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How to interpret a porcelain plate/Kako protumaciti porcelanski tanjir

This perfectly shaped porcelain plate is the result of human effort to put into a circle everything he can. So that he can undisturbed roar to the future centuries DO NOT TOUCH MY CIRCLES. It is carved in its own possibility of being shaped, absolutely aware of its fragility but does not give up. Absolutely capable of defending the borders of its own identity. This approach is a must if you want to understand a plate. You can also use it in the course of self knowledge.
The second step comprises the possibility to put something in a plate. Whatever you are preparing for your feast do not forget that you are the person who will have to eat everything that's there in the plate. Because when you start eating something you have to eat the whole meal. If you break this rule you will violate a harmonious definition of a meal. And then perhaps you will not get a desert. In many cases it makes no difference what's there in a plate. An important thing is that there is some content. The hungry know that best.

KAKO PROTUMACITI PORCELANSKI TANJIR
Ovaj savrseno oblikovan porcelanski tanjir rezultat je ljudskog pregnuca da sve sto moze sabije u krugove. I da nesmetano onako ljudski urla buducnim vremenima Ne dirajte moje krugove. On je izbrazdan sopstvenom mogucnoscu oblikovanja, u potpunosti svjestan svoje krhkosti i lomljivosti ali odoljeva. U potpunosti sposoban da brani granice svog identiteta. Ovakav pristup je neprikosnoven ukoliko zelite da shvatite tanjir. Mozete ga primjenjivati i prilikom samoupoznavanja.
Drugi korak sastoji se u tome da u tanjir nesto stavite. Stagod spremate za gozbu ne zaboravite da ste upravo vi osoba koja ce morati da pojede sve sto je stavila u tanjir. Jer kad nesto zajedete onda morate da jedete do kraja. Ukoliko prekrsite ovo pravilo narusicete skladnu definiciju obroka. I mozda necete dobiti dezert. U velikom broju slucajeva potpuno je nevazno sta sacinjava sadrzaj tanjira. Vazno je da ima sadzaja. Gladni to najbolje znaju.

A Little School of Interpretation- …in x lessons,2007.

©Miroslava Odalovic

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Saintly Sin

There was a man dressed shabbily
in church in the same old pew.
He sat there piously and pretended to pray
but knew what he would do.

He waited patiently for the collection plate
to pass him in the pew.
He made the effort to stop the plate
and this is what he'd do.

He'd place a penny in the plate
and take two quarters out.
And as he left he'd smiled a lot
and you would hear him shout

Hallelujah Lord.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Gone Is the Whoopie Goosed From You

Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down,
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'

Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down,
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'

Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Tingled were sensations,
A few dollars had amused.
Now you're quite upset.
Regrets are now your pets.

Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'

Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'

Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Ooo...
And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!

Morning and noon too,
You feel you've been screwed.
And nobody's there...
To give a damn or care!

Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'

Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'

Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Ooo...
And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!

Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Ooo...
And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!

And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Honey Biscuits And Gravy

My wife and I sat down one day
to honey biscuits and gravy
and when the last of it was on my plate
what did she say to me

She said, 'my dear devoted husband
husband of many years
would you give the last of that breakfast treat
oh would you please, my dear? '

I said, 'my wife, my darling wife
wife of many years
of biscuits and gravy I cannot part'
so with my fork I began to start

But before I could reach the plate
I was stopped by my hungry mate
She said, 'I'll give you silver and gold
all the fortunes yet untold
if you'll give what's on your plate
the still standing honey biscuit and gravy'

I said, 'my dear, darling wife
wife of many a day
nothing short of a great earthquake
can make me part with my plate'

And then she grew desperate
a horrid fiend intemperate, she said
'You'll be the sole head of the estate
for that last serving of biscuits and gravy! '

I said, 'dear, devoted wife
wife of many a day
you don't know that with what you give
so willingly away'

She said, 'a small price, a small price
I eagerly will pay
for that last remaining morsel
left standing on your plate'

