Life's Combination With Fresh Toppings!
A mug of Black Beer
Gives you the taste of bitter life!
And a fistful of salted Pistachios
Feels the flavour of Paradise!
If your beloved goes to bed earlier
Then you could think of a lyrical poem
For her nagging Harp on the breakfast table
With an Omelette or Bacon ends!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Earth Ancient Wine
I drank of an Asiatic wine
of ancient nomadic recipe.
Its earth salted tasteless flavour
watered down haunted me.
It had no body, it sustained no miraculous
life, bitter hollowed echo, memory be.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Hooked And Eyed
hooked
is the eye
the fish
cannot get
away
caught and
sliced
salted and spiced
on the table
breakfast
one fishy morning
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Operatic omelette
I could write a sonnet
about what I just ate.
My lady's beautiful
omelette.
I may try operatic,
p'raps poetic,
that music of taste,
an omelette in travel
going from north to south
via my mouth.
No omelette going to waste,
a thing to revel,
my lady's a devil
when cooking that omeletting
thing.
So play it again
sonnet, operatic,
cooking poetic.
So pan out again,
do you ken.
poem by George BernardBloodyShaw
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Rondeau
Fleas, stink, pigs, mold,
The gist of the Bohemian soul,
Bread and salted fish and cold.
Leeks, and cabbage three days old,
Smoked meat, as hard and black as coal;
Fleas, stink, pigs, mold.
Twenty eating from one bowl,
A bitter drink -it's beer, I'm told-
Bad sleep on a straw in some filthy hole,
Fleas, stink, pigs, mold,
The gist of the Bohemian soul,
Bread and salted fish and cold.
poem by Eustache Deschamps
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Verwoerd is Black
This poem is pregnant
with the black bloodshed of 1976.
This poem is constipated
with slavery of the poor.
This poem is the titanic of people’s hopes
sinking in the freezing ocean of democracy.
This poem is the enemy of the state,
‘cause, this poem bears testimony.
Don’t you know?
Verwoerd is black.
This poem is a hook that fishes
odd deeds buried behind black faces.
This poem is a mirror
that reflects odd unknown images
of stinking rich black men.
This poem is the voice of the angry dead.
This poem is a hammer to nail
in the brain of greedy politicians.
This poem is a database
of all black leaders.
This poem bears testimony.
Don’t you know?
Verwoerd is black.
This poem is for you
black man who spits
at the sight of a white man.
This poem is for you
white man who owns a savaged land
full of secret mass graves.
This poem is for you
black and white who hug and kiss
to please Madiba.
This poem is for you
the poor, who sing:
freedom has finally come.
This poem is for you, who know no truth,
‘cause, this poem bears testimony.
Don’t you know?
Verwoerd is black.
This poem is for you
my brother & sister who have lost taste
of your mother-tongue
in the multiracial Model C schools.
This poem is for you
black mama, who has configured her black being
‘cause black is barbaric.
This poem is the anger of hunger.
This poem is for the unemployed voters
who find solace in booze, sex & crime.
This poem bears testimony.
Don’t you know?
Verwoerd is black.
poem by Mpho Ramaano
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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
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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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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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Making Poetry
Why did I make a poem?
It's more than you can imagine
It's not about black or white
Because the power of poetry that I'm dumbfounded
Look at the whole Bible, everything is poetry {not, but a holy book down from Allah is the truth}
Abstract ideas of science are all from the poem
Idealism actual human life is poetry
I'm just trying to be honest...
Creating poetry for me is more than anything
Not me want to be Jesus or Muhammad {but imitate their pious}
But I do not know what my purpose {paradise}
Only the most important is to produce poetry
I just write from the unreal world
Introduce something to people here
Are they willing to accept it or not does not matter
Since the poetry of the poem is the image of eternity
Who continue to fly and only revealed to the seeker
Poetry for me is more important than life
More important than my beloved
More important than my brother
Because the poem can represent any
Why did I make a poem?
When you reject the poem in your life
It has a form of poem to poem
Actually you can not escape from poetry
But you did not realize it, be aware of?
