En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Haggis

A haggis found itself in a butcher’s window
and had a feeling that it shouldn’t be there.
He had visions of being on a Scottish hillside
amongst the heather and free without a care.

He didn’t feel right being next to a chicken,
pork sausages, and various other things.
He realised that his beautiful tail had gone,
as well as his legs, head, and wings.

The butcher then wrapped him up in paper
and gave him to Mrs Macnee
who took him home for dinner
for her husband and family of three.

She unwrapped him and left him on the table
while she went to answer the door.
The Haggis was feeling nervous and unsteady,
and rolled from the table to the floor.

It gathered pace and rolled out of the kitchen,
past Mrs Macnee, and out of the door.
He’s never be seen since and for all we know
he’s back in the heather once more.

poem by Orlando Belo
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Colin The Cumberland Sausage

Colin the Cumberland sausage
was as happy as a pig in mud.
Today the master butcher made him
for the table of Mr Wood.

So full of beans was Colin
he was nearly bursting from his skin,
until the butcher wrapped him in paper
for the errand boy to deliver him.

Colin the Cumberland sausage
was delivered the very same day
to Publican Wood at the Barley Mow pub
who would cook him in the usual way.

Colin was laid out on the table
ready to go in the pan,
but Wuffer the dog entered the kitchen
and took Colin in his mouth and ran.

Now nobody knows what became of Colin
we assume he was eaten by the dog,
but don’t be surprised to see his brother
on the table of the Barley Mow pub.

poem by Orlando Belo
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The Scottish Dance

I once had myself a Scottish Lassie
She then became my joy and pride
Then one-night she gave me Scottish ale
Then she became my Scottish bride

~We then danced around the table
We danced across the floor
We danced and danced all night long
And then we drank a little more~

She enjoyed to go out clubbing
Her family and mates I would meet
She was so exciting and loving
And when I grabbed her she said I was cheek...

I once had myself a Scottish Lassie
She was also my Scottish bride
She fed me Scottish eggs and Haggis
I got so sick I thought I had nearly died.

~So we danced around the table
We danced across the floor
We danced and danced all night long
And then we ate a little more.~

She took me out dancing
Where I would meet her friends and mates
She would drink and dance all night long
How I wished to go back to the states...

I once had myself a Scottish Lassie
She was also my Scottish wife
She told me she loved me with all of her heart
And together we would share the same life.

~So we danced around the table
We danced across the floor
We danced and danced all night long
And then we loved a little more~

I would take her out drinking
Every Friday and Saturday night
One thing she loved more than drinking or singing
My lassie she loved to argue and fight...

I once had myself a Scottish Lassie
But that was many years ago
I will always remember my Scottish Lassie
And the places that we use to go

~We would dance around the table
We would dance across the floor
We would dance and dance all night long
And then we would dance a little more~

Now I am alone and single
But her memories and thoughts I do keep
I remember the good-times and not the bad
So now I smile and I never weep

~So I dance around the table
I dance across the floor
I dance and dance all night long
And then I drink and dance a little more~

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Butcher's Shop - UK Style

Legs, Shoulders, Ribs and Shanks,
Chops, Sirloins, Breasts and Flanks,
These are all 'meats' of the Butcher's trade,
Where lots of delicious 'things' are made.

Hams, Pies, Pickles and Stuffing,
No I am really not bluffing,
Chicken, Goose, Turkey and Duck,
To buy these things you need some 'pluck'.

With these 'meats' you need to know,
How to steam and roast, real slow,
How to fry, simmer and grill,
It can be quite a difficult skill.

But the kindly Butcher will help you out,
You really only have to shout,
He knows the cuts, has all the info,
With all his knowledge, he's a real pro.

He knows how long to cook things for,
How the baste and how to score
The pork, so that lovely 'crackling' can be had,
Now think of it! That can't be bad.

There's livers, kidneys and chitterlings which,
Grab the taste buds, gee they're rich,
Bacon, sausages and corned beef slices,
Some with garlic, some with spices.

Whatever you like, it's all ready for you.
Even if you have to queue,
It's worth the wait, for what you'll get
It'll melt in the mouth, that I can bet!

Your friendly Butcher is a capable chap,
He'll answer your questions without a flap,
So try all his produce, the flavours are great,
You'll never have anything left on your plate.

There's variety beyond belief,
Try any 'meat' you'll come to no grief,
The choice is amazing, the recipes fab,
There's always a choice on the Butcher's slab.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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An Invitation.

