Related quotes: Sunday Dinner It was on...

Sunday Dinner

It was on an impulse I went to visit

my brothers' a fine Sunday noon,

No answer, but the door was open

I walked in food on the table, still

warm. Mary Celeste, I thought and

served myself.

Their garden looked enchanting

bushes full of red berries, I turned

on the water sprinklers and left;

heard a scream, thought it came

from their neighbour's garden and

took no notice.

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Related quotes

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning silence, curtain stay closed late
No one thinks of kitchens mornings in a filthy state
Dishes cups and beer stains, ashtrays on the floor
Sunday morning papers are left outside the front door
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
(sunday, bloody sunday rest)
Glass of fizzy water helps to start the day
Sit and listen to sunday silence, problems fade away
Sunday cars and drivers break the morning air
Uncollected milk outside reveals theres no one there
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
Bathrobes hang in waiting, windows steaming up
Somewhere in the sink downstairs lies an unwashed cup
Tea and toast for breakfast clear away the plates
Wash-up prepare for cooking sunday lunch awaits
Sunday lunch awaits
Sunday lunch awaits

song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Sunday Morning

Sappy pathetic little me
That was the girl I used to be
You had me on my knees
I'd trade you places any day
I'd never thought you could be that way
But you looked like me on Sunday
You came in with the breeze
On Sunday Morning
You sure have changed since yesterday
Without any warning

I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you well... so well

You're trying my shoes on for a change
They look so good but fit so strange
Out of fashion so I can complain

You came in with the breeze
On Sunday Morning
You sure have changed since yesterday
Without any warning

I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you well... so well

I know who I am

song performed by by No Doubt from Tragic Kingdom
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Sunday Papers

Mother doesnt go out any more
Just sits at home and rolls her spastic eyes
But every weekend through the door
Come words of wisdom from the world outside
If you want to know about the bishop and the actress
If you want to know how to be a star
If you want to know about the stains on the mattress
You can read it in the sunday papers, sunday papers
Mothers wheelchair stays out in the hall
Why should she go out when the tvs on
Whatever moves beyond these walls
Shell know the facts when sunday comes along
If you want to know about the man gone bonkers
If you want to know how to play guitar
If you want to know about the other suckers
You can read it in the sunday papers, read it in the sunday papers
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Brothers heading that way now I guess
He just read something made his face turn blue
Well I got nothing against the press
They wouldnt print it if it wasnt true
If you want to know about the gay politician
If you want to know how to drive your car
If you want to know about the new sex position
You can read it in the sunday papers, read it in the sunday papers
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Read all about it, sunday papers

song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Regular John

Who are you girl?
Who are you boy?
Bet I know what your up to
Can I come along?
Your home numbers on the wall
I just had to call...had to
I'm not the only one who will
Run with a knife

Open up your eyes
Open up your room
Open up your arms

Third 16th Sunday
2:16 Sunday night
Where's your daddy now?
I heard he went away
Who are you girl?
Cause i'm so bored with myself
Anyway...anytime...anyplace
I just hang around

Open up your eyes
Open up your room
Open up your arms

Third 16th Sunday
2:16 Sunday night
Open up your eyes
Open up your room
Open up your arms
Open up your door
Open up your eyes
Open up your room
Open up your arms

song performed by by Queens Of The Stone Age from Queens Of The Stone Age
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Gas

my grandmother had a serious gas
problem.
we only saw her on Sunday.
she'd sit down to dinner
and she'd have gas.
she was very heavy,
80 years old.
wore this large glass brooch,
that's what you noticed most
in addition to the gas.
she'd let it go just as food was being served.
she'd let it go in bursts
spaced about a minute apart.
she'd let it go
4 or 5 times
as we reached for the potatoes
poured the gravy
cut into the meat.

nobody ever said anything,
especially me.
I was 6 years old.
only my grandmother spoke.
after 4 or 5 blasts
she would say in an offhand way,
'I'll bury you all!'

