you a copper kettle, get you a copper coil,
Fill it with new-made corn mash and never more youll toil.
Youll just lay there by the juniper while the moon is bright,
Watch them jugs a-filling
In the pale moonlight.
Build you a fire with hickory, hickory, ash and oak,
Dont use no green or rotten wood; theyll get you by the smoke.
Well just lay there by the juniper... etc.
My daddy, he made whiskey; my granddaddy, he did too.
We aint paid no whiskey tax since 1792.
We just lay there by the juniper... etc.
(last line repeated)
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Canadian Folksong
The doors are shut, the windows fast;
Outside the gust is driving past,
Outside the shivering ivy clings,
While on the hob the kettle sings.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.
The streams are hushed up where they flowed,
The ponds are frozen along the road,
The cattle are housed in shed and byre,
While singeth the kettle on the fire.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.
The fisherman on the bay in his boat
Shivers and buttons up his coat;
The traveler stops at the tavern door,
And the kettle answers the chimney’s roar.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.
The firelight dances upon the wall,
Footsteps are heard in the outer hall;
A kiss and a welcome that fill the room,
And the kettle sings in the glimmer and gloom.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Itsy Bitsy Spider's Mrs
Itsy Bitsy Spider had it tough from the very start,
All he really wanted was to win the Mrs' heart,
But Mrs Spider was angry after a huge fight,
And scurried up the water spout, away from Itsy's sight.
So up went Itsy to the top of the water spout,
But when he reached the top the Mrs gave a shout,
Her rainfall of tears made him run back down,
And that's when Itsy decided to go to town.
Round and round Itsy ran, round and round the town,
"Help! " he yelled, "Help, help! The Mrs pushed me down! "
"I cannot take this pain" he cried, "We haven't spoken for hours"
And a kindly young gentleman said, "Why not give her flowers? "
Flowers, Itsy thought, that will prove I'm devout,
So up went Itsy, up the water spout.
The Mrs pushed him down again, tears in her eyes,
And quite distressed, Itsy gave an unhappy sigh.
Round and round Itsy ran, round and round the town,
"Help! " he yelled, "Help, help! The Mrs pushed me down! "
"I cannot take this pain" he cried, "I saw a tear in her eye"
And a jolly old baker said, "Why not make her a pie?
A pie, itsy thought, that will be the best tack,
So Itsy went up the water spout with a pie on his back.
The Mrs pushed him down again, moaning words of hate,
And Itsy didn't know how to make her emotions sate.
Round and round Itsy ran, round and round the town,
"Help! " he yelled, "Help, help! The Mrs pushed me down! "
"I cannot take this pain" he cried, "She says all we have is hate"
And a pretty little girl said, "Why not bring her on a date? "
A date, Itsy thought, that will ensure forgiveness!
So Itsy clambered up the spout, not wanting any less.
The Mrs pushed him down again, after her tears had rained,
And Itsy wished he could prove that his love was not feigned.
Standing at the bottom of the spout Itsy wondered what to do.
He thought and thought and then suddenly, he knew!
The way to win the Mrs' back was to simply tell the truth,
It can't be so hard, he thought, I've loved her since our youth.
At the bottom of the spout Itsy yelled to Mrs,
"My dear, my dear, how I miss your kisses! "
"I miss your lively eyes and your happy smile,
I need you back right now, if only for a little while".
"Please, oh please, you cannot just say goodbye,
Because if you don't forgive me, I know that I will die"
At the top of the spout the Mrs' rain stopped flowing,
Before Itsy new it, sunshine was growing.
Itsy saw the sun in her eyes and climbed swiftly to her side,
And Mrs Spider beamed at her husband with joy and pride.
poem by Lenore Lee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pot And Kettle
Come close to me, dear Annie, while I bind a lover's knot.
A tale of burning love between a kettle and a pot.
The pot was stalwart iron and the kettle trusty tin,
And though their sides were black with smoke they bubbled love within.
Forget that kettle, Jamie, and that pot of boiling broth,
I know a dismal story of a candle and a moth.
For while your pot is boiling and while your kettle sings
My moth makes love to candle flame and burns away his wings.
Your moth, I envy, Annie, that died by candle flame,
But here are two more lovers, unto no damage came.
There was a cuckoo loved a clock and found her always true.
For every hour they told their hearts, 'Ring! ting! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'
As the pot boiled for the kettle, as the kettle for the pot,
So boils my love within me till my breast is glowing hot.
As the moth died for the candle, so could I die for you.
And my fond heart beats time with yours and cries, 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'
poem by Robert Graves
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Kettle
There’s many a house of grandeur,
With turret, tower and dome,
That knows not peace or comfort,
And does not prove a home.
I do not ask for splendour
To crown my daily lot,
But this I ask – a kitchen
Where the kettles always hot.
If things are not all ship-shape,
I do not fume or fret,
A little clean disorder
Does not my nerves upset.