Indeed the poem is really real
Do you not believe how strong poetry
Look at all the countries in the world today
All poems must have an ideology
Ideology of all States is poetry
Do you still deny its power?
From now on, deep down consider
The poem is more than just blank words without the influence
(30 April 2002)
poem by Irvan Hermawan Saichu
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Paradise
Hm, hm
Hm, hm, hm, hm
Just like a welcome fire
That comes in the cold
You make my heart warm
And a little more love is born
And i'm caught up once again on you
Soft as a rose, your tenderness glows
But you're so strong
And i know i'm gonna love you long
Well, crazy maybe
But i've seen paradise
Here in your eyes
I'm in seventh heaven
Ooh, there's nothing quite
Like spending your life
With a special someone
It feels so right
When the lights are out
And i'm in the dark
I'm not afraid, no
Long as i can get a piece of your heart
And the wind sighs
I love you
Specially when we touch
I need it so much
And i'm glad that we found love
Let the record show that i know that i've
Seen paradise here in your eyes
I'm in seventh heaven
Ooh, there's nothing quite
Like spending your life
With a special someone
It feels so right
Hmm, ooh (paradise)
Hey, i'm in para, para-dise, yeah
I'm in paradise, you know
You know that i like, you know that i like
You know that i like to be in paradise
(paradise) i'm in paradise
And for those who think that there's no such thing
As eternity, they should take a look at you and me
We have got the perfect harmony
Specially when we touch
You know i need it, oh, so much
I'm in heaven specially when i'm with you, hey
I'm in paradise (paradise)
I'm in paradise, paradise and a
Here in your life
Here in your eyes (paradise)
Oh really, i'm in paradise
You know that i like, you know that i like
You know that i like to be in paradise
(paradise) i wanna move with you
I wanna groove you, baby
With me, with me in paradise
I said i'm in paradise
Ooh, ooh, hoo (paradise)
Yeah, to be in paradise with you and me
To be enough, paradise here in your eyes
Woh, woh, woh, woh, woh
You that i like, you know that i like
You know that i like, you know that i like
You know that i like
You know that i like, i like
I like to be in paradise
Spending my life, spending my life
Spending my life, spending my life
Spending all my life with you
Here in paradise, wooh
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
song performed by by Natalie Cole, music by Natalie Cole and Marvin Yancy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beloved Mother
I wish you'd disappear
I hope you fade away
I long for your end
I want you to die
I hate you beloved mother
I curse to be born from you
It's sad to see your tears
It feels so unreal
I hate you very much beloved mother
I despise your wretched blood running through my veins
How I hate you beloved mother
I yearn for your last breath
I can almost taste your salty tears
It all feels so unreal
How much I hate you beloved mother
I can't wait for the day that you die
poem by Starrbox Munoz
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Life Is Poem
to me life is a poem............maybe a child's singing and crying.....sometimes......when I wake up........I go to a park.......in my leisure.......though I am alwayss leisured by life......I sit on a desolate bank.....look around...what I see.......The sparrows eating our troubles......hopping around........to me.......they are the hopping champions of life......easing our troubles....when there is a sparrow.....there must be a life...of some how.....some what....I watch the people by passing......there is the blind couple.....with their white white long stick....tapping....ı t is a music played ı n pavement stones....composed by them....listen to it....sometimes a black crow crows....writing his black poem, , , , , , tearing our ear drums....to me life is poem......the crying of the living...good or bad....ı wish....I had written this piece...like a child.....they are my beloved ones and friends...who me only understands...and write poem s best........
poem by Metin Sahin
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bring Home The Bacon
To my country
I promised
to bring home
the bacon.
And yes, I did
I did bring home
the bacon.
But to my surprise
the bacon vanished
so instantly.
Oh, my beloved country
forgive this unworthy
child of yours
I wasn't able
to bring home
sufficient bacon
for all your children.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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So-and-so likes lemonade
She resembles a soft fruit and very sociable.
But when she gets angry she is very fizzy like soda water.
He likes black beer as it gives the taste of bitter life
He says to the softie.
She seldom sleeps with him but lemonade is prohibited
As he complains that she makes a sound sleep.