So I did the deed, I confess
and now I must say
my wife's head tasted just as good
as honey biscuits and gravy

poem by Kevin Howell
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The Wait of Water - (Villanelle)

a shift in the tectonic plate
early morning siren screeches
across the ocean people wait

awakened to this twist of fate
tsunami warning, clear the beaches
a shift in the tectonic plate

minute by minute news updat
listen to the experts speeches
across the ocean people wait

all trying to anticipate
how far this devastation reaches
a shift in the tectonic plate

don’t live in a complacent state
lessons Mother Nature teaches
across the ocean people wait

as the local pastor preaches
although his prayers come too late
a shift in the tectonic plate
across the ocean people wait

poem by Charlie Parant
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Zdravo, Moje Ime Je Sara

Moje ime je Sara.
Ja sam ona koja nisam,
koja nikada nisam.
Ovo su ruke za moje zagrljaje.
Osakacene prazninom.
Okrunjene u prstenju koje sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam.
One pisu istoriju plasticne igracke
sahranjene u grobovima djetinjstva
koje nije doraslo do kolijevke.

Zovem se Sara.
Ja sam ona koja pokusava da bude.
Ovo su stopala za moje korake.
Ukocene putevima.
Vezana zveketavim nakitom
koji sumrakom skidam i u tmine bacam.

Ona hodaju nepostojecim ulicama
kojima gaze jos samo prividi staza.
Silaze u bunare
da u njima udave
proplivalu nadu za kraj.

Moje ime je Sara.
Ja sam ona koja bi htjela.
Ovo je vrat za vase ruke.
Dotaknite lagano.
Vezan je hiljadama lancica
koje sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam.

Ona jedu halapljivo,
krugove u koje sazimam snove
dozvoljavam da dira.
Neka je.

Zovem se Sara.
Ja sam ona koja ne pristaje.
Ovo je kosa za moje pletenice.
U njima trake od srebra
i bisere sjajne sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam. Neka ih.

Prekrsila sam sva pravila.
Razbila klise,
zacarane krugove,
pocijepala stranice
na kojima mi ispisuju sudbinu.

Ja sam Sara.
Ja sam ona koja nisam.
Ja sam ona koja uvijek
samo pokusavam da budem.
Ja sam ona koja hoce.
Ja sam ona koja ne pristaje.
Ja sam uvijek,
vjecnoscu stegnuta
u sipljive trenutke. Ja sam nada
umrla za kraj.
Ja sam ona koja hoce da razumije.
Ja sam ona koja ne razumije uvijek.
Ali JESAM.

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have avoided becoming stale by putting a little water on the plate, lying on the plate, and having myself refreshed in a toaster oven for 23 minutes once every month.

quote by Dean Koontz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dinner In The House....

a plate falls from the table
hits the tiled floor and breaks into pieces

a woman is caught in utter surprise
and breaks into a hysterical
line but soon
realizes that this is nothing but an
accident of its
kind
about an ordinary plate
on the dining table

she regains her poise
keeps her composure and
retains her
feminine reservation,

'it is just a plate',

(it is not
a relationship)

i assure the guests of the house
and then all begins again
upon a witty conversation,
an exchange of
state-of-affairs
some on a cheek to cheek basis
a tee-a-tee
a peek-a-boo
a little laughter here and
another one dashing
over there

the children are out of the house
playing
some men are smoking
to the moon

it is not just a plate,
there is more to this
breaking

it is a symbol of something greater than those
broken pieces

if they only know
someone is talking to oneself.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Breakfast

Look, the golden plate is ready set
On the round table for breakfast.
Glitters reflecting tinges of my blood
In tune with the table of mud
With the green medow streaking to fret.
Listen, worshiping Aurora at dawwn daily
Comes to me that golden plate by priority.
The green paddy rooted in deep water
Fans soothingly with its ricy flavour.
Feel, it makes golden plate more catchy.
I cook the rice to petalsoft
Adding ghee and jaggery enough to taste.
I resolve with my prayers in bundle
To offer the made rice i.e 'pongal'
To the above deity of splendid light.
On the muddy table, over the glisten
Placed a plantain leaf, served on
The pongal.I then whisper'my sun,
Enlightened by the plate of your glisten'!