She invited Joey
to her apartment
on the second floor

and as she opened the door
her dog came
barking along the hall

Shut up Bonaparte
she said
Go away

and the mutt walked back
with its tail
between its legs

to its basket
under the table
and she ushered Joey in

and closed the door behind her
and said
What would you like to drink?

tea coffee coke beer?
Coke will be fine
he said

and she told him
to go sit in the lounge
and once he sat down

he looked around the room
and on the small table
by the sofa where he sat

was a photograph of her
and her husband
taken on their wedding day

she dressed in white
and smiling
and he in a black suit

like a hit man
in a mobster movie
and she came in

with his coke
and set it on the table
by the sofa

and then went out again
swaying her behind
which made him smile

then she was back
with a tall glass
of white wine

and she set it down
on the table beside him
and sat down

and began talking
about the night
he had met her

and her husband
in the bar in town
and how she had invited

him over to meet her husband
and he had bought them
both a drink

and while her husband
talked to his friend
she had flirted with him

and made him laugh
and how after that
they'd all meet

on Friday evenings
in the same bar
and her husband

had invited him
to their place
to play chess

and he remembered
how he used to play chess
holding off letting

her husband win
so he could stay longer
and see her more often

and then she leaned over
to get her drink
and she put one hand

on his thigh
and reached over
for her wine

and he smelt her scent
and the brush of her hair
as she leaned over him

and having her glass
she leaned back
her hand still resting

on his thigh
and that look of mischief
burning in her eye.

poem by Terry Collett
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An event to recall on Mother's Day - That mother is no one other than me

Summer evening
Sun still harsh

Me, then fourteen
My mother's younger sister
Came forward to tell
A story about a mother

Mumbai, then Bombay
Highrise residential quarters
Fourth floor
Big Hall
Two big bed rooms
Two baths
Big kitchen

Grill-less windows
Free flow of air
Lot natural light

A mother in the kitchen
Preparing food
For her husband
And their three sons

The youngest about two years old
Left on the kitchen table
Mother being busy around

The child not seen now
Mother realised just then
Would have slipped
Across the open window

She was right
The child has fallen
But on the sun shade
About four feet below

Her two year old son
On an open sun shade
Not less than forty feet
Above the ground level

No time to lose
No time waiting for help
From outside

Mother too slowly
Slipped about four feet onto the
Just two feet wide sun shade
Picked up the child
Put him onto the kitchen work table
Managed to climb back to her kitchen

I was thrilled
I was to ask a number of questions
One important being
Is the mother is so courageous

My aunt finished telling
That mother is no one other than me
And that son is no one other than
My third son

Both that mother and son
Are safe, living and active

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Ignored. (a Seagull Story)

Ignored. (A seagull story)

At the seaside restaurant it was busy everyone was eating lobsters,
I tried to catch the waiters’ eye. I was ignored and got the feeling
that I was Invisible, or that I was so small that my head didn’t reached
over the table. A seagull landed on my table a beautiful bird,
yellow beak and feet, plumage snowy white its wings light grey/blue
and its eyes were green; it also had the aroma of the Atlantic Ocean.
Waiter came, looked at the bird asked what it wanted, lobster, I said
when the dish came I gave it to the bird. Got up, left and no one tried
to stop me.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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An Ode for David

Inspiration
From a lopsided table?
Words written down
Told as a fable
Strange request you have
My dear friend
Inspiration I will find
This I do intend

Wooden Table
Possess my tongue
Wintered table
Cry from my lungs
Pen striking paper
You shall be my muse
May the bleeding ink
Cry of your blues

Splintered skin
In a corner rest forgotten
Winding legs
You stand wild as cotton
Pen stroke slide
Across your lofty floor
Three legs you stand
When you should have four

Awkward table
You have no friend
Ancient table
You've reached your bitterend
Should my pen learn sea legs
I'd love you once more
But, on three legs you stand
When you should have four

poem by Kay Gardner
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The Butcher

There has been a butcher at my heart
I have been cut, severed and served
Diced up to a presentation
The mince of my forlorn desire
Left sitting in a bowl to waste
A consumption to indigestion
A poison to the pallet of love
The colour or romance blood red
Cut out drained away
There has been a butcher at my heart
Splicing, stabbing, hacking away
No delicate cuts to present
The back table offerings
Usually kept for the dogs
Is this all my heart has to offer
A bargain counter deal
On left over’s

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Didn't He Ramble

Didn't he ramble.... he rambled
Rambled all around.... in and out of town
Didn't he ramble....didn't he ramble
He rambled till the butcher cut him down
His feet was in the market place..his head was in the street
Lady pass him by, said..look at the market meat
He grabbed her pocket book..and said i wish you well
She pulled out a forty-five..said i'm head of personnel
Didn't he ramble...i said he rambled
Rambled all around...in and out of town
Didn't he ramble...oh didn't he ramble
He rambled till the butcher shot him down
(instrumental break)
He slipped into the cat house..made love to the stable
Madam caught him cold..said i'll pay you when i be able
Six months had passed ..and she stood all she could stand
She said buddy when i'm through with you
Ole groundhog gonna be shakin yo' hand
And didn't he ramble...he rambled
Rambled all around...in and out of town
Oh didn't he ramble......he rambled
You know he rambled...till the butcher...cut him down
I said he rambled..lord...'till the butcher shot him down

song performed by by Louis Armstrong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Housework