I didn't much like that:
first farting
then saying that.

it happened every Sunday.
she was my father's mother.

every Sunday it was death and gas
and mashed potatoes and gravy
and that big glass brooch.

those Sunday dinners would
always end with apple pie and
ice cream
and a big argument
about something or other,
my grandmother finally running out the door
and taking the red train back to
Pasadena
the place stinking for an hour
and my father walking about
fanning a newspaper in the air and
saying, 'it's all that damned sauerkraut
she eats!'

poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sundays Morning

Sappy pathetic little me
That was the girl I used to be
You had me on my knees
Id trade you places any day
Id never thought you could be that way
But you looked like me on sunday
You came in with the breeze
On sunday morning
You sure had changed since yesterday
Without any warning
I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you well...so well
Youre trying my shoes on for a change
They look so good but fit so strange
Out of fashion, so I can complain
Horus:
I know who I am, but who are you?
Youre not looking like you used to
Youre on the other side of the mirror
So nothings looking quite as clear
Thank you for turning on the lights
Thank you, now youre the parasite
I didnt think you had it in you
And now youre looking like I used to!
You came in with the breeze
On sunday morning
You sure have changed since yesterday
Without any warning
And you want me badly
You cannot have me
I thought I knew you
But Ive got a new view
I thought I knew you well...oh well

song performed by by Gwen Stefani
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Well, it was sunday, bloody sunday when the shot the people there.
The cries of thirteen martyrs filled the free derry air.
Is there anyone amongst you dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding when they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, you claim to be majority, well, you know that its a lie.
Youre really a minority on this sweet emerald isle.
When stormont bans our marches, theyve got a lot to learn,
Internment is no answer, its those mothers turn to burn.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey! yeah!
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
All you anglo pigs and scotties sent to colonise the north,
You wave your bloody union jacks and you know what its worth.
How dare you hold to ransom a people proud and free?
Keep ireland to the irish, put the english back to sea!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey, hey, hey!
Alright!
Ooh -
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, its always bloody sunday in the concentration camps.
Keep falls road free forever from the bloody british hands.
Repatriate to britain all of you who call it home,
Leave ireland to the irish not for london or for rome.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Rose Garden

I watched you in your
garden,
Roses growing every-
where.
Flowers were so lovely,
Perfume filled the air.

Touching them so
gently,
Creating a bouquet,
Tieing yellow
ribbons,
So they would'nt blow
away.

As I left the garden,
On that summer day
I turned and looked
once more,
Then slowly walked
away.

I admire your lovely
garden,
So happy I would be,
If I were the rosebud,
You touched so
tenderly.

poem by Heather Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

My Childhood Garden

my childhood garden

my childhood garden
lush and green
it was so happy it made me scream
my joy and hopes
and all my mopes
my childhood garden

my childhood garden
with the ups and downs
when i jumped i could not touch the ground
with my purle ponys
it made it homey
my childhood garden

my childhood garden
flying high
with the little lies
the grass fine
up in the sky my kite
my childhood garden

my childhood garden
now in the past
i now know that it can never last
now as i get taller
it was differnt when i was smaller
my childhood garden

poem by Danielle Eager
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

When You Define A Thing

when you define
a thing, you limit it,
it is like fencing
your garden
the garden becomes
a set of exclusive
flowers, and anything
not like it becomes
a weed, and anything
that moves
becomes a pest

it is not that you
do not define, we do
it sometimes
only to understand
the limits of
understanding,

but we must be open
to other possibilities
of a garden,
a garden of stones
a garden of sand
of mud, of water
a fountain, a garden
of winds, of clouds

a garden of memories
like a poem
for instance, a garden
of words,
words with arms open
to the magic
of further creation
words still trying
to define themselves
in the garden
of the unknown

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Nature Trail

At the bottom of my garden
There's a hedgehog and a frog
And a lot of creepy-crawlies
Living underneath a log,
There's a baby daddy long legs
And an easy-going snail
And a family of woodlice,
All are on my nature trail.