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Points

Counting points every day
To try and keep my weight at bay
Low cal this low fat that
Its all to keep me from getting fat

Meer morsels appear upon my plate
Were once was full my mighty plate
Green stuff coming out my ears
I should have buckteeth and rabbit ears

The weight is dropping really slow
I have such a long way to go
Rabbit food and plate so bare
About my weight I really care

Four months down the line
Lost loads of weight and feeling fine
No more grumbling about the food
That balanced diet done me good

Chellaston
06 04 2010

poem by Jim O'Donnell
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Heartburn Stew

I threw my woman power in a pot of stew
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single word did I hear from him,
So I tried the stew on my dog
But he wouldnt even eat it.
I put my light heart on a matching silver plate
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single footstep was heard near the door
So I ate the plate myself
And got a heartburn.
Heartburn, heartburn plate,
Heartburn, heartburn cake.
I toasted my pride and covered it with apple jam
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single sign of a stir or a breeze
So I soaked the bread in my milk
And I gave it to the birds.
Heartburn, heartburn plate,
Heartburn, heartburn cake.
I watched the clock ticking, ticking away to my past,
Eight years old, birthday and raindrops.
Not a single line from my dad or my mom
So I laid the cake on my cat
But she wouldnt even touch it.
Heartburn, heartburn stew,
Heartburn, heartburn blues.
What do I want with a heartburn, I ask you,
Dont try to give me the word.
cause I ask a clever question
And I get a silly answer.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heartburn Stew

I threw my woman power in a pot of stew
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single word did I hear from him,
So I tried the stew on my dog
But he wouldnt even eat it.
I put my light heart on a matching silver plate
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single footstep was heard near the door
So I ate the plate myself
And got a heartburn.
Heartburn, heartburn plate,
Heartburn, heartburn cake.
I toasted my pride and covered it with apple jam
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single sign of a stir or a breeze
So I soaked the bread in my milk
And I gave it to the birds.
Heartburn, heartburn plate,
Heartburn, heartburn cake.
I watched the clock ticking, ticking away to my past,
Eight years old, birthday and raindrops.
Not a single line from my dad or my mom
So I laid the cake on my cat
But she wouldnt even touch it.
Heartburn, heartburn stew,
Heartburn, heartburn blues.
What do I want with a heartburn, I ask you,
Dont try to give me the word.
cause I ask a clever question
And I get a silly answer.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Three Wives Of A Mandarin

Lawful wife.

There is still some wine left in the chalice,
And the plate that’s served is nests of the swallows.
Since the birth of time, the legal spouse
Is respected by her mandarin-husband.

Concubine

There is still some wine left in the chalice,
And the plate is served – duck: fat and heavy;
Should a mandarin be deprived of children -
Concubine is needed for a mandarin.

Maid

There is still some wine left in the chalice,
And the plate is served - preserves and marmalade.
Why the two of you are in his house?
Every night a new woman he desires.

Mandarin

There is no more wine left in the chalice,
And the plate that’s served is hot red pepper.
Silence! O you: bunch of silly blabbers,
Dare you laughing at the poor old mandarin.

poem by Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
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Learn About the Little Boy Who Thinks He's Grown

My brother is like any other
Sits at home watches T.V.
Likes to go outside but can never defeat
He's charming but mean
When comes to messing with me
And doesn't really care about school
He's bad in school
He curses at the teacher even at the students
Doesn't give a damn of who got excuses
His name is Joshua
And has a brother who is only 2 years of age
But the funny thing is they argue everyday
My brother is gready he likes to eat
He'll eat my plate of food his plate of food and even yours
That's Joshua with 4 years of age

poem by LADii3 T Hinojosa
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And that's how you shit on assholes