Wave goodbye from out of the window
Good-no trouble starting the car
Time for just one more cup of coffee
You know the housework won't wait
Where to start now? - time to get going
The housework keeps you feeling alive
Clear the plates and wash up the dishes
RRR! - Let's go - now the bedroom
Make the bed and fluff up the pillows
The housework makes you happy
Shake the rug and open the windows
The housework keeps you feeling alive
Close the drawers and tidy the closet
The housework keeps you going
Throw the dirty clothes in the hamper
RRR! - Let's go - looking better
RRR! - Let's go - get the vacuum
Round the carpets under the table
The housework makes you happy
Dust the shelves and polish the glass-ware
The housework keeps you feeling alive
Make some lunch and take out the garbage
The housework keeps you going
Pay the bills and get the dry-cleaning
RRR! - Let's go - time for shopping
Bread and milk and plenty of groceries
The housework makes you happy
Get some cash out of the dispenser
The housework keeps you feeling alive
Don't forget to stock up the freezer
The housework keeps you going
Get some wine for later this evening
Home by five! - how the kitchen
RRR! - Let's go - make the dinner
Get the roast into the oven
The housework makes you happy
Peel the veg and then set the table
The housework keeps you feeling alive
Freshen up and put on some music
The housework got your dancing
Light the candles - there goes the doorbell
RRR! - she's home - perfect timing!
Welcome back, dear - how did your day go?
The housework's nearly over
How about

song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Images Of Christmas

My family gathers,
The tree all aglow.

Smells of Christmas,
Fills the air.

The door bell rings,
You have arrived

Everyone is seated
Dinner is ready.

My heart is full.
Dinner is served.

poem by Heather Burns
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One God shining in a miillion ways

they say god is one
and he is everywhere

he found him in his kitchen
and calls him his Kitchen God
praying to him night and day
for enough food on his table

some found him in the field
and call him their rice god
praying to him every season
to be blessed with food for the family

some women found him at the door
and call him their door god
praying to him each morning
for safety of the house

some found him in the mountain
and call him the mountain god
praying to him day and night
to bless their ancestors' spirits
they think dwell with Him there

another found him at sea
and call him the sea god
praying to him day and night
so that he could catch enough
of fishes to make his day

each of us looks and finds god
in some ways, calling him
our own god, in our own way
- the god that answers every
earnest call for his blessings
at the door, in the field, at sea
.....everywhere....

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Snowball

My baby took our love
And then she rolled it up
Rolled it up a hill
Like a ball of snow
Like a snowball grows
Until it gets too big
Until she lost control
And it rolled back down
And it rolled back down
And it rolled back down
And it rolled back down
She took a tiny bit
And rolled it up again
Slower than before
She went a step too far
She had to let it go
I saw it go straight down
My baby turned around
Started up again
Started up again
Started up again
Started up again
Eyes were made for looking
Hands were made for holdin
Hearts were made for lovin
Lips were made for kissin
Legs were made for walkin
Tracks were made to follow
Thats what Im gonna do
Two tracks
In the snow
Two tracks
Up that hill
My heart broke
When my baby left
Two tracks behind

song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Back Door Man

Im every man here in disguise
Lie cheat and give you a spoonful of lies
Im a high toned mother with an axe to grind
Come a little closer honey, see what you find
Your worst nightmares all rolled in one
Ill find you sure as the rising sun
Dont make a noise its understood
cos this aint no story like red riding hood
Im your back door man, Im your back door man oh yeah
Im your back door man, come on babe, and Ill take you where I can
Systematically I choose at will
But with you theres an obscene thrill
Its funny now how you cant say no
Its the smell of fear that you love so
Im your back door man, Im your back door man, oh yeah,
Im your back door man baby, just take it where you can
This first kiss has a touch of ice
Now hows that feel, it aint so nice
Blackhearted mamma Ive something new
Oh lord look what Ive turned into
[instrumental]
Im your back door man, Im your back door man
Im your back door man, Im your back door man

song performed by by Ufo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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About Your Denial....

Do not think that i am speaking of death
your view must be limited like an afternoon without hope for light

You have pocketed a smile
as though you are preparing for your usual cry

Do not think that life has gone awry
like the glass that spilled the milk
rolled on the table and fell on the floor

the sound of shattered pieces of glass
that feeling of stain
that silence that expects the reverse
of what actually happened

Come to think of it
this is just a path where everyone passes
they look forward for something else
like an open door that leads to a garden
a pool
a line of coconut trees
another view of the sea
a net full of fish

Come to think about it again
i am talking about life that remains life forever
you know it well
as it is written in the main page of your heart

you feel its song
you have read each word
and your soul has mastered it well

But for the meantime that you are lost in the middle
of everyday affairs
you pretend that you have forgotten it
afraid of the next door that opens
you settle for a chair....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Saturday Night In Blue

Saturday Night in Blue.

