Eggs For Me
Form into a shell, you are unique,
Break out in time to master reality.
My cooking of eggs makes food worth sharing,
They cook me omelettes next, then hard-boiled eggs.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Putting all the eggs in one basket
Every time I leave
Mother always reminds me
This: do not put all your eggs
In one basket,
Because when I fall
All the eggs will break and I will be left with
Nothing.
Even a nincompoop understands that.
Oh mama! I do not have those many eggs
And she does not have any basket,
We sure both, have nothing to lose.
Thanks for the reminder, anyway.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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3 Fingers of Bananas And 4 Boiled Eggs
This is just the beginning and,
This is just like the beginning!
With 3 fingers of bananas and 4 boiled eggs to eat.
I know what i need and,
I know what i buy;
You know what you need and,
You know what you buy;
But, the market out there is for the wise and the fool.
This man said this!
And that woman said that;
This man did this!
And that woman did that;
This boy did this!
And that girl did that;
But, let the water go through it to satisfy you!
For, i have 3 bananas and 4 boiled eggs to eat.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Eggxample
What came first chickens or eggs?
Chickens of course!
Chickens have legs!
Chickens have feathers,
Eggs have a shell,
How would you like your eggs, done well?
This may be a 'yolk',
But consider it folk!
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Green Eggs & Ham
I do not like green eggs and ham
I do not like them
Sam, I am
I do not like them here or there
I do not like them anywhere
I do not like them in a boat
I would not, could not, with a goat
I will not eat them in the rain
I do not like them on a train
I do not like them in a box
I will not eat them with a fox
I do not like them in a house
I would not, could not, with a mouse
I do not like green eggs and ham
I do not like them
Sam, I am
Green eggs and ham
Green eggs and ham
Dont like green eggs and ham
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meditations Upon An Egg
1.
The egg's no chick by falling from the hen;
Nor man a Christian, till he's born again.
The egg's at first contained in the shell;
Men, afore grace, in sins and darkness dwell.
The egg, when laid, by warmth is made a chicken,
And Christ, by grace, those dead in sin doth quicken.
The egg, when first a chick, the shell's its prison;
So's flesh to the soul, who yet with Christ is risen.
The shell doth crack, the chick doth chirp and peep,
The flesh decays, as men do pray and weep.
The shell doth break, the chick's at liberty,
The flesh falls off, the soul mounts up on high
But both do not enjoy the self-same plight;
The soul is safe, the chick now fears the kite.
2.
But chicks from rotten eggs do not proceed,
Nor is a hypocrite a saint indeed.
The rotten egg, though underneath the hen,
If crack'd, stinks, and is loathsome unto men.
Nor doth her warmth make what is rotten sound;
What's rotten, rotten will at last be found.
The hypocrite, sin has him in possession,
He is a rotten egg under profession.
3.
Some eggs bring cockatrices; and some men
Seem hatch'd and brooded in the viper's den.
Some eggs bring wild-fowls; and some men there be
As wild as are the wildest fowls that flee.
Some eggs bring spiders, and some men appear
More venom'd than the worst of spiders are.[16]
Some eggs bring piss-ants, and some seem to me
As much for trifles as the piss-ants be.
Thus divers eggs do produce divers shapes,
As like some men as monkeys are like apes.
But this is but an egg, were it a chick,
Here had been legs, and wings, and bones to pick.
poem by John Bunyan
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Utilitarian Point Of View
as the gray hen cackles looking for a place to lay her eggs
the red rooster looks for another white hen to shuffle on the ground,
we who see this does not condemn, nay we never think of morality
or codes of ethical conduct, as the rooster is just doing the work that nature and man have assigned to it
no hen ever complains that the rooster has copulated with the other
six hens around the poultry in the backyard and in the garden
neither shall we reprimand the rooster for being so restless and
cocky and prolific or as we call it engages in promiscuous sex
all that we are thinking on that moment are the eggs that each hen can lay, our minds looking forward to every morning's breakfast, when we shall choose, the usual delights: either scrambled or sunny side up or perhaps a hard-boiled egg for our personal consumption.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Alankar (Decor) -30
Kitchen clash (Double Rondeau)
How difficult it is to cook
In hot summer how a wife to cook
'Take rest, shall buy food from outside'
He says with concern on her side
Wife is happy she need not cook
Happy so life runs like a brook
Variety food, pleased they look
Seasoned hot, they know kitchen's stride
How difficult
Time in hand changed is her outlook
Changed is also her old cook-look
Styleless to stylish in set glide
Makes her new with glow to her pride
She can speak on her strife to cook
How difficult
How difficult but back a cook?
