Bread And Butter
bread and butter
day to day
on the table
i must add
this dessert
called poetry
then some
fumes of
pearl rice
and scents
of hycinths
rise up
to the skies
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lunch Is Ready
you must have read before
that when a man is made to choose
between lunch
and poetry
he must choose lunch
it is 12: 20 noon
and if you wish
please finish this poem for me
make it say something
about hunger
the pinch in the stomach
the lack of guts
the impatience about life
for the meantime
i'll take what is offered on the table
i still have to chew
another idea that is fed in my mind
another poem
shaped like a fried chicken
scents of lumpia shanghai
images of white rice
exuding some fumes in
the light to the ceiling
clinking sounds of silver spoon and fork
and flowing clear drinking water
in the glass
in a whoosh
and the usual conversations
of sweet nothings
displayed on the table
like a soup
of bird's nest
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Primary And Secondary
bread and butter thing
water and white rice on the table
eggs and vegetables
spread on the covered table
these are the primaries of life
poetry is at nighttime
reading aloud
composing some more
analyzing other poets' works
telling to yourself
this smacks the senses
this strikes the core of my being
this will not make me sleep again
invigorating
worth the lost salt of myself
not looking back
moving on
sailing on the boat in the middle
of such storm
seeking peace
sleeping alone and dreaming
these are the secondaries of existence
tomorrow can be
incompetent
today is the most evident
the past is duly taken
notice
the void comes
and then to its wings i take my daily ride.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bread is wiser
Butter is richer than bread
But can’t replace bread.
But butter is better with bread
For which is not sad the bread.
Wives are not wiser than bread.
05.02.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Ode To A Strict Lifestyle Of The Past
'twas the cruel time
with grandpa when dropping a grain
of rice on the table cloth is such a big crime
when you like to eat but you cannot swallow
the food
when you like to drink but the water tasted
as bitter as bile
when the conversations on the dining table
are shallow as affection is strange
as nothing becomes more important
than a future
not be be bound in the house anymore
when papa did not do anything
when mama simply sobbed
and stayed silence
and surrendered everything to God
all we waited is the blackness of the night
black because death is indifferent
because time is not a rescuer
of those who sank into
the bottom
of despair
i recall all these cruel times now
upon a grain of white rice
upon a coffee deprived of milk and sugar
upon a bread without the butter
upon a naked table
scratched with a knife
stained with tears
i look over the window
and stare at the black butterfly merely passing by
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Is A Habit
writing poems
when you really write poems
everyday and every moment of your life
even when you're in the middle of your
bread and butter eating thing
or even when you are defecating
writing poems becomes a habit
even when you sleep even when you dream
writing poems becomes a part of your system
you eat poetry you vomit poetry
you digest poetry you poo poetry
you breathe poetry you sweat poetry
you love poetry and you live with your poetry
and at the end you die with poetry
and your epitaph says: here lies the poet,
choked with poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shifts
you shift from poetry
with regret you must
get into the ramifications
of the law of bread and
butter, you want to kill
time and just lay there,
the law, the law, how
dry can these laws be,
you gaze outside the
window, sighing, looking
to the blue sea and
feeling the breeze salty
to your brain, ahhh, it
is this salt of the earth,
talking. I shift my head
now to these lines,
i live for the moment.
now, back to what i
detest, this bread, this
butter, i too live here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bread & Butter
I love bread and butter
and jam upon hot toast
and flowers in the summer
but I love you most.
I love the red spring tulips
and cold strawberry mousse
and I love chocolate pudding
but I love you most.
I love bread and butter
and honey for to spread
though honey is but nothing
to your warm caress.
I love bread and butter
but egg with chips will do
although they only half compare
to my love for you.
I dare not feign indifference
I love a red, red rose.
Their scent is ever fragrant
but I love you most.
You know I love my mother
and sumptuous Sunday roast,
I love her home made puddings
but I love you most.
poem by Ruth Walters
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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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Butter
Pull me from the toaster
Straight into the roaster
Fill my head with the stuff
Brightest dreams are made of
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Duh
Promising the big guns
Reward when the light comes
Screaming from the damage done
Screaming from the damage done
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Duh
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up like I know you will
Cover it up like I know you will
Better yourself like I know you will
Breaking the trust like you always will
Be good for it, you never will
Be good for it, you never will
Be good for it, you never will
Be good for it, you never will
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up, butter me up
Butter me up, butter me up
Duh
So you think you got the best
Thought I was like all the rest
Reaping from the damage done
Reaping from the damage done
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Bringing me down again
Duh
song performed by by Ultraspank
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love your children with all your hearts, love them enough to discipline them before it is too late. ... Praise them for important things, even if you have to stretch them a bit. Praise them a lot. They live on it like bread and butter and they need it more than bread and butter.
quote by Lavina Christensen Fugal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inside the House of Bread
Everyone has a table inside the house of bread
Pouring in into the chairs the fish have come to roost
Its already started to happen inside the house of bread
Feasting and Forever enough to go around the table.