But one thing is essential,
Or seems so in my thought,
And that’s a tidy kitchen
Where the kettle’s always hot.
In my Aunt Hattie’s household,
Though skies outside are drear,
Though times are dark and troubled,
You’ll always find good cheer.
And in her quaint old kitchen –
The very homiest spot –
The kettle’s always singing,
The water’s always hot.
And if you have a headache,
Whate’er the hour may be,
There is no tedious waiting
To get your cup of tea.
I don’t know how she does it –
Some magic she has caught –
For the kitchen’s cool in summer,
Yet the kettle’s always hot.
Oh, there’s naught else so dreary
In household kingdom found
As a cold and sullen kettle
That does not make a sound.
And I think that love is lacking
In the hearts in such a spot,
Or the kettle would be singing
And the water would be hot.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
All my goods are of silver and gold, even my copper kettle, says the boaster.
The earthen pot must keep clear of the brass kettle.
One Of These Things First
I could have been a sailor, could have been a cook
A real live lover, could have been a book.
I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock
As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock.
I could be
Here and now
I would be, I should be
But how?
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first.
I could have been your pillar, could have been your door
I could have stayed beside you, could have stayed for more.
Could have been your statue, could have been your friend,
A whole long lifetime could have been the end.
I could be yours so true
I would be, I should be through and through
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first.
I could have been a whistle, could have been a flute
A real live giver, could have been a boot.
I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock
As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock.
I could be even here
I would be, I should be so near
I could have been
One of these things first
I could have been
One of these things first.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
There was an Old Man who, when little,
Fell casually into a Kettle;
But, growing too stout,
He could never get out,
So he passed all his life in that Kettle.
quote by by Edward Lear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Crumble that foothold, be rid of those thoughts.
Only fools hold onto memories that hurt them so much.
Every moment you relive it, even if it was just a touch;
A touch that made everything thereafter feel like a sin;
A touch and memory that made you say the darkness would win.
'LET GO! ', 'BEGONE! ' are the things you want to shout,
but why are you then the teapot which refuses to open its spout?
You say you want to move on and you no longer want to be that fool,
if that's the case, wake up; darkness is using your memories as a tool.
Show Tune II
That's the long and short of it
now you know
how I've been waiting all these years
where I'm coming from
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
just how hot hot jazz was
how it turned about, my bookcase
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you know
that my arrest record's
not my best record
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
how the Past's like a love
you can neither leave nor live
that's the long and short of it
That's the long and short of it
now you know
it was no gun in my pocket
it was a rocket
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
and you're wond'ring dear
how I kept so pure
hull, it was easy
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
so bounce your head
into bed
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
read the blues
in these tattoos
make a song of it
that's the short and long of it.
How I wish
there was a bridge-
then I could burn it;
or the train
of a refrain
then I could board it
but there isn't
no there isn't, so...
poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Song About Myself
I.
There was a naughty boy,
A naughty boy was he,
He would not stop at home,
He could not quiet be-
He took
In his knapsack
A book
Full of vowels
And a shirt
With some towels,
A slight cap
For night cap,
A hair brush,
Comb ditto,
New stockings
For old ones
Would split O!
This knapsack
Tight at's back
He rivetted close
And followed his nose
To the north,
To the north,
And follow'd his nose
To the north.
II.
There was a naughty boy
And a naughty boy was he,
For nothing would he do
But scribble poetry-
He took
An ink stand
In his hand
And a pen
Big as ten
In the other,
And away
In a pother
He ran
To the mountains
And fountains
And ghostes
And postes
And witches
And ditches
And wrote
In his coat
When the weather
Was cool,
Fear of gout,
And without
When the weather
Was warm-
Och the charm
When we choose
To follow one's nose
To the north,
To the north,
To follow one's nose
To the north!
III.
There was a naughty boy
And a naughty boy was he,
He kept little fishes
In washing tubs three
In spite
Of the might
Of the maid
Nor afraid
Of his Granny-good-
He often would
Hurly burly
Get up early
And go
By hook or crook
To the brook
And bring home
Miller's thumb,
Tittlebat
Not over fat,
Minnows small
As the stall
Of a glove,
Not above
The size
Of a nice
Little baby's
Little fingers-
O he made
'Twas his trade
Of fish a pretty kettle
A kettle-
A kettle
Of fish a pretty kettle
A kettle!
IV.