There are caterpillars waiting
For their time to come to fly,
There are worms turning the earth over
As ladybirds fly by,
Birds will visit, cats will visit
But they always chose their time
And I've even seen a fox visit
This wild garden of mine.

Squirrels come to nick my nuts
And busy bees come buzzing
And when the night time comes
Sometimes some dragonflies come humming,
My garden mice are very shy
And I've seen bats that growl
And in my garden I have seen
A very wise old owl.

My garden is a lively place
There's always something happening,
There's this constant search for food
And then there's all that flowering,
When you have a garden
You will never be alone
And I believe we all deserve
A garden of our own.

poem by Benjamin Zephaniah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Grandma Rising

She's now gone home,
smile lighting up the clouds as she went I'm sure;
over-weight, in her double wide on wheels
hundreds of mourners
all in white
Louisiana style
singing
'Oh where joy abounds.'

she wanted it that way.

They didn't put her in the hearse at first
they just rolled her through the our street
and through the neighborhood
so any and all could pay their respects
besides most didn't have cars for the funeral ride
they just opened their windows and waved her on
'Bye Lulu. God's gonna get a good one back.'

Strong as the wind, she fed the relatives every Sunday;
dinner at noon, hot biscuits and syrup, spaghetti cauldron-
enough for thirty- where she'd hand out the encouragement,
the admonishments and the love,
that big hand of hers in the family dike;

eyes of a leather eagle, heart of velvet stone,
arms full of 'chillings' at her ample bosom
making Sunday order for diners who sometimes had a week
of hurt pain and disorder.
Come to grandma's house and all that stopped at the door
with her eggs and bacon and her love.

Made the comforts of home for family and strangers, took them in her arms and cut their Chain of Sorrows and made it alright.

Lit her Sunday candle, said Grace, heads bowed and she would circulate
Talking to and touching each one.

Granddad, handed out bus and carfare
and made that week better for many
who left with brown bags of food and ration stamps.

So when her Big Brown Chariot rolled down the street
that Sunday noon
everybody knew
she'd be rising soon.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sunday Bloody Sunday

Well it was sunday bloody sunday
When they shot the people there
The cries of thirteen martyrs
Filled the free derry air
Is there any one amongst you
Dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding
When they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
You claim to be majority
Well you know that its a lie
Youre really a minority
On this sweet emerald isle
When stormont bans our marches
Theyve got a lot to learn
Internment is no answer
Its those mothers turn to burn!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
You anglo pigs and scotties
Sent to colonize the north
You wave your bloody union jack
And you know what its worth!
How dare you hold to ransom
A people proud and free
Keep ireland for the irish
Put the english back to sea!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Well, its always bloody sunday
In the concentration camps
Keep falls road free forever
From the bloody english hands
Repatriate to britain
All of you who call it home
Leave ireland to the irish
Not for london or for rome!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!

song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Marley Purt Drive

Sunday morning, woke up yawning; filled the pool for a swim.
Pulled down the head and looked in the glass just to see if I was in.
Went up the stairs and kissed my women to make her come alive.
'Cause with fifteen kids and a fam'ly on the skids,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
Fifteen kids and a fam'ly on the skids ,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
That's how they are, so I grabbed out the car;convertible fifty-nine.
Headed for the freeway; tried to find the Pasadena sign.
Ten miles and three quarters more I wasn't feeling any more alive.
'Cause with fifteen kids and a fam'ly on the skids,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
Fifteen kids and a fam'ly on the skids,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
I used to be a minstrel free with a whole lot of bread in my bag.
I used to feel that my life was real, but the good Lord threw me a snag.
Now I'm gonna be the same as me ,no matter how I try.
'Cause with fifteen kids and a fam'ly on the skids,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
Fifteen kids and a fam'ly on the skids,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
Turned 'round the car and headed for home; I guess I realized my fate.
Ten miles and three quarters more I pulled up outside the gate.
Twenty more kids were stood inside and that made thirty-five.
'Cause with an orphanage full of thirty-five kids,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
An orphanage full of thirty-five kids ,
I got to go for a Sunday drive.
Sunday morning woke up yawning; filled the pool for a swim.
Pulled down the glass and looked in the mirror just to see if I was in .
Went up the stairs and kissed my women to make her come alive.
'Cause with an orphanage full of thirty-five kids ,
I got to go for a Sunday

song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Walking the river

You looked into the eye
of that white hot sun
and found something there
that spoke to your soul,
in your heart and mind
you heard a voice
and thought about the Creator
of the river, sun and sky
and left your car
at the river’s edge
and into the water you went.

