The Breakfast Of The Old Farts
the old farts
did meet for breakfast
of coffee and cookies
and fish and rice
and a pomelo and camote chunks
and they all fart
and part and meet again
only to fart some more
this lunchtime.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Silly; Gross: Fart!
Having just exclaimed 'what can I write about? ' I heard a muffled noise,
...followed by a pungent cheesy smell which FEW of your ilk enjoys.
Now farts have gotten a bad reputation....along with burps and belches.
In our society they are THINGS...which a more 'polite' person often squelches.
And I'd say I'm one of the 'more polite'...in my normal daily life; that is except when I'm alone...with my loving, understanding WIFE.
Why even my wife farts on rare occasions.....Don't let her know I've told.
But she generally does it behind a CLOSED door. Unlike me, …she's not so bold.
So 'FART' is what I'll write about tonight, .... stretched out in this chair.
You'll excuse me please if I let one loose...though it MAY foul the air.
Farts come in at least four varieties. I'm sure you all know THAT.
I could break it down to sub-varieties, but I'll KEEP those in my hat.
First there are farts that are quiet and smelly. Not my cup of tea.
At least one should make some noise....so others won't HAVE TO SAY 'not ME'.
Then there are those quiet but NOT smelly; I think women mostly do those.
They give off nothing obnoxious….. to offend your ears or nose.
There are noisy farts that are also smelly. Some would say they're WORST OF ALL.
There are noisy farts that are NOT smelly, ...some like a bugle call.
I've heard of 'farting posts'....used in competitions, ....and
I've heard of using cigarette lighters...to ignite fart emissions.
I've been around dogs that fart and I guess some cows do too.
Probably lots of species fart (now and then) ...not just a FEW.
I believe what's behind all farts...is simply what we.....eat.
If you eat too much or the 'wrong thing'....you MAY be blown....OFF your feet.
Personally that's never happened to me. I'm not lying; ....it's really TRUE.
No 'Captain Ahab' has ever said of me: 'My god! There he blew! '
poem by Bri Edwards
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Thieves Look Holy
To fart is, of course, unpleasant.
To fart silently is to steal
The wind and escape as a thief.
A thief fights thieves to hide his thefts.
(26.06.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Brown Study from the Lowlands
My fart's in the Lowlands, my fart is not here,
My fart's in the Lowlands disgracing I fear -
embracing the oh dear, hear three in a row!
my fart's in the Lowlands, no place else to blow.
Farewell to the colon[y]'s whale of a gale,
the column of calor, one gale won from whale;
wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
my fart blows from private parts, I'm treasure trove cove.
Farewell from gust mounting high in the air;
Hello to disgust leading on to despair,
Hello ivy league bladderwort fount in puds;
Hello to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My fart's in the Lowlands, my fart is not here,
My fart's in the Lowlands disgracing I fear -
embracing the oh dear, three more in a row!
my fart blows from Lowlands, so little to show.
[c] Jonathan Robin parody Robert Burns My Heart's in the Highlands 1 July 2008 robi3_1781_burn3_0004 PXX_MXX
My Heart's In The Highlands
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Robert Burns - written 1789
tune- 'Failte na Miosg.'
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Mind Farts
Ideas formed, when least expected
Mind farts shared, if one’s inclined
An eternal wind outwardly directed
Freely expressed, when not confined
: o(“Fart” a fun 4-letter word, the butt of many jokes: o)
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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December 30
At 1:30 in the morning a fart
smells like a marriage between
an avocado and a fish head.
