WHEN you have nothing to write about
the reader
will notice it
you are
flat as
flooded rice field
bland as
burger without
meat and salt
but you must
write
there is no choice
to make
to cover up
nonsense
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Inspired by Issa - your rice field, my rice field
your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our dreams in tokyo
your rice field, my rice field
the road between that leads
to our sons in tokyo
inspired
your rice field
my rice field
the same green
-Issa,1815
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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MAMMA'S BAKED CHICKEN AND RICE...by Talile Ali
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW SPECIAL AND NICE
I FELT ABOUT MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
BUT FOR ME AT THE TIME IT WAS BEYOND PRICE
EVERY DAY MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
WHEN I WAS SICK AND NEEDED YOUR CARE
WITHOUT GATTING A LASH CHICKEN AND RICE WAS THERE
THE DOCTORS TOLD YOU BLAND, AND THAT WAS FINE BY ME
CHICKEN AND RICE MADE BLAND SPECIAL FOR ALL TO SEE
AT FIRST AFTER DAY'S OF HAVING THIS SERVED TO ME
I WAS PISSED AS HELL TILL I HAD A TALK WITH MY BUDDY
EVERY DAY HE'D COME OVER TO GET ME TO PLAY
AND HE'D SEE ME FINISHING MY CHICKEN AND RICE EVERY DAY
HE SAID THAT YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE YOU
SHE MAKES THAT EVERY DAY, AND ON THE WEEK ENDS TO
SHE GOES IT SO QUICKLY AND IT SMELLS SO GOOD
YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE, I WISH MY MOMMY WOULD
I LOOKED AT MY BUDDY AND SAW IN HIS FACE
THE TRUTH AND THE HONESTY ALL PLAIN IN PLACE
AND FROM THAT DAY FORWARD I SMILED WHUEN I HEARD
MY MOM CALL MY NAME TO COME EAT THOSE THREE WORDS
CHICKEN AND RICE, CHICKEN AND RICE I SAY
MY MOM MADE THE BEST, IN HER OWN SPECIAL WAY
WHEN EVER I AM FEELING WSPECIALLY NICE
I WOULD ALWAYS FIND AN EXCUSE TO HAVE CHICKEN AND RICE
SO MOMMA, YOU NEEDED TO JUST HERE ME SAY
I APPRECIATE THE LOVE THAT YOU GIVE ME EVERY DAY
AND THOUGH IT MAY SEEM LIKE I AM BEING UNKIND
IF SO, I'M JUST BEING FOOLISH AND MANIPULATIVE THAT TIME
YOU ALWAYS COULD BRING OUT THE BABY IN ME
AND FOR THAT AND THE CARING THIS POEM YOU DID SEED
THANK YOU MOM, DEAR LADY FOR ALL OF THE ABOVE
AND THE CHICKEN AND RICE AND THESE MEMORIES OF LOVE
poem by Talile Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mamma's Baked Chicken And Rice
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW SPECIAL AND NICE
I FELT ABOUT MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
BUT FOR ME AT THE TIME IT WAS BEYOND PRICE
EVERY DAY MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
WHEN I WAS SICK AND NEEDED YOUR CARE
WITHOUT GATTING A LASH CHICKEN AND RICE WAS THERE
THE DOCTORS TOLD YOU BLAND, AND THAT WAS FINE BY ME
CHICKEN AND RICE MADE BLAND SPECIAL FOR ALL TO SEE
AT FIRST AFTER DAY'S OF HAVING THIS SERVED TO ME
I WAS PISSED AS HELL TILL I HAD A TALK WITH MY BUDDY
EVERY DAY HE'D COME OVER TO GET ME TO PLAY
AND HE'D SEE ME FINISHING MY CHICKEN AND RICE EVERY DAY
HE SAID THAT YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE YOU
SHE MAKES THAT EVERY DAY, AND ON THE WEEK ENDS TO
SHE GOES IT SO QUICKLY AND IT SMELLS SO GOOD
YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE, I WISH MY MOMMY WOULD
I LOOKED AT MY BUDDY AND SAW IN HIS FACE
THE TRUTH AND THE HONESTY ALL PLAIN IN PLACE
AND FROM THAT DAY FORWARD I SMILED WHUEN I HEARD
MY MOM CALL MY NAME TO COME EAT THOSE THREE WORDS
CHICKEN AND RICE, CHICKEN AND RICE I SAY
MY MOM MADE THE BEST, IN HER OWN SPECIAL WAY
WHEN EVER I AM FEELING WSPECIALLY NICE
I WOULD ALWAYS FIND AN EXCUSE TO HAVE CHICKEN AND RICE
SO MOMMA, YOU NEEDED TO JUST HERE ME SAY
I APPRECIATE THE LOVE THAT YOU GIVE ME EVERY DAY
AND THOUGH IT MAY SEEM LIKE I AM BEING UNKIND
IF SO, I'M JUST BEING FOOLISH AND MANIPULATIVE THAT TIME
YOU ALWAYS COULD BRING OUT THE BABY IN ME
AND FOR THAT AND THE CARING THIS POEM YOU DID SEED
THANK YOU MOM, DEAR LADY FOR ALL OF THE ABOVE
AND THE CHICKEN AND RICE AND THESE MEMORIES OF LOVE
poem by Talile Ali
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The Ballade Of The Average Reader
I try to touch the public taste,
For thus I earn my daily bread.