The house key was on the same ring as my car key, couldn’t find
them I had locked myself out. Car neatly parked I never drink drive,
the bar is nearby. I broke a window in the back, got in. Blinking light
outside: police telling me to open the door, I did, was wrestled to
the ground. At the station they came to their senses, let me go,
but refused to drive me back, since I smelled of booze and only had
myself to blame. Long walk home, bars had shut. Climbed through,
the same broken window, the keys, on the kitchen table. I uncorked
a bottle of wine, opened the front door, just in case, no one came,
I went to bed at dawn.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Hope That I Get Old Before I Die

Sometimes I feel like being wispy
And once in a while I feel like being dry
But we're doomed and we're drowned by this feeling we surround
So I hope that I get old before I die
It's a long, long rope they use to hang you soon I hope
And I wonder why this hasn't happened
Why why why
And I think about the dirt that I'll be wearing for a shirt
And I hope that I get old before I die
Clear off the kitchen table darling
For on the kitchen table I must lie
I'm just tired for my wife just served the banquet of my life
And I hope that I get old before I die

song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coffee

Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee
affords. I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you;
it stimulates all the organs.
I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but
as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you
what I mean.
Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us
is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.
I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs.
The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.
Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach. Every step she
took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it
did not please her.
Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went,
pretending to be naive.
"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."
"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world
that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram
from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing
else.
"All right," she said.
I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on. They
had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass. We went
into the kitchen.
She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a
cup next to it, and a spoon. I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove
and turned the gas on under it.
All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body. I
won't. She left the kitchen.
Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember
seeing any. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door
after her. I looked at the pan full of water on the stove.
I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October
and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water
into the sink.
The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet.
I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there. I stared at the garbage
and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and
peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing.
It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.
I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup and the spoon
all laid out like a funeral service. These are the things that you need to make a cup of
coffee.
When I left the house ten minutes later, the cup of coffee safely inside me like a
grave, I said, "Thank you for the cup of coffee."
"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door. Her
voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave.
I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort. And evening came, I
had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people.
We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed. It
was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San
Francisco. I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed.
I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. Once we
were very close. I wondered what she was thinking about now.
I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell. That was a small victory. One must
keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway.
She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that
she was seeing me. "What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was
seeing me. I walked right into the house.
She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile. She had not
bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself. She was just holding the robe in
front of herself.
I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. It looked kind
of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want a cup of coffee," I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for
a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted.
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me.
Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body.
"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like
talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time."
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of
her body. This was not good.
"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want
a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen. I have to go to bed."
The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen. I didn't feel like
going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself. I didn't feel like
going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee.
I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not
planned it that way. At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an
empty white cup and a spoon.
They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Perhaps if he has
enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a cup of coffee.

poem by Richard Brautigan from Revenge of the Lawn (1971)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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We're Alive

I'm feeling free Across the ocean
we go sailing on an on into the sunshine
On our way life is so good to us now
Feeling good feeling free we're alive
Blue skies above Everything's right
As we're going on our way the future looks bright
You and me together at last
Feeling good feeling free we're alive
Lovely feeling the wind blows through your hair
As we're sailing through life without a care
Look around and feel the freedom
All around us It is ours just for the taking
Nearer now to the island we go
Feeling good feeling free we're alive
chorus
Faster now across the surface
Of the water Keep on head
All life will catch up
Everyone would like to feel like we do
Feeling good feeling free we're alive
Feeling good feeling free we're alive
Feeling good feeling free we're alive

song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Equalizer

In a small hut on the hill
Lived a poor man named Bill
He could not spell it made life hell
At times there was no wood in the shed
The family went many times hungry to bed
But when he sat under the old Linden Tree
He had this feeling of being free
His gaze would wander over mountains and dales
Feeling tired but forgot what ails
Then came the knock on the door
He ask who they were calling for
It's me the Grim Reaper said
There is no sense going to bed
Come with me and the other one
And my calling for the day is done…

There comes a time when all is fair
But the lord of the manor was stroking his hair
His hand cradled a delicate crystal glass
A dozen red roses stood in a vase
On a table filled with food to delight
The view from the window a beautiful sight
His coat was pure silk the shirt out of lace
His mind from the wine in a haze
He lived in splendor every day of his life
Not caring for others strife
Then came the knock on the door
He ask who they were calling for
It's me the Grim Reaper said
There is no sense going to bed
Come with me and the other one
And my calling for the day is done…

poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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