She belongs to her kind husband and he belongs to his timid wife.
There is nothing to be seemed wrong if this a soap opera?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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(Love Poem) Bitter Sweet Rose
Bitter sweet rose will you be mine?
Or am I wasting my time?
Bitter sweet rose you smell divine.
Do you have a succulent kiss?
Is it something I've already missed?
Bitter sweet rose what gives?
Is it how we must live?
Bitter sweet rose will you answer my questions?
Are you devote?
Do you stray when your bored?
Will you doubt?
Is what you want something more?
Bitter sweet rose are you keeping score?
Will you try something new?
Will you lock your door?
Do your lips taste like dew?
Bitter sweet rose do you want to go?
Do you love the snow?
Is this right?
Is this what you want tonight?
Bitter sweet rose, oh my bitter rose.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Fistfull Of Steel
Huh!
Check it...uggh!
Silence
Something about silence makes me sick
'Cause silence can be violent
Sorta like a slit wrist
If the vibe was suicide
Then you would push da button
But if ya bowin' down
Then let me do the cuttin'
Some speak the sounds
But speak in silent voices
Like radio is silent
Though it fills the air with noises
Its transmissions bring submission
As ya mold to the unreal
And mad boy grips the microphone
Wit' a fistful of steel
Yeah...and mad mad boy grips the microphone
Wit' a fistful of steel
Wit' a fistful of steel
('Cause I know the power of the question)
Wit' a fistful of steel
Wit' a fistful of steel
(And I won't stop 'cause I know the power of the question)
It's time to flow like the fluid in ya veins
If ya will it
song performed by by Rage Against The Machine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Nagging Wife Won The Prize
There was a news from New Zealand,
about a nagging wife and a hesitant husband.
The wife was nagging her husband to buy a lottery ticket,
who was reluctant and hesitant,
postponing until 2 minutes before the sale closed.
The ticket won the prize.....the highest and the most.
It was about 4.2 millions NZ dollars.
They could'nt be happier.
The husband thanks his nagging wife,
for the rest of his life,
because the nagging has its bright side,
making them millionaire overnight.
Loves Gone Bad
Ah I feel a fountain in my brain
Ice-cold water runnin through my pain
Got a bad taste in my mouth from bitter tears
Heart so sad cause loves gone bad
I see a rainbow all in black
Must be a sign that you aint comin back
Wake up at night callin your name
I see a face on my window pane
Ive been this way since youve been gone
Without your love I cant go on
Look in the mirror, what do I see?
A cryin face, kinda looks like me
Now wheres the love you promised me?
Wheres he tenderness to comfort me?
Everytime some love I choose
I seem to always be the one to lose
Bad taste in my mouth from bitter tears
Heart fells sad cause loves gone bad
Loves gone bad, heart fells bad
Black crows flying up above
Its a sign that I live life without love
Slimes on the man, slimes ont the sea
Slimes everywhere I said Im destined to be
And this world where nothings right
Since youve been gone I cant sleep at night
You said youd be true to me
Instead you made a fool out of me
Heart feels sad, loves gone bad
song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do, Get Away!
Do, get away!
From those player haters.
Stop that nagging that attracts,
The backbiting of braggers...
Without delay.
And oh oh...
Do, get away!
From the pinch that inches tensions.
Don't give them more attention,
To incense sentiments.
Eliminate that taste.
And oh oh,
Yes...
Do, get away!
From those player haters.
Stop that nagging that attracts,
The backbiting of braggers...
Without delay.
Don't be used as sucker bait.
Or be a loser estimated.
Get yourself away right now today!
Keep your flow going.
Demote those 'whoa-s' that float.
Without delay.
And stop that nagging that attracts,
The backbiting of braggers!
And get yourself away,
Right now...
Today!
Don't let them pay a cent,
As if they pay you rent!
And, get away!
Oooooh do, get away!
From those player haters.
Stop that nagging that attracts,
The backbiting of braggers...
Without delay.
Oooooh,
Stop that nagging that attracts,
The backbiting of braggers...
And get away.
Oooooh,
Stop that nagging that attracts,
The backbiting of braggers...
And get away.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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