All is nothing
Unless sold
by the pound

If it has a price
Then kill
steal,
manipulate,
seduce,
it off
another plate

When 'Dog eats dog'
You'll find me
in the kitty litter
leaving what
you'll find
on my plate

poem by Justin Tallman Gonzalez
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Earthquakes And Tsunami

Some scientists had located a missing geological piece therefore,
They found a puzzle of plate tectonics in the Southwest Pacific Ocean.
East and West Antarctica had spread twenty six million years before.
The rift between them opened one hundred miles due to this motion.

The scientists had clearly described how the Pacific tectonic plate,
The North American plate and others have moved at different points in time.
As one plate moves, the adjoining one is affected and there were adequate
Theories about plate moves, earthquakes, tsunami and changing the clime.

One plate affects the other one because the mantle was planetary pieced
In a plate tectonics jigsaw puzzle, named the 'global plate circuit' mystery.
Zones around the Antarctic Ross Sea and the West rift were imbalanced,
Pushing other plates and this fact has been a mystery for a quarter century.

Knowing about the plate motion around Antarctica is an important key
To understand the motions between the Pacific and North American plate,
To understand better than before the East and West Antarctica geology
And to determine the plate motions in California, until it is not too late.

The West Antarctic rift system is still active as a result of a movement
Along the boundary between East and West therefore, the lack of information
About the seafloor spreading and the plate motions is an advertisement
Because we don’t know what can modify this strong puzzle motion.

The inclusion of this East-West Antarctic motion in the global circuit explains
The gap between Pacific and Australian plates, Adare region, which really
Is the missing plate boundary in the Southwest Pacific, causing the main
Motion and, with the Alpine Fault, modifying the plate motion history.

It affects the motion between spots in the Pacific and Indo-Atlantic Oceans.
It explains the formation of the Transantarctic Mountains and the puzzling gap
Between the Australian and Pacific plates and it explains some notions
About the deformation of this area, the Pacific Ocean being like a spinal tap.

The earthquake near Christchurch in New Zealand confirmed that a country,
Already riddled with fault lines, has gained another one, which ran below
New Zealand, causing many earthquakes each year and lieing on the boundary
Between Pacific and Australian plates, under the Australian Eastern plateau.

Pacific plate subducts below New Zealand's North Island and the Australian
Plate subducts below the South Island, while between these two subduction
Zones lies the Alpine fault, along the mountainous spine of the South Island.
The quake was a result of a fault activity, in a new tectonic combination.

That fault appeared on September, shaking Darfield, someone tried to relate.
Someone else said that a tsunami in the Atlantic Ocean is a rare event
At the subduction zones in the Atlantic basin, along the the Caribbean Plate
And the eastern edge of the Scotia Plate and the disaster can be prevent.

Japan tsunami occurred where the shards of the tectonic plates had met.
Magma rose from inside, causing one plate to move and to slide straight
The other and, jerking forward again, to trigger a new horrible quake set.
They occurred because the Pacific plate moved under the Eurasian plate.

poem by Marieta Maglas
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Experience/Iskustvo

experience can be a terrible burden if you're trying to create something new

iskustvo moze biti uzasan teret ako pokusavas da stvoris nesto novo

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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How to interpret games/Kako protumaciti igre