I have to get out of bed
to write this down without
my glasses on.
poem by Richard Brautigan
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Do not expect too much
This is it, this is poetry
Written by this man
He is looking by his window
To the world like a little boy
Still wondering, scribbling
Some figures of man and
Superman, putting them wings
Imagining that soon they will fly,
Do not expect too much
I myself do not have wings
I do not promise you any
I am simply writing the view
The green ricefields I do not
Have rice for you to cook I do
Not have water for you to drink
I have these words, only you
Can convert them to steamed
Rice to cakes to bacons to ham
To fish to sea to clouds to sun
Or simply coffee for you to sip
When you still hunger for breakfast.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Responsibility From The Words Of Grandpa
we all eat together
partake the white rice and the
fried fish
and home made coffee
every breakfast
as he tells stories
about his exploits during
World War II
and then when everyone is
finished listening to
every word
from his mouth placed
on his square jaws
he makes the last remark
that the last one to leave
shall wash all
the plates
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Together Apart, One Night and Every
We wrap ourselves in neverspeak
our silence heightened by the night
to taste affections of the flesh
we meet again, we part,
them meet.
repeatedly till dawn reveals
the wrinkles of identity
then we resume our secret lives
we'll meet again, we'll part,
then meet.
Silly: A Fart Poem #2:
Naked I stepped from the shower tub, bending over SLIGHTLY,
when all of a sudden came a sound to my ears, roaring, not lightly.
It was just gas (I hoped) but it burst from me like lightning from a cloud.
It was NOT one of your gentle lady's farts, but a fart very VERY loud.
And besides the loudness there was a sound that made me worry;
could it be that recently I had eaten too much curry?
I noticed the bathroom window did not shatter,
but I was quite worried that I may have left a splatter
on the dark gray tile floor behind me.
As luck would have it there was no mess,
so I put on my makeup and put on my dress.
(Nov.2012)
poem by Bri Edwards
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Silly; Gross: Fart Poem #2
Naked I stepped from the shower tub, bending over SLIGHTLY,
when all of a sudden came a sound to my ears, roaring, not lightly.
It was just gas (I hoped) but it burst from me like lightning from a cloud.
It was NOT one of your gentle lady's farts, but a fart very VERY loud.
And besides the loudness there was a sound that made me worry;
could it be that recently I had eaten too much curry?
I noticed the bathroom window did not shatter,
but I was quite worried that I may have left a splatter
on the dark gray tile floor behind me.
As luck would have it there was no mess,
so I put on my makeup and put on my dress.
(Nov.2012)
poem by Bri Edwards
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Begger's Fart
the begger's fart
a prayer more sacred
than lines well rehearsed
in Sunday morning temples...
the addict's vomit
a poem more relevent
than eight years of pompous degrees
can buy or claim...
the homeless man's cup of coffee
passed and shared,
a theology no master
can pass to his students...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Breakfast That We Cannot Eat Together
this is the breakfast that we cannot eat together a fish fried in an oil
with so much heat, like ' who cares? ' a rice not well cooked which says ' it is the maid again! ' a coffee which has gone cold which says ' you come late again! ' a egg which is not sunny side up a ham that does not roll a dirty table with an unwashed table cloth which says 'change it yourself! '
how can i eat all these?
i am late for the office and i have to go.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Varied Menu
Chicken and rice.
Fish and rice.
Rice and chicken.
Rice and fish.
Varied menu - 'ish!
Nice jungle place.
There's plenty of space.
Fresh clean air
But that dietary pair,
Fish or chicken
.....Not again!
So more trekking with a frown
Back to Georgetown.....