Daughter visits with siren look
There, stirs in dad's heart a high tide
Sneaks'cooking has been set aside
These days mom does not at all cook'
Enough for her to word and hook
Daughter counsels mom back to cook
To be in shifty husband's stride
How difficult!
Luck is but a wheel in life-book
So such a wife can't overlook
And mom vows never to abide
Honeyed words but put them aside
Blamed wife telling herself 'to cook
How difficult! '
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Eggs Are Falling
Discover the unseen,
Learn the unknown like,
Red wine with a candle light;
A world of darkness is around us.
The line of poetry,
The marks of love;
Respectable to a muse when,
The teacher becomes a student.
Eggs are falling, eggs are falling!
A walk through the Saxon Forest with,
An art by the mile:
Eggs are falling, eggs are falling! !
Discover the unseen and know my mind,
A thought by an inch with a poem by the yard;
The blosson time of love is hear to stay.
Of blue rooms for love,
Of red rooms for roses,
Eggs are falling to where the trees blossom;
Learn the unknow with Red Wine.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Cooking and taste
eating the same tasteless dinner at the only diner
the umpteenth time, a thought came to my mind
am i a guinea pig or one of its kind
or was there a conspiracy behind
has my taste buds gone out of date
why is all so tasteless, that is the food i ate
i dared to ask the manager why the taste is so bad
bang came a caustic reply, this is by the best cook he ever had
(insinuating a problem not with his cook but with my taste)
well then it has to be my taste buds i thought
directing all my efforts to the food i had bought
then came storming, the savior, inside the hall
in his hand was the same food for which i have taken the fall
indignanlty he shouted at the manager
this food is so bad that even his dog had refused to had
hell i thought even the dog has a better taste
why, why am i such a waste
the dog in me forced me to start cooking that very day
the dog in me does sometimes refuses to eat what i cook
the human in me requests him to hav another look
for, when people are struggling for one square meal a day
how can i keep the food i cooked at bay,
hence i eat, taste or no taste, everything i cook, every day.
Coloured Eggs
Coloued eggs for a culture,
And of he story of a rabbit that laid them!
Oh, this culture is yet to know the truth;
For rabbits do not lay eggs!
Why should they teach the children this way?
And of coloured eggs lay by rabbits;
But this culture cannot change,
For history had made them so.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Hen and the Wren
The lovely, laying hen said to the itsy-bitsy wren.
'Good morning. It's nice to see you now and then.'
The itsy-bitsy wren said, 'Thank you Mrs. Hen.
I haven't seen you for awhile and don't remember when.'
The laying hen said to the itsy-bitsy wren, 'If you recall,
The last time we were together was a bit before last fall.'
The wren smiled and said, 'Oh yes I should have guessed.
It's spring again so I'm back to build another nest.'
The hen said, 'Soon we both will be sitting on our eggs.
Not long after that there'll be babies ‘neath our legs.'
The itsy-bitsy wren said, 'I wish my eggs weren't so small.
Your eggs are so large that your babies will be tall.'
Well the lovely laying hen said, 'Your eggs are just right.
And that song you sing brings everyone delight.'
From spring to fall wherever hens and wrens reside,
There'll be nests, eggs and babies chirping far and wide.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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My career is pretty much over. I'm out in the Valley eating soft-boiled eggs.
quote by Tim Conway
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Egg love
Dog
Love too
Eat eggs...
Eggs is
Not love
The dog...
But...
Dog don't woory
Eat the eggs...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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MaMa's Cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
It's an assortment of goodie things
Chocolate, pies and banana pudding
Enough food and that's Mama's cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Apron in hand and lasting impression I didn't want to miss
Everything seem perfect from beginning to end
Enough food and that's Mama's Cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Smiling faces and a gentle speech of o.k.
Noone knows how much the void I can't fill
Enough food and that Mama's Cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Being polite and sincere would carry the weight
Seemingly enough she has the greater plan
Enough food and that Mama's Cooking ahead
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
The napkins, plates and never-ending why didn't it last
Noone knows how much the void I can't fill
Enough food and that's Mama's Cooking again
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Craving for the turkey and dressing pan
Not to admit, seemed a bit much
Enough Food and that's Mama's Cooking again
So nowadays, I look for the needle in the haystack
Wishing on the times, she would come back
It's been 10 years, since I said thoughs word's
Enough food and that Mama's blessing for us
Missing mom everyday becomes second-nature for me
Enough food, Enough love and One day she'll see
For know I'll take her spirits with me and others will speak
Enough food, Enough love and One day she'll see
poem by Natasha McGee
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8 Eggs Laid!
