Slug City
There once was a family of slugs
That lived in a cabbage patch town
They went out every nite to eat
Found a cabbage and began to munch down
All through the night they could reduce
A cabbage to a stalk in the ground
All night they would munch and munch
But you would never here them, not nary a sound
But Mrs H was becoming fed up
Her patch the proudest around
With malace, blood red, she schemed
She vowed to eliminate those clowns
She purchased the best poison they had
She tried every trick she read
But the slugs just kept on coming
Every nite long after it was bed
Then a local wino he said
Out of the garden he could take
These inconsiderate gluttonous
Stylommatophora pulmonates
So he began by opening a beer
Placing some into a sphere
Putting them by each cabbage head
he said, 'This will make these slugs disappear.'
But by morning the cabbage was gone
Worse yet so was the beer
And if you looked even more closely
Tiny signs saying, 'Next time make it import you here.'
poem by Midnights Voice
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Related quotes
Song of the Little White Girl
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, what is the matter?
Why are you shaking so? Why do you chatter?
Because it is just a white baby you see,
And it's the black ones you like, cabbage tree?
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, you're a strange fellow
With your green hair and your legs browny-yellow.
Wouldn't you like to have curls, dear, like me?
What! No one to make them? O poor cabbage tree!
Never mind, cabbage tree, when I am taller,
And if you grow, please, a little bit smaller,
I shall be able by that time, bay be,
To make you the loveliest curls, cabbage tree.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Reply to the Above, by F.W.F.
"Te quoque vatem dicunt pastores."—VIRGIL.
O Maxwell, if by reason’s strength
And studying of Babbage,
You have transformed yourself at length
Into a mental cabbage;
And if I've proved myself a lark
At morn and blushing even,
By soaring like a music-spark
Thro’ sapphire fields of Heaven,
Our diverse fates are now reversed
By strange metempsychosis,
Into a cabbage I have burst
And scorn poetic posies;
But you a lark with twinkling wings
O’er violet-banks are soaring;
Your voice the dewy rose-cloud rings
While Statics me are boring.
Yet cabbage as I will—on earth
My roots I cannot anchor,
For at my mathematic birth
Was also born a canker!
It soon will gnaw my roots away-—
But when I weigh a chœnix
I’ll freely soar to realms of day
An emerald cabbage-Phœnix.
Then talk not of the Poll to me,
I hate, detest, and scorn it;
I am as earnest as a bee,
But savage as a hornet.
And if they pluck me I will drown
Each pedant in a sonnet,
And of their pluckings make a crown
With golden plumes upon it.
So if my cabbage growth be slow
I'll try to be a carrot,
Or still remain a lark—but know
I'll not be Poll, or Parrot.
Then if I fall beneath the mark,
I’ll shout with accent savage,
"It is a lark to be a lark,
’Tis green to be a cabbage"
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
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So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf, to make an apple-pie; and at the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street, pops its head into the shop. 'What! no soap?' So he died, and she very imprudently married the barber.
quote by Samuel Foote
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I was like a total cliched '80s child. I had Barbies, obviously, as well as My Little Ponies and Cabbage Patch Kids, but I used to destroy them. I used to draw all over their faces and cut off their hair.
quote by Natalie Portman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cant Take Another Nite
(brian greenway/jeff nystrom)
Published by beeg tunes/ed bloc notes - bmi
Im lookin out my window
I guess the rains about to fall
And the radio wont let you leave my mind
Its like watchin shadows on the wall, yeah
I cant take another nite
I cant take the night alone, if were not together
What do I do to make it right
I cant take another nite, I cant take another nite
You said youd think it over
But youve been gone for such awhile
You said that time would never change a thing, but baby
We were young ( we were young), and we were restless
And we were headstrong with desire
I cant take another nite
I cant take the night alone, if were not together
Baby, what do I do to make it right
I cant take another nite, I cant take another nite
We could ride on this mystery train forever
We gotta get it right girl, its now or never
So many times girl, you walked out that door
But you make it look easy, when you come back for more
I cant take another nite
I cant take the night alone, if were not together
Baby, what do I do to make it right
I cant take another nite, I cant take another nite
Ooh yeah, what do I do to make it right
I cant take another nite, I cant take another nite
I cant take another nite
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shepherd
He wore an old blue shirt the night that first we met,
An old and tattered cabbage-tree concealed his locks of jet;
His footsteps had a languor, his voice a husky tone;
Both man and dog were spent with toil as they slowly wandered home.
I saw him but a moment—yet methinks I see him now
While his sheep were gently feeding 'neath the rugged mountain brow.
When next we met, the old blue shirt and cabbage-tree were gone;
A brand new suit of tweed and "Doctor Dod" he had put on;
Arm in arm with him was one who strove, and not in vain,
To ease his pockets of their load by drinking real champagne.
I saw him but a moment, and he was going a pace,
Shouting nobbler after nobbler, with a smile upon his face.
When next again I saw that man his suit of tweed was gone,
The old blue shirt and cabbage-tree once more he had put on;
Slowly he trudged along the road and took the well-known track
From the station he so lately left with a swag upon his back.