And I keep to myself in the age of all this water
We can share an ocean but don’t drink from my open well
I wont mind sharing in the house of bread
Everyone at the table deserves to be fed
poem by James Daniel Gabriel
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A Little Sunshine
a grain of rice
on a table cloth
beside
a cup of hot
coffee
imperceptible
but when a connection is found
soon
the spoon and fork
shall understand
some pieces
no matter what
do not fit
on a reasonable landscape
what is the grain of rice
doing on a breakfast table?
your mind is furious
i think it is cool
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thing Language
This ocean, humiliating in its disguises
Tougher than anything.
No one listens to poetry. The ocean
Does not mean to be listened to. A drop
Or crash of water. It means
Nothing.
It
Is bread and butter
Pepper and salt. The death
That young men hope for. Aimlessly
It pounds the shore. White and aimless signals. No
One listens to poetry.
poem by Jack Spicer
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Rice
Rice.
This time,
Spare us the gravy.
Eliminate the salt and pepper.
No butter or sweetened brown sugar to add!
Serve it up to nourish.
That's all we ask.
No need for the silver placements...
Or impressive china.
Nor the water goblets or crystal glass.
It is just rice!
What else to us has been passed?
We are here to get it plain and simple.
Direct and upfront.
And without the seasoned meat,
Promised and teased.
The rice we all once thought we liked...
Had been too disguised!
And this time...
We demand to know why,
The preparation took as long as it did.
Afterall,
Hasn't it been just rice?
And if not...
What was it?
Taking too long to surprise.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sun Will Rise
Edwin McCain
Sun Will Rise
Hey there busy boy why are you so blue
Walking around in your Armageddon shoes
You say you got nothing, you got nothing left to lose
Boy if they were free, you still would not have a clue
I know the sun will rise
Just like the stars in the skies
Just like every time you look at me with loving in your eyes
I know the sun will rise
Youre talking to the mystics, you got psychics on the phone
What a silly waste of time
You talk about lonely but you never were alone
Boy you just got to clear your mind
I know the sun will rise
Just like the stars in the skies
Just like every time you look at me with loving in your eyes
I know the sun will rise
Why must it be some big mystery
Tell me, why cant it just be alright
I know the sun will rise
Just like the stars in the skies
Just like every time you look at me with loving in your eyes
I know the sun will rise
I know the sun will rise
Just like the stars in the skies
Just like every time you look at me with loving in your eyes
I know the sun will rise
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunrise's Entrance
sunrise is such a lady
with a fashion sense
clad in rays of light
slim between the
shadows of the trees
jeweled with diamond
warm like a lover's hand
sunrise dramatically
arrives full of hope for
another brand new day
there is a fruit tray by the
window
five shiny red apples
there is a base of white
magnolias inside a
golden vase by
the window
there is breakfast on the
table: smiling fried egg
tasty hot dogs, pearl white
rice, brewed coffee and
a slice of ripe yellow mango.
poetry in bliss
music from the breeze
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An act of poetry
Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry
A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art
Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation
Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:
The pen be our salvation.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Butter Up
Butter up,
If you want to keep me weak and numb.
Butter up,
If you want to be my number one.
Butter up,
If you want to have the weekends done,
With nothing but a loving and done with fun.
Butter up,
If you want to keep me weak and numb.
Butter up,
If you want to be my number one.
Butter up,
If you want to have the weekends done,
With nothing but a loving and done with fun.
And when Monday begins,
We'll have those memories...
To keep!
Butter up!
Butter up!
Butter up, butter up, butter up, butter up!
Butter up...
If you want to keep me weak and numb.
Butter up,
If you want to be my number one.
Butter up,
If you want to have the weekends done,
With nothing but a buttering done with fun.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Two Worlds In One Body
two worlds are here within me
one is this bread and butter thing
the other is
this kind of bird flying
inside my mind
like i am
floating in air
two worlds: law on one hand
and poetry on the other
strict order and logic
on the right
and chaos and touch
on the left
at the center is myself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sorows Of Werther
WERTHER had a love for Charlotte
Such as words could never utter;
Would you know how first he met her?
She was cutting bread and butter.
Charlotte was a married lady,
And a moral man was Werther,
And for all the wealth of Indies,
Would do nothing for to hurt her.
So he sigh'd and pined and ogled,
And his passion boil'd and bubbled,
Till he blew his silly brains out,
And no more was by it troubled.
Charlotte, having seen his body
Borne before her on a shutter,
Like a well-conducted person,
Went on cutting bread and butter.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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