There was a naughty boy,
And a naughty boy was he,
He ran away to Scotland
The people for to see-
There he found
That the ground
Was as hard,
That a yard
Was as long,
That a song
Was as merry,
That a cherry
Was as red,
That lead
Was as weighty,
That fourscore
Was as eighty,
That a door
Was as wooden
As in England-
So he stood in his shoes
And he wonder'd,
He wonder'd,
He stood in his
Shoes and he wonder'd.
poem by John Keats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Polly puts the kettle on
Polly puts the kettle on
Snakes rattle on insane
Round the kettle rattle on
All she puts is in vain
Polly bottles water deep
The taps mocks her ‘bravo’
But water steam stubborn peeps
The dishes clatter NO
‘The steam’s too high
Up on a ceiling
It winds too nigh
To a broken feeling’
‘What’ asks Polly
‘Hiss’ say snakes
‘What’s at stake
When kettles break? ’
‘What? ! ’ screams Polly
‘Hiss’ snakes curl
‘Ha ha ha ha ha ah
You bottle a whirl
My fair lady! ’
‘Why? ’ shouts Polly
‘Hiss’ snakes hide
Dragging down the water deep
‘Who? ’ asks Polly
The steam still glides
A broken feeling leaps
With heart in utter fear
‘Don’t ask for your daddy
He’s not ever here
My fair lady! ’
‘How? ’ stammers Polly
‘Has it happened?
Oh what a mistake to make!
To ever put the kettle on
When I’m not ready for the tea
My fingers are burnt
They swell in pain
I’ll just have to learn
Not to do that again! ’
See also Pollyteaparty by the same author
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Said the frying pay to the kettle, Stand off, black bottom.
Kettle boils like my anger
As the kettle boils.
So does my anger.
My anger is reder than the heat.
Its not just the heat of the moment.
The kettle is getting hot.
My anger nor depression will cease.
Its like some kind of disease.
As the kettle boils I melt.
In the heat of the depression.
And the mist of the anger
poem by Amy Kerswell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
World
I turn sideways to the sun
Keep my thoughts from everyone
Its a jungle, Im a freak
Hear me talk, but never speak
So Im stepping out of time
Because breaking is a crime
And it may all be too late
But Ive no passion for this hate
Thats the price of love (thats the price of love)
Can you feel it (can you feel it)
If we could buy it now (thats the price of love)
How long would it last (thats the price of love)
And when this building is on fire
These flames cant burn any higher
I turn sideways to the sun
And in a moment I am gone
Thats the price of love (thats the price of love)
Can you feel it (can you feel it)
If we could buy it now (thats the price of love)
How long would it last (thats the price of love)
Thats the price of love (thats the price of love)
Can you feel it (can you feel it)
If we could buy it now (thats the price of love)
How long would it last (thats the price of love)
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Some whistles
Some whistles do frighten me like
That policeman’s whistle when I jaywalk,
That lewd whistle from an ill-mannered man
Pestering a sexy woman is another thing,
It is so demeaning, unkind, uncalled for
Some mean order like a teacher’s whistle
On a P.E. class to start an exercise in school
Or a kindergarten teacher whistling children to fall in line,
But one whistle really so intrigues me,
The whistle of a young man outside the gate
Of this house, on unholy hours of the night,
While I am writing poetry, this guy whistles
And whistles some curious songs in intermittent notes
Like a love song of a nightingale,
So sensual, so seductive, so magical, almost
Three times a night three times a week,
Till one day, my domestic helper got confused, and comes for my advice,
Why her stomach is mysteriously bloated.
You guessed it right, that magical whistle made her pregnant.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mercury's Sigil (Fragment 2)
(sadly, this part was burned in a fire)
(sadly, this part was burned in a fire)
And when they walked on from Meridian
It followed them wherever they went
Though, not quite a bounce in the step
But more like a leaden farewell.
(unknown translation)
discovery in blues before the sunset
with the slippery bag pippers
fumbling the brass keys
and what does something like that
really pay?
when all you have left is the symbol?
(Illegible and burnt in a fire)
(this next part that follows was...)
poem by Jesse Schiavone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Down In The Bottom
In case youre wondering its alive and well
That little habit that you left with me
Here in the suburbs where its hard to tell
If I got the bear or if the bear got me
How did you know that it would take me down
Down to the bottom of the wine dark sea
Where you were waiting there to bring me round
Where you knew all the dopest cuts to be
Drowned at the bottom of your mystery
Down in the bottom of the wine dark sea
Saw your old lady in the park today
The legendary smile is wearing thin
Behind that guessing game you make her play
Now that she knows that she could never win
I guess youre never gonna take her down
Down to the bottom of your little black heart
Lay with her naked on the cool hard ground
To watch the sun rise in the dopest part
Down in the bottom where your lifeline shows
Down in the bottom where nobody goes
Did you loose your way find another
Did you make your play or just run for cover
Is its safe to say you got burned today?
I like the feathers and I love the hat
I like that little gypsy tune youre humming
I guess Im happy now weve had this chat
Oh yeah Im really glad I saw you coming
There in the corner of the eastern sky
The tortured angel of your rising sign
Darkens the evening with his one good eye
An evil omen of the dopest kind
Down in the bottom where your demons fly
Down in the bottom of the eastern sky
Down in the bottom where your lifeline shows
Down in the bottom where nobody goes
Drowned at the bottom of your mystery
Down in the bottom of the wine dark sea
song performed by by Steely Dan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!