poem by George BernardBloodyShaw
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At 7: 59 In The Morning
my coffee has gone cold
the grease on the fish has frozen again
the jasmine rice has lost its scent and gluten
and the lettuce gave away its crispiness
all because i am writing poems again
forgetting time forgetting the table
where breakfast has been served
losing and forgetting and finding myself
to the bosom of God
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Mountain Of Poverty
this is what i can tell you:
the children are running in the hills
looking for their favorite butterflies to play
chasing dreams, i suppose, who knows
what they really know and
feel, i was once a child myself, perhaps i have the right to guess
what simple wants they have,
freedom, but i can tell you about something else,
their breakfast today is only brown sugar and rice,
and they have not taken their baths in the river because
the water is dirty, and there is no water system in the hills,
primitive, and still undeveloped, the grasses are not cut
tall and wild, and the coconut trees are not bearing much fruits,
there is drought, and the tenants do not have a good harvest
of their upland rice and there are rats infesting the rice fields,
it rains so hard, the road is slippery and we all have to walk slowly
to keep themselves warm, the men drink wine and smoke
the women do not weave mats anymore, they're sold cheap
and they are so disappointed with what they are getting
sugar is a precious commodity here, no coffee,
salt is expensive, salted fish is a luxury,
bread is like gold here and children do not know what is bread all about
cookies do not exist here
stone age, this is stone age in the midst of an expanding world
the children here are left out
i stare at them as they throw stones at play,
dirt and foul smell, but on the other hand i look at the pictures
that i took on that day
less the smell, less the dirt on their faces,
they are so beautiful, and the mountains are still hopeful.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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O L D F A R T H O O D
No, of course I don’t…
I mean, who’d want to be
a mere two scornful words
in a stand-up comic’s
patronising patter…
‘The other day, at the ticket office,
there was this old fart in front of me…’
…just you wait, young man,
until your sciatica, arthritis and rheumatism
feel the cold and wet today; your
toupée (always good for a visual laugh)
has blown off, your dentures have
just cracked into a plastic cleft palate,
the battery’s just gone in your hearing aid,
and you left your walking stick
by your seat in the bus or tube in panic
when you couldn’t find that place
no longer there, where you used
to spend a penny…
and you’re hoping to clear up
with that immigrant ticket clerk
(not the best job for him, surely?)
which of the wildly variant twelve fare systems would apply
to the ticket to visit your married daughter, where
you might or might not stay the night…
no of course I don’t…
but the camera, which never lies,
has lost patience with me..
its expensive self-focus system
registers ‘old fart’ – quite possibly
uses some built-in stock image…
and even if some prestigious
occasion requires a photo credit
and one goes to a ‘studio photographer’
of ever-increasing price,
hoping they’ll catch some firmness
of a feature, some line of wise concern,
an eye betokening a life well lived,
some profile signifying gravitas…
but no…often now,
I see my face above some article
in an in-flight or a waiting-room magazine,
read it in self-congratulation or self-disdain,
think, I don’t remember writing that…
then realise, it’s by some other
identical old fart, grinning vacantly,
ingratiatingly, shapeless of any feature,
devoid of any mystery of shadow,
hoping that the editor
will remember these wise words of age..
but no… so here’s
one old fart
issuing another…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Look (Love Poem)
In a moment she catches my eye,
The glance, the quiet smile for me,
I know the look, it was all it took,
For Cupid’s arrow to find it’s mark.
Sometimes after breakfast coffee,
And maybe after lunchtime snack,
And often after romantic dinner,
She looks at me and then I know.
That life is good and we are right,
And all the problems of the light,
Will be put to rest in bed tonight,
With just a look my fears take flight.
poem by Ian Beckett
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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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I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you different.
quote by Kurt Vonnegut
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fall of an M.B.B.S. to an Eighth Class-Rogue.
The doctor scrabbled about his hip.
Vardha felt joy though in acute pain.
Why did she from her level dip?
She found where the scorpion bit a sprain.
Vardha felt joy though in acute pain.
He twisted his body screaming aloud.
She found where the scorpion bit a sprain.
Amazed she was removing the shroud.
He twisted his body screaming aloud.
He was ashamed to point at that writhing spot.
Amazed she was removing the shroud.
Her starved, fleshy body felt so hot.
He was ashamed to point at that writhing spot.
Yet he dared to show and won her heart.
Her starved, fleshy body felt so hot.
She hugged him and abhorred the time to fart.
Yet he dared to show and won her heart.
And met her often to have her treat.
She hugged him and abhorred the time to fart.
She ignored the threats for him to meet.
The Jihadhis warned her for a rogue to keep
but she scrabbled about his hip.
To save him from the gang, she put herself to sleep.
Why did she from her level dip?
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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