A Bad Day
burnt toasted
bread
beside a
moldy
marmalade
bland coffee
and bad news
on tv
welcome
a world in recession.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
D12
i agree
that if from the moldy
bread they
produce penicillin
what more from
'out of you '
can they bring?
you are not
the moldy bread
i supposed
i wish i am.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How Should Mornings Be?
a cup of roasted coffee
a toast of bread
butter and marmalade
a slice of orange
some lima beans
a little music
some prayers
how nice would a morning be
overjoyed
by your presence
sipping same things all over again
with us
how can such a morning be so boring?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The King's Breakfast
The King's Breakfast
The King asked
The Queen, and
The Queen asked
The Dairymaid:
"Could we have some butter for
The Royal slice of bread?"
The Queen asked the Dairymaid,
The Dairymaid
Said, "Certainly,
I'll go and tell the cow
Now
Before she goes to bed."
The Dairymaid
She curtsied,
And went and told
The Alderney:
"Don't forget the butter for
The Royal slice of bread."
The Alderney
Said sleepily:
"You'd better tell
His Majesty
That many people nowadays
Like marmalade
Instead."
The Dairymaid
Said, "Fancy!"
And went to
Her Majesty.
She curtsied to the Queen, and
She turned a little red:
"Excuse me,
Your Majesty,
For taking of
The liberty,
But marmalade is tasty, if
It's very
Thickly
Spread."
The Queen said
"Oh!:
And went to
His Majesty:
"Talking of the butter for
The royal slice of bread,
Many people
Think that
Marmalade
Is nicer.
Would you like to try a little
Marmalade
Instead?"
The King said,
"Bother!"
And then he said,
"Oh, deary me!"
The King sobbed, "Oh, deary me!"
And went back to bed.
"Nobody,"
He whimpered,
"Could call me
A fussy man;
I only want
A little bit
Of butter for
My bread!"
The Queen said,
"There, there!"
And went to
The Dairymaid.
The Dairymaid
Said, "There, there!"
And went to the shed.
The cow said,
"There, there!
I didn't really
Mean it;
Here's milk for his porringer,
And butter for his bread."
The Queen took
The butter
And brought it to
His Majesty;
The King said,
"Butter, eh?"
And bounced out of bed.
"Nobody," he said,
As he kissed her
Tenderly,
"Nobody," he said,
As he slid down the banisters,
"Nobody,
My darling,
Could call me
A fussy man -
BUT
I do like a little bit of butter to my bread!"
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Coffee!
Coffee beans all ground up,
Coffee in my favourite cup,
Coffee black, coffee white,
Coffee dark, coffee light,
Coffee right, to start the day,
Coffee at work, coffee at play,
Coffee midday, coffee at night,
Coffee to sober, coffee to excite,
Coffee weak, coffee strong,
But maybe instead some Lapsang Souchong! ! ! !
TEA! ! ! ! !
poem by Ernestine Northover
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This recession is the deepest in our lifetimes, the deepest since 1929. If you take the people thrown out of work in the 1982 recession, the 1991 recession, the 2001 recession, not only is this bigger, this is bigger than all of those combined.
quote by Austan Goolsbee
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black coffee and the news
Black coffee and the news
~
I hold the cup in my hands
Burning at my finger tips
My eyes half focused on the television
I’m still half asleep, but alert enough
Watching the news, the world go to hell
Half is pleading poverty, half dying
Somewhere the is a war going on
A young man has just died
The reporter talks of a climbing number
I am unable to digest it just yet
The coffee is extra strong and black
Giving me enough bite to face the day
It lacks what I need to face the news
Which reads out blacker still
I’d change the channel
If only I could find the remote
Looking for some happy news
Something, anything to make me smile
It’s a new day beginning with the old routine
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Sliced Bread
Sliced bread...
Whole wheat and toasted.
Buttered with jam,
And munched.
Either with tea, punch...
Or just plain water for lunch!
Sliced bread...
With cheddar cheese and tomato.
Add Romaine lettuce,
Topped with fried strips of bacon.
This too will certainly do.
Sliced bread...
Oatmeal raisin,
Oven baked and fed.
Sliced bread...