I saw him but a moment as he was walking by
With two black eyes and broken nose and a tear-dropp in his eye.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Talking Cabbage
A talking cabbage told me, it would prefer to be in a side salad
Than watch the news
The couch potato listless of endless media coverage
Said it would rather be mashed and squashed
Than bored by another soap
Then it changed it's mind
And said it would prefer to mingle with mayonaise and chives
The talking cabbage said it would rather be coleslaw
Than know the weather
At least it could mingle with the onion and the carrot together
The talking cabbage said
' I would rather have my own chat show than watch Jerermy Kyle'
And then thinking it was all a dream
I showed him the chopping board
SILENCE
Then the cucumber started
I decided to become A NON VEGETARIAN
But something is telling me the lamb chops are restless
The eggs are becoming quite unreasonable
Over the spilt milk
And the bread is unhappy with it's filling
Happiness never lasts!
Decided to fast
But the silence is unbearable,
Who can fill it?
So I turned on the news.......! ! ..
yvette smith
poem by Yvette Smith
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Cabbage: a familiar kitchen-garden vegetable about as large and wise as a man's head.
quote by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cabbage. A familiar kitchen-garden vegetable about as large and wise as a man's head.
quote by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Town Types No.2 - Red Matt
He gleaned all the gossip and he gathered all the news,
Mad Matt, the carrier, delivering the grub;
He knew the trooper's tattle and he knew the parson's views,
The gossip at the station-yard, the gossip at the pub.
That high-pitched voice of his, the loudest voice in town,
That shrewd blue eye of his, with humor all a-gleam -
Old Red Matt, with his cabbage-tree hat,
His trolley, and his two-horse team.
Driving down the main street a-clatter with his load,
The great red beard of him blowing out behind:
'Hear about that accident's mornin' up the road?
Hear about the gold rush at Joe Scott's find?
Warmish sort o' day we got; thirsty weather this.
Got a bag o' spuds for you - Dang! Fergot the cream!'
Says old Red Matt with his cabbage-tree hat,
And his trolley, and his two-horse team.
Mad Matt, the carrier, standing at the bar:
'Well here's a go, boys. Got to get along
Seven pints I've had today and still to travel far.
Drink fast and drive fast, yeh can't go wrong.
Fill 'em up again, boss, ans hove it on the slate.
Half-a-ton aboard today - just tipped the beam,'
Says old red Matt with the cabbage-tree hat,
And his trolley, and his two-horse team.
Sudden were his wild ways, sudden, too, his end.
Jumped to grab a bolting team with kiddie sin the trap;
And they picked up Mad Matt, everybody's friend,
Silent now and broken; and they said, 'Brave chap.
Wild an' all,' they said of him, 'always was a white man.'
And they laid him, with a blessing, where his old mates dream,
Saying, 'So long, Matt, with your cabbage-tree hat,
And your trolley, and your two-horse team.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Unnecessary
Unnecessary,
Auntie said,
when you asked
about taking the mutt
for a walk;
he can take himself
for a walk,
in fact,
she continued
straining the cabbage,
the green water
pushing through
the stainless steel colander,
he runs,
he loves to run
all over the fields.
You knew he did,
you used to run with him,
and being that kind of mutt
he’d let you run beside him,
you being a small boy,
you being the one
who shared his bacon rinds,
you the one who filled
his water bowl
when Auntie forgot.
Sit down now,
Auntie said,
dinner is about
to be served,
and I hope
you have washed
your hands,
and she’d dish you
a large serving
of cabbage
with your meal
and she didn’t see
how that was so
unnecessary.
poem by Terry Collett
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Christmas butterfly
Perhaps it had arrived undercover
between the rich dark green leaves
of the organic cabbage which from
the huge holes in its tough outer leaves
had brought it up so lively – perhaps
reared in some protected warmth, mimicking
the months when ‘ small cabbage whites’
are supposed to live – July to September.
Or had it flown in or been shipped in
from some warmer clime?
Christmas Day – was that the kitchen ceiling light
about to go? No, it was a butterfly,
frantically circling round and round
the low-energy bulb, not hot enough
to make an Icarus of its daring; always
clockwise round the bulb, I thought;
palest green to grey to white; frenzied; delicate..
At night, the light switched off, it rested somewhere;
then at evening, resumed its mad dance,
ceaseless lover, love unconsummated…
paid no attention to its cabbage home
there in the vegetable rack; only the light, the light…
Butterflies do not hear; it did not heed
my cries increasing in despair –
nothing like a butterfly net to hand;
I tried to bring it lower with a gentle spray
so that I could catch it; too wild its Maenad dance,
too high, too frenzied..
Two, three days passed; so much strength,
determination, endurance, in such a tiny thing;
no longer garden’s scourge; now a holy thing,
in which I saw myself; even wished to love;
we became of equal size, in the eyes of God…
as were we not always, from Creation’s birth?