That big black great loving dog
was with you
and it was just river and sun
and you walked on
into the water
over boulders, stumbling
over rocks
barefoot and naked
walked through pools
and felt like Eve
and for a time were free
from the burdens of life.

At first your hound
splashed out in front
but later like a shadow
was bound to you,
protecting, guarding
and caring
with wide open brown eyes,
sharp white fangs
and it didn’t understand
where you were going
but loved you more
than to bother about that
or food or heat.

At times it barked
and sometimes it growled,
but nobody dared to get near
and while the shadows draw out
you walked on
right into the night
looking up at the bright stars
and followed the full moon
rising up big and yellow
in that dark sky.

l’Envoi
You heard that river’s song
and just walked on
catching the splashing
and the murmur
over shelves of rock
into some ponds
and somehow during the next day
people found you
who had commonsense
and was sensible
and they helped you
and took care of your dog
and your feet were pierced,
had some blisters
and there were scratches
on your legs
and still the river flows
on to somewhere
and now you are back here.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

We all need to start making some changes to how our families eat. Now, everyone loves a good Sunday dinner. Me included. And there's nothing wrong with that. The problem is when we eat Sunday dinner Monday through Saturday.

quote by Michelle Obama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

A Little Note Of Her Life

she is my wife
she is not a little note of my life
she is occupying the full page
of my ads

for one thing
she keeps cutting all the leaves of the palms in my garden
and it is getting hot in here

when some of the bushes begins to flower
she cuts them all again
leaving my garden empty
except for the bleeding twigs of the tree
leaving the little life of others in misery

she is my wife
when she dies she will still be my wife
that little note of my life
my garden shall be full of flowers
my bushes shall bear more
and all the leaves of the palms in my garden
shall be green till the end of their
spans

opps don't take this against me
she is my wife
and she will always be my wife
a little note of my life

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Garden

The Garden
By: Adam M. Snow

The garden blooms to your delight;
to and from this very night.
When you are but one;
this garden blooms until you're done.
Keep that in mind but out of sight;
this garden is full of roses so white.
Open up and let shine the sun;
for Springtime has only begun.
Show off your garden so bright;
for there is no need to fight.
Now go on, no need to run;
when you're in your garden my son.

poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Rubber Band

Rubber band
Theres a rubber band that plays tunes out of tune
In the library garden sunday afternoon
While a little chappie waves a golden wand
Rubber band
In 1910 I was so handsome and so strong
My moustache was stiffly waxed and one foot long
And I loved a girl while you played teatime tunes
Dear rubber band, youre playing my tune out of tune
Oh
Rubber band
Wont you play a haunting theme again to me
While I eat my scones and drink my cup of tea
The sun is warm but its a lonely afternoon
Oh, play that theme
Rubber band
How I wish that I could join your rubber band
We could play in lively parks throughout the land
And one sunday afternoon, Id find my love
Rubber band,
In the 14-18 war I went to sea
Thought my sunday love was waiting home for me
And now shes married to the leader of the band, oh
Oh yeah... I hope you break your baton

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

En.Citatepedia®.ro

Sunday Dinner

Related quotes

Sunday Morning

Sunday Morning

Sunday Papers

Regular John

Gas

Sundays Morning

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Rose Garden

My Childhood Garden

When You Define A Thing

Nature Trail

Grandma Rising

Sunday Bloody Sunday

Marley Purt Drive

Walking the river

A Little Note Of Her Life

The Garden

Rubber Band

En.Citatepedia^®.ro