I try to write what folks will paste
In scrap books after I am dead.
By Public Craving I am led.
(I' sooth, a most despotic leader)
Yet, though I write for Tom and Ned,
I've never seen an average reader.
The Editor is good and chaste,
But says: (Above the public's head;
This is _too_ good; 'twill go to waste.
Write something commonplacer-
Ed.)
Write for the average reader, fed
By pre-digested near-food's feeder,
But though my high ideals have fled,
I've never _seen_ an average reader.
How many lines have been erased!
How many fancies have been shed!
How many failures might be traced
To this-this average-reader dread!
I've seen an average single bed;
I've seen an average garden-weeder;
I've seen an average cotton thread-
I've _never_ seen an average _reader_.
L'ENVOI
Most read of readers, if you've read
The works of any old succeeder,
You know that he, too, must have said:
'I've never seen an Average Reader.'
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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A Child's Nightmare
Through long nursery nights he stood
By my bed unwearying,
Loomed gigantic, formless, queer,
Purring in my haunted ear
That same hideous nightmare thing,
Talking, as he lapped my blood,
In a voice cruel and flat,
Saying for ever, "Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!..."
That one word was all he said,
That one word through all my sleep,
In monotonous mock despair.
Nonsense may be light as air,
But there's Nonsense that can keep
Horror bristling round the head,
When a voice cruel and flat
Says for ever, "Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!..."
He had faded, he was gone
Years ago with Nursery Land,
When he leapt on me again
From the clank of a night train,
Overpowered me foot and head,
Lapped my blood, while on and on
The old voice cruel and flat
Says for ever, "Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!..."
Morphia drowsed, again I lay
In a crater by High Wood:
He was there with straddling legs,
Staring eyes as big as eggs,
Purring as he lapped my blood,
His black bulk darkening the day,
With a voice cruel and flat,
"Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!..." he said, "Cat! ... Cat!..."
When I'm shot through heart and head,
And there's no choice but to die,
The last word I'll hear, no doubt,
Won't be "Charge!" or "Bomb them out!"
Nor the stretcher-bearer's cry,
"Let that body be, he's dead!"
But a voice cruel and flat
Saying for ever, "Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!"
poem by Robert Graves
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I notice that students, particularly for gay students, it's too easy to write about my last trick or something. It's not very interesting to the reader.
For Molly, Concerning God
Is God the one who eats the meat
off the bones of dead people?
-Molly Miranda Jong-Fast, age 3 1/2
God is the one,
Molly,
whether we call him
Him,
or Her,
treeform or spewing
volcano,
Vesuvius or vulva,
penis-rock,
or reindeer-on-cave-wall,
God is the one
who eats
our meat,
Molly,
& we yield
our meat
up willingly.
Meat is our
element,
meat is our
lesson.
When our bodies fill
with each other,
when our blood swells
in our organs
aching for another,
body of meat,
heart of meat,
soul of meat,
we are only doing
what God wants
us to—
meat joining meat
to become insubstantial air,
meat fusing
with meat
to make
a small wonder
like you.
The wonder of you
is that you push
our questions
along into
the future—
so that I know
again
the wonder of meat
through you,
the wonder of meat
turning to philosophy,
the wonder of meat
transubstantiated
into poetry,
the wonder of
sky-blue meat
in your roundest eyes,
the wonder of
dawn-colored meat
in your cheeks & palms,
the wonder of meat
becoming
air.
You
are my theorem,
my proof,
my meaty metaphysics,
my little questioner,
my small Socrates
of the nursery-schoolyard.
To think that
such wonder
can come from meat!
Well then,
if God is hungry—
let Him eat,
let Her eat.
poem by Erica Jong
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Cape Cod
The low sandy beach and the thin scrub pine,
The wide reach of bay and the long sky line,—
O, I am sick for home!
The salt, salt smell of the thick sea air,
And the smooth round stones that the ebbtides wear,—
When will the good ship come?
The wretched stumps all charred and burned,
And the deep soft rut where the cartwheel turned,—
Why is the world so old?
The lapping wave, and the broad gray sky
Where the cawing crows and the slow gulls fly,
Where are the dead untold?
The thin, slant willows by the flooded bog,
The huge stranded hulk and the floating log,
Sorrow with life began!
And among the dark pines, and along the flat shore,
O the wind, and the wind, for evermore!