For the beginning it would be helpful to remember your childhood. The game is one of the hardest concepts and it requires the classification through the use of a chronological criterion. The games of childhood are a path towards theorizing the world. They sometimes imitate life without an authentic understanding of it, even without the need or wish to understand.
Playing tag for instance is a way to reach the other person using the advantages of the touch therapy.
Ring a ring a roses belongs to the same category except for the fact that this is the game in which you need to turn around a lot. Some people turn so a lot that they get into a trance which only the hide and seek can wafe them from. Speaking of hide and seek you can play it only if you have no problem with your eyesight and if you know how to count at least to…ten. You also need an elementary knowledge of your environment so that the others don't have to look for you in various corners where you can be detained with or without kneeling on corn. (Kneeling on corn is the game of the transition period)
The game of growing up is red gloves. Sometimes the gloves are so red that you may end up being blood transfused. The most interesting thing is that even if you know who hit you the pain does not decrease. Time, the most important factor in the development of games, can be helpful in increasing the pain tolerance degree. A comforting fact is that the only constant thing in the whole game is the colour of the gloves.
The game of the mature period is mother and father. Genetics plays the crucial role here. A continual jigsaw between dna and rna counting of chromosomes like marbles will distract your attention from the essence of this game.
The game of getting old is silent swinging alongside brain cells dying out. In this period you have already managed to cope with all the aforementioned games and now you can finally take your time.
The game of dying is a fairy tale being red before a good night's sleep and a dream in which you're swayed by someone's warm and calm voice. For in the end all you are craving is silence.

Za pocetak bi bilo dobro da se sjetite djetinjstva. To uvijek pomaze. Ovo je inace jedan od najtezih pojmova i zahtjeva klasifikovanje istog koristeci hronoloski kriterijum. Igre djetinjstva put su ka sagledavanju svijeta. One imitiraju zivot bez istinskog razumijevanja istog, a i bez potrebe i zelje za razumijevanjem. Suga je nacin da stignete do drugog koristeci prednosti touch terapije.

U istu kategoriju spada i ringe ringe raja s tim sto vam odzvoni jos prije nego sto ostarite jer je to igra u kojoj puno morate da se vrtite. Neki od nje prosto padaju u trans iz koga ih moze probuditi samo igra zmurke. Zmurke mozete da se igrate samo ukoliko nemate poteskoca sa vidom i ukoliko znate da brojite... makar do deset. Potrebno je i elementarno poznavanje okoline da ne bi na kraju morali i vas da traze po raznim coskovima u koje vas za kaznu stavljaju sa ili bez klecanja na kukuruzu.
(Klecanje na kukuruzu je igra prelaznog perioda) Potrebno je takodje da se unaprijed pomirite sa cinjenicom da nemate pojma koga u stvari trazite. Nije vazno. Cilj uvijek mozete da izmislite. Jer uvijek ce do kraja ostati nerazjasnjeno da li je krajnja svrha igranja postizanje uspjeha ili je igra samoj sebi cilj.
Igra odrastanja je igra crvenih rukavica. Nekad toliko crvenih da zavrsite na transfuziji krvi. Najzanimljivije je to sto i ako pogodite ko vas je zviznuo to ne umanjuje bol. Vrijeme koje je najvazniji faktor u razvoju igara moze vam biti od pomoci da povisite stepen tolerancije na bol. Utjesno je sto u svakom trenutku znate kada i gdje su vas udarili kao i to da je jedina postojana stvar u cijeloj igri boja rukavica.
Igra zrelog doba je igra mame i tate. Genetika je ovdje od presudnog znacaja. Kontinuirano klackanje izmedju RNK i DNK, prebrojavanje hromozoma kao klikera odvratice vam paznju sa sustine igre.
Igra starenja je tiho ljuljanje od kojeg odumiru mozdane vijuge. U ovom periodu vec ste savladili sve prethodno navedene igre i sada mozete da se mirno prepustite uzivanju.
Igra umiranja je citanje bajke pred spavanje i san u koji vas uljuljkuje neciji topao i smiren glas. Jer na kraju svega vapite samo za tisinom.