Crumbed to stuff a turkey.
And seasoned to gobble...
With an aftertaste on the tongue,
Deliciously nutmeged!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Good Morning: Awaken on Sunday
Sunday
coffee
alongside
a crowded
collection
of newspaper
conversations.
Toasted
bread scent
fills
the bedroom,
sunlight
undresses
the day
through
the bay window.
sluggish
uncombed
for a few more
colorless articles.
Her
naked skin
teases
my morning
sunrise
while
I look for
the jelly,
strawberry
thighs.
I love
this exhaling
sigh- of-the-week.
Sundays,
a delightful
awakening.
poem by Kevin Mireles
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Coffee Is Fine
Having a brewing cup for coffee is fine,
Facing weather too hot, too much iron.
This strong iron is too late in taste,
Much of the flavours are inside.
The coffee is not tea, not even anything
Like the leaves of danger and bread.
My loaf of bread enriches the stomach
And all emptiness is about.
The cup of coffee has managed my upper class,
My thinking causes thinkers to abandon,
The ridding of thinkers and scholars is appalling
In the extreme.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Coffee in England is just toasted milk.
quote by Christopher Fry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's a Tim sandwich. The meat is fresh, but the bread is moldy.
quote by Daniel Craig
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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T7
yes, the news is spread by her
poetess of the northern skies
her book is just out of the oven
buttered bread, glossy topping
i can smell the scent of her poems
and soon i must touch it
shall my brain afford the luxury of
her metaphors? the sharpness of her wits?
shall i write her for a free copy
and tell her that it is the best poetry that i have ever read
in my entire life?
given a chance to decide which to take
fried chicken or toasted poetry?
you bet.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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23 (skidoo)
Moldy grows the fig.
I will eat it anyway,
the moldy old fig.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Give me the good news
Old song stays with me
that says, “give me the good news”
and I wonder
what the news will be today
and what I am going to read in the papers.
The banner headlines are
“teenage sword killer in jail,
taxi driver guilty,
Caster gender shock results
and Transnet still off the rail.”
I wonder where our old world
is going too,
while I stand in front of the offices
of the Pretoria News.
It like other events
has changed the truth
and the record that was broken,
are now without importance
and we are in a country
where nobody,
is sure of his life.
The Wimpy is already open
and I walk there,
to buy a Mega coffee
and a young girl smiles at me
while she is also getting a coffee.
Outside there’s
a bright orange sun
that is hanging
under a few loose clouds
and the Jacarandas are starting to flower
with the first blooms
that is coming out blue.
It’s Friday and the weekend
lies around the corner
and the summer
wants to burst out everywhere
and I wonder why
I want better news
when it’s already
going great with me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Toasted
The toasted marshmallows were horrid,
the muffins were burnt and quite naff,
I didn’t go much for the porridge
but your warm, toasty bottom was grand!
poem by Ruth Walters
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Every few thousand years some shepard inhales smoke from a burning bush and has a vision or eats moldy rye bread in a cave and sees God.
quote by Kerry Thornley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perfect Match
warm chocolate
in a cup
beside a toasted
whole wheat
bread
on a rainy
day
and a poem
to read
silently
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Breakfast
Marmalade,
Tangy orange heaven.
Chunked to the max
Smothers toast.
A bite, a crunch.
That citrus burst.
A sigh,
A slurp of coffee.
Ready to tackle the day.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
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Somethings Become Missing....
the first thing in the morning is not a cup of coffee
it is cold as usual
and the heavy rain last night just stops
that must make me survive
but it is as personal as the
armpits
it could even be the bland taste of my
own saliva
keeping myself intact with my own
resources
nothing about cups of coffee and
melting butters
it is the fingers that we press upon
words that we play with our own tongues
hugged by our teeth
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Second Hand Life
second hand smoke,
Salvation Army shoes.
a crack in the mirror....
empty chamber in the gun.
flat tire on the car...
and the mailbox is empty....
wrong number again,
picking up socks off the floor.
molded crust on the bread,
a bag of coffee, and potatoes....
burnt out burner on the stove,
cobwebs on the ceiling.
too much, too little...
but never enough!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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