What will become of man?
poem by George Santayana
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Nada Mas (only the poem)
Reader, your voice is the poem
you are the words; and
nothing more.
Reader, there is no poetry
unless you speak it.
Reader, there is no sound
you must find what it has to say.
Reader, seek the thought
rising from your soul.
Reader, look all about you, up and down
no one else has come this way.
Reader, there is no other poem
only you among the words of the word; and
nothing more.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Closest Is Always The Most Fun
I like to do this irrational thing
Some spirit of irony beckons me forward
Into this folly and fun, so onward I charge, onward I fling
My heart's words into this inked paper, praying they are ignored
Because the subject I write of is right there
Yep she's right there
Right here
This is when and why I choose to write
Because she is right there
So I write, I like to write as she watches
In complete ignorance; or that's the idea
Maybe she does know, but probably not
No one can read my handwriting, no one can read my thought
She won't see through the metaphor
How could she know it's her, she'd never it is her who it's all for
I play this fun game of risk and love
Throw my inhibition and write when she's on my right
Haha, I can write whatever I want and no one
Will eve know, surely I have won
Surely they will not see it's about them
I even tell them I am writing
I even allude to what I am writing
So roll the dice, pick a card, buy a stock
Let's take the risk
I'll do it and you'll never know
Irony calls to me to make it more and more
Obvious, you don't even notice me
I dare you to notice this
I dare you.
poem by David Knox
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Salt preserves meat, but what can be done with salt if it is bad.
Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXXVI: Cover
We cover bitterness with satyr
We cover sadness with smile
We cover happiness with tears
We cover pride with stubbornness
We cover anger with jokes
We cover grudge with loyalty
We cover love with play
We cover lust with generosity
We cover sorrow with toughness
We cover ambition with hard work
We cover hope with pessimism
We cover fear with deniable
We cover dream with horror
We cover shame with sarcasm
We cover lone with rebellion
We cover clueless with boasting
We cover ignorance with invisibility
We cover truth with shadow
We cover trouble with distraction
We cover envy with humiliation
We cover lie with innocence
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Miss Rice talks very tough. We have gotten used to this nonsense. Miss Rice is a bit emotional about this, and we predicted that she would have a more emotional approach to this.
quote by Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why I Write?
I write poems for myself and I write for the readers
I write for the masses and I write for the leaders
I write to imprint my thoughts in people's mind
I write to make the bad guys helpful and kind
I write to light up our path to Great God
I write for everyone home and abroad
I write to preserve values new and old
I write to make my ink precious like gold
I write for peace and I write for progress
I write to make the world a better place
All major issues I want to address
I write to see smile on God's face
poem by Asif Andalib
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Reader or writer
If you are a reader or a writer.
You should be a positive thinker.
You are more like a scientist observer.
Try to be an exact experimenter.
Nothing is too crazy to put on paper.
If you are a reader or a writer.
The reader is a wonderful dreamer.
The writer is a sincere worker.
Its lovely that both can be each other.
If you are a reader or a writer.
You should never say never.
So don't leave behind a book marker.
Make sure you have a word sharpener.
One Meat Ball
(l. singer-h.zaret)
The little man walked up and down
To find an eating place in town
He read the menu through and through
To see what fifteen cents could do
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
He told the waiter near at hand
A simple dinner he had planned
The guests were startled one and all to hear
That waiter loudly call
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, this here gent wants one meat ball
Little man felt very bad
One meat ball was all he had
And in his dreams he hears that call
Ya gets no bread with one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, you get no bread with one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
All he could afford was one meat ball
One meat ball
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Liar, liar...
when the sweet sap of
the sugar cane is gone
when the salt does not
taste salt at all
when the vinegar loses
its prized acidity
the raw mango its sourness
the pork its oil and
the rice its gluten
when essence is gone
when you say that it is this
essence that precedes
existence
then tell me what happens next?
i know what to do.I know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Without Given Notice
Next time you remove something of mine at your liking.
Without given notice.
For it is my right as the author.
The reason behind the reasons.
Things do not just happen.
With a grievance I will make you aware of just how offended I am
I am not the son of sam.
My works are not evil in intent.
They are as I feel, as I am.
I say to you judges and juries
What gives you the right
Without given notice
Like a contract I feel it has been broken.
What has been under copy write has just been stolen.
I think not I own the original.
It in a note book and on my computer
So good luck and god bless.
I wish you the best
Without given notice.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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I'm sorry, I didn't notice
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
When this started to happen
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
I just let it begin
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
The change in anythin'
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
When we stopped talkin'
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
We weren't letting each other in
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
That sad, sad trend
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
The beginning of the end
I'm sorry, I didn't notice
You were no longer my friend
But believe me, now I notice
And it hurts deep within
Now that I notice
I hope you'll be again
poem by Dylan Burkhart
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