The fourth morning, I caught it in a cut-glass tumbler
against the window pane – the open window
had not tempted it – myself now talking to its unhearing,
as I did my father on his way to death…
it settled in the glass, still moist inside
with orange juice; did you know,
butterflies taste with their feet…
they so quick to land and then take off…
such discrimination in those tiny feet,
that tiny brain, those tiny,
heroic muscles, devoted to its life and love…
It flew across the cold and winter garden
at such speed, I chose to see it joy or gratitude..
and then, was quiet for a time.
*
Tiny thing,
holy thing,
as near to God
as angel's wing.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Nite Life
When shadows fall, the day is done
The mountain tops hide the setting sun
The magic of the night is here, for all young lovers far and near
Nite life, ooh la la la, stars coming out to play
Nite life, rah rah rah rah
See how they light the milky way
At the end of day, mmm nite life
Nite life, aye aye aye aye look at the moon above
Nite life, ma ma ma ma, its time to fall in love
Yeah, so come on, mmm nite life
Nite life, no need to be blue
The moon and the stars are belong to you
Nite life is so much fun when youre in love, and love is young
Nite life tra la la la, laughing and painting the town
Nite life, ha ha ha ha, its just a merry go round
When the sun goes down, mmm nite life
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Nite Long
If only the music would keep on playing
If only I could dance with you
If only I could keep on singin
All nite long, all nite long
If only we could dance toghether
All nite long, all nite long
If only we could keep this feelin
Make it last all nite long
Waitin for the next wave
Wonder whats it gonna be
Waitin for the next
All nite long, all nite long
Whoa oo oh the dawn comes up like thunder
Somebody give me a light I need a little
Help thru the darkness
Just a little light
Enough to get me home
All nite long, all nite long, all nite long
Sometimes the musics a doorway
Out of the darkness into the light
Climb the dream I can make you dream
All nite long, all nite long
See the ruins of a once mighty castle
A land where the sun casts no shadow
Sings and wonders the sund of thunder
All nite long, all nite long
Step into the sky you wont
Fall Ill tell you why
You got to be a sky rider
All nite long, all nite long
Whoa oo oh your love come up like thunder
Somebody give me a light I need a little
Help thru the darkness
Just a little light
Enough to get me home
All nite long, all nite long, all nite long
I can read your mind an I know
What youre thinkin
I can see your mind just as clear as my own
The pictures I see they all tell a story
Bout where we been and where were goin
Tonite if only the music would keep on playing
Tonite if only I could dance with you
Tonite if only we could keep on singin
All nite long, all nite long, all nite long
Tonite keep on singin dancin
Take me home
Bring it home
Tonite
All nite long
song performed by by Jefferson Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Childhood Memories Four: Dances With Gravity
down the rabbit hole
of childhood memories
we tumble into lost world
watching Father chase white butterflies
which eat our growing cabbage leaves
with a tennis racket with foot work
leaps bounds serves volleys never seen
upon famed centre court at Wimbledon
butterflies fly float move in fluttering
unpredictable motion dances with gravity
overcome baiting my father into youthful
dances on past childhood hot summer days
this game I too played mastered but why
so rarely in retrospect such fun so seldom
played among a host of unpattented games
to up the stakes for mass extinction Derris
dust sprinkled on cabbage leaves discolours
leaves white butterflies land leave unabated
but knocks out the sucking and chewing
insects for a six at caterpillar dinner time
when rain has not washed powder sprinkled
off cabbage leaves alas it is a no-win game
set upon set waiting for new service white
butterflies as they fly in from neighbouring
gardens the game goes on until we tire or
new balls spread danger word signaling with
broken garden bodies in game we can't win!
poem by Terence George Craddock
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At home I have big vats of cabbage soup that I make to slim down.
quote by Jilly Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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4th Chorus Mexico City Blues
Roosevelt was worth 6, 7 million dollars
He was Tight
Frog waits
Till poor fly
Flies by
And then they got him
The pool of clear rocks
Covered with vegetable scum
Covered the rocks
Clear the pool
Covered the warm surface
Covered the lotus
Dusted the watermelon flower
Aerial the Pad
Clean queer the clear
blue water
AND THEN THEY GOT HIM
The Oil of the Olive
Bittersweet taffies
Bittersweet cabbage
Cabbage soup made right
A hunk a grass
Sauerkraut let work
in a big barrel
Stunk but Good
poem by Jack Kerouac
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A Cabbage Patch
Folk ask if I'm alive,
Most think I'm not;
Yet gaily I contrive
To till my plot.
The world its way can go,
I little heed,
So long as I can grow
The grub I need.
For though long overdue,
The years to me,
Have taught a lesson true,
--Humility.
Such better men than I
I've seen pass on;
Their pay-off when they die;
--Oblivion.
And so I mock at fame,
With books unread;
No monument I claim
When I am dead;
Contented as I see
My cottage thatch
That my last goal should be
--A cabbage patch.
poem by Robert William Service
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An idealist is one who, on noticing that a rose smells better than a cabbage, concludes that it will also make better soup.
quote by H.L. Mencken
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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