A Little School of Interpretation, …in x lessons,2007.
©Miroslava Odalovic

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We....are... What We Are...

we feast upon words
plate upon plate
and in magnificent
courses from the
Chinese chef

the words are
salty and
the sulfates are
somnambulists

we showed bloated
heads
and they begin to laugh
we look like
cheap poets making it
on
not so well attended
blog-sites

we wish we are bombs
killing some
racists and
pigs and
pachyderms

the days are over
we are into this sickness into this
common death
like whales finally finding
their destinations into some
bloody blobs.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hello, my name is Sarah

My name is Sarah
I am the one who is not
Who never is
These are the hands for my embraces
Mutilated in emptiness
Husked in the rings at twilight I take off
And throw into the dark.
They are writing a history of a plastic toy
Buried in the tombs of childhood
That never grew towards a cradle.

My name is Sarah
I am the one who is trying to be
These are the feet for my steps.
Frozen in the paths
Tied by tinkling jewelerry
At twilight I take off
And throw into the dark.

They walk the streets that there are no more
The streets trodden by mere silhouettes of paths
They go down the wells
To strangle in them
A swimming hope for the end.

My name is Sarah.
I am the one who wants.
This is the neck for your hands.
Slightly touch.
It's tied in thousands of necklaces
At twilight I take off
And throw into the dark.

The darkness greedily eats
The circles I push the dreams into
I let it touch.
It's all right.

My name is Sarah.
I am the one who does not consent.
This is the hair for my plaits.
The silver ribbons
And shiny pearls at twilight I take off
And throw it into the dark.
It's all right.

I have broken all the rules
I have broken cliches
Magic circles
I tore the pages
On which
They try to write my fate.

I am Sarah
I am the one who is not
I am the one who is always
Only trying to be
I am the one who wants
I am the one who does not consent
I am always eternity tied
In pouring moments
I am the hope died for the end
I am the one who wants to understand
I am the one who does not always understand
But I AM.

Moje ime je Sara.
Ja sam ona koja nisam,
koja nikada nisam.
Ovo su ruke za moje zagrljaje.
Osakacene prazninom.
Okrunjene u prstenju koje sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam.
One pisu istoriju plasticne igracke
sahranjene u grobovima djetinjstva
koje nije doraslo do kolijevke.

Zovem se Sara.
Ja sam ona koja pokusava da bude.
Ovo su stopala za moje korake.
Ukocene putevima.
Vezana zveketavim nakitom
koji sumrakom skidam i u tmine bacam.

Ona hodaju nepostojecim ulicama
kojima gaze jos samo prividi staza.
Silaze u bunare
da u njima udave
proplivalu nadu za kraj.

Moje ime je Sara.
Ja sam ona koja bi htjela.
Ovo je vrat za vase ruke.
Dotaknite lagano.
Vezan je hiljadama lancica
koje sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam.

Ona jedu halapljivo,
krugove u koje sazimam snove
dozvoljavam da dira.
Neka je.

Zovem se Sara.
Ja sam ona koja ne pristaje.
Ovo je kosa za moje pletenice.
U njima trake od srebra
i bisere sjajne sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam. Neka ih.

Prekrsila sam sva pravila.
Razbila klise,
zacarane krugove,
pocijepala stranice
na kojima mi ispisuju sudbinu.

Ja sam Sara.
Ja sam ona koja nisam.
Ja sam ona koja uvijek
samo pokusavam da budem.
Ja sam ona koja hoce.
Ja sam ona koja ne pristaje.
Ja sam uvijek,
vjecnoscu stegnuta
u sipljive trenutke. Ja sam nada
umrla za kraj.
Ja sam ona koja hoce da razumije.
Ja sam ona koja ne razumije uvijek.
Ali JESAM.

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A buffet to Remember

It was a buffet to remember
With a lovely Hawaiian theme
Food so fresh and flavorful
It was truly a food critic’s dream

Shrimp so sweet and tasty
Dipping sauce perfectly mixed
The platters were so beautiful
With everything that was fixed

A pig cooked to perfection
We couldn’t wait to eat
So much food to put on our plate
Hard to carry it to our seat

The perfect way to celebrate
Harold’s 100th birthday
Grabbed our plate and filled it up
It was just like a holiday!

poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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