8 eggs laid!
At the completed time;
8 eggs paid by the bird!
At the completed time;
However, try to treat me with respect! !
For, you keep on attacking me with your negative attitude.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Auld Wife
PART I
The auld wife sat at her ivied door,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
A thing she had frequently done before;
And her spectacles lay on her apron’d knees.
The piper he pip’d on the hill-top high,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
Till the cow said, “I die,” and the goose asked “Why?”
And the dog said nothing, but search’d for fleas.
The farmer he strode through the square farmyard;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
His last brew of ale was a trifle hard,
The connection of which with the plot one sees.
The farmer’s daughter hath frank blue eyes;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies,
As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas.
The farmer’s daughter hath ripe red lips;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
If you try to approach her away she skips
Over tables and chairs with apparent ease.
The farmer’s daughter hath soft brown hair;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And I met with a ballad, I can’t say where,
Which wholly consisted of lines like these.
PART II
She sat with her hands ’neath her dimpled cheeks,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And spake not a word. While a lady speaks
There is hope, but she did n’t even sneeze.
She sat with her hands ’neath her crimson cheeks;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
She gave up mending her father’s breeks,
And let the cat roll in her best chemise.
She sat with her hands ’neath her burning cheeks,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And gaz’d at the piper for thirteen weeks;
Then she follow’d him out o’er the misty leas.
Her sheep follow’d her, as their tails did them,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And this song is consider’d a perfect gem;
And as to the meaning, it ’s what you please.
poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Boiled Eggs
Why should i eat my boiled eggs before you? ! !
For it is like your God and,
I don't want to hurt you;
For any wise person knows his or her root in this life.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Returning food
(This is a fictional poem)
You keep sending your food back because you aren't satisfied.
If you send it back just once more, we are going to step outside.
You say that my food stinks but you don't realize that I'm a great chef.
My meals have caused food poisoning but they've caused no deaths.
You said that your bacon was burned and your eggs were runny.
I'm going to kick you in the crotch and you won't think it's funny.
You keep complaining about your meals, nobody likes a whiner.
You say that I cook worse than that chef who owned Mel's diner.
I'm getting pissed because of the meals that you return.
I hold the worlds record for food that causes heartburn.
poem by Randy Johnson
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Grits Aint Groceries
If I dont love you baby,
Grits aint groceries,
Eggs aint poultry,
And mona lisa was a man.
All around the world
Id rather be a fly
And light on my babys head,
Ill stay with that
Woman til I die.
A toothpick in my hand,
I dig a 10-foot ditch
And ride through the jungle
Fightin lions with a switch,
Because ya know I love ya baby,
Well, you know I love you baby,
And if I dont love you baby,
Grits aint groceries,
Eggs aint poultry,
And mona lisa must-a been a man.
Well, its all around the world and I got
Blisters on my feet
A-tryin to find my baby,
A-bring her back to me.
If you see my baby,
I know shell be convinced.
If it dont send her back to me,
It just
Dont make no sense,
Because ya know I love ya baby,
Well, you know I love you baby.
If I dont love you baby,
Grits aint groceries and eggs aint poultry,
And mona lisa must-a been a man.
Well,
All around the world
I never will forget
I lost all my money, my woman and my pet,
But I got to have you baby,
I got to settle for nothin less,
Give up all my good time for the sake of happiness,
Because ya know I love ya baby,
You know,
You know I love you baby.
If I dont love you baby,
Grits aint groceries,
Eggs aint poultry,
And mona lisa must-a been a man.
I said, if I dont love you baby,
Grits aint groceries,
Eggs aint poultry,
And mona lisa must-a
Mona lisa must-a been a man.
Well,
If I dont love ya baby,
If
I dont love you baby,
If I dont love you baby,
Grits aint groceries,
And eggs aint poultry,
And mona lisa must-a been a man.
Mona lisa must-a been a man.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Collective Punishment
Collective Punishment
A bird farmer had a stroke, paralyzed saw
himself being watched by a Plymouth hen,
it sat on the sill moving its head sideways
as birds tend to do. When satisfied that
the man was lame it jumped on to his bed,
pecked and slurped up his eyes like they
should be soft boiled eggs, then left.
The farmer lived, but since he could not
see or find the eye eater, he ordered all
birds and their eggs destroyed, and hen
houses bulldozed; alas, a few birds escaped.
The farmer planted sunflower on his land,
the survivors thrive at the edge of it, one
of them is a big, red Plymouth hen.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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