Wiener Schnitzel in vienna
aunt gomolka
serves a speciality originating from the Italian
'costoletta milanese' -
breadcrumbed
and fried veal escalope,
frequently served with
Erdäpfel Salat
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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third day of fEB.2010
Wiener Schnitzel in vienna
aunt gomolka
serves a speciality originating from the Italian
'costoletta milanese' -
breadcrumbed
and fried veal escalope,
frequently served with
Erdäpfel Salat
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Salat
We go for ablution
Before performing Salat
And stand on a clean place for Salat
Because God is the most holy
Then we express our intention to do it
Since at first God wished to create
Then we raise our hands
To surrender to God
Then we recite Surah Al-Fatiha
The best prayer
And couple of other chapters
From the holy Koran
Since they are full of advices
Then we bow and prostrate
To remember God
Since God remembers those
Who remember Him
Then we pray for prophet Abraham
And prophet Muhammad
Since God becomes happy
If we pray for them
At last we convey Salam
To the angels
Who note down our actions
Since they are also our guardians
We do not change the place
Where we stand
During performing Salat
Unless it is absolutely necessary
Since God does not move
But we bow, prostrate and sit in Salat
Because God’s body can move
Inside His glow
We bow in Salat
To show our respect towards God
We prostrate in Salat
In utmost awe and surprise
Imagining we are touching at first
Right foot of God’s body
With our hands, forehead and nose
Then we do it again
Imagining God’s body
Has moved a little bit
From Right to left
And we are touching
Left foot of God’s body
We do not eat, drink and enjoy sex
During Salat
Since God’s body doesn’t do these things
We do not sleep and drowse
During Salat
Since God’s body doesn’t do these things
We do not tell lies and say worthless things
During Salat
Since God’s body doesn’t do these things
That’s why Salat is the best worship
And the easiest way to please God.
poem by Asif Andalib
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The Five Adorations
I praise Thee, God, whose rays upstart beneath the Bright
and Morning Star:
Nowit asali fardh salat assobhi allahu akbar.
I praise Thee, God, the fierce and swart; at noon Thou ridest
forth to war!
Nowit asali fardh salat assohri allahu akabr.
I praise Thee, God, whose arrows dart their royal radiance
o'er the scar:
Nowit asali fardh salat asasri allahu akabr.
I praise Thee, God, whose fires depart, who drivest down the
sky thy car:
Nowit asali fardh salat al maghrab allahu akabr.
I praise Thee, God, whose purple heart is hidden in the abyss
afar:
Nowit asali fardh salat al asha allahu akabr.
DOST ACHIHA KHAN.
poem by Aleister Crowley
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At My Aunt's Unveiling
AT MY AUNT’S UNVEILING
At my aunt’s unveiling
There were five of us
Only five
One was a woman
A friend of hers
Not the closest one
But someone who knew her
And wanted to be a friend.
Thousands of people had known my aunt
Hundreds had worked with or for her
She was born into a large family
But all of them were gone
Or out of it.
My sister and I were the relatives
My aunt had been very generous to us
And difficult for my sister
Who cared for her.
I had only been a taker all the years.
My aunt worked so hard for so many years
And she was ‘somebody’ in her world
There were five of us there
And the ceremony short
No minyan.
There was no sign of my aunt’s smile
Or her nervous energy or her superabundant love
‘Moll ‘as my mother called her
was not there.
I see her so clearly in my mind now
‘What does it all mean? ’ my father would ask my mother
after reading of the death of another person they knew
‘What does it all mean’
When my sister and I go
The memory of my aunt
Will be gone forever.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Aunt Tabitha
THE YOUNG GIRL'S POEM
WHATEVER I do, and whatever I say,
Aunt Tabitha tells me that is n't the way;
When she was a girl (forty summers ago)
Aunt Tabitha tells me they never did so.
Dear aunt! If I only would take her advice!
But I like my own way, and I find it so nice
And besides, I forget half the things I am told;
But they all will come back to me--when I am old.
If a youth passes by, it may happen, no doubt,
He may chance to look in as I chance to look out;
She would never endure an impertinent stare,--
It is horrid, she says, and I must n't sit there.
A walk in the moonlight has pleasures, I own,
But it is n't quite safe to be walking alone;
So I take a lad's arm,--just for safety, you know,--
But Aunt Tabitha tells me they did n't do so.
How wicked we are, and how good they were then!
They kept at arm's length those detestable men;
What an era of virtue she lived in!--But stay--
Were the men all such rogues in Aunt Tabitha's day?
If the men were so wicked, I 'll ask my papa
How he dared to propose to my darling mamma;
Was he like the rest of them? Goodness! Who knows?
And what shall I say, if a wretch should propose?
I am thinking if Aunt knew so little of sin,
What a wonder Aunt Tabitha's aunt must have been!
And her grand-aunt--it scares me--how shockingly sad
That we girls of to-day are so frightfully bad!
A martyr will save us, and nothing else can;
Let me perish--to rescue some wretched young man!
Though when to the altar a victim I go,
Aunt Tabitha 'll tell me she never did so.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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The man that serves is not prevented from being served in turn.
This Wheels On Fire
If your memry serves you well,
We were goin to meet again and wait,
So Im goin to unpack all my things
And sit before it gets too late.
No man alive will come to you
With another tale to tell,
But you know that we shall meet again
If your memry serves you well.
This wheels on fire,
Rolling down the road,
Best notify my next of kin,
This wheel shall explode!
If your memry serves you well,
I was goin to confiscate your lace,
And wrap it up in a sailors knot
And hide it in your case.
If I knew for sure that it was yours . . .
But it was oh so hard to tell.
But you knew that we would meet again,
If your memry serves you well.
This wheels on fire,
Rolling down the road,
Best notify my next of kin,
This wheel shall explode!
If your memry serves you well,
Youll remember youre the one
That called on me to call on them
To get you your favors done.
And after evry plan had failed
And there was nothing more to tell,
You knew that we would meet again,
If your memry served you well.
This wheels on fire,
Rolling down the road,
Best notify my next of kin,
This wheel shall explode
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who serves two masters must lie to one of them.
Who serves well and says nothing makes claim enough.
Time Shocks Merging Sift Pulse Surging
the door into the past does indeed
swing open going both ways time shocks merging
many are presently frequently fried
upon events past momentous still sift pulse surging
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Fasting
Fasting will enable you to color yourself
With the color of God
It is a wonderful way to go to paradise
During fasting
We do not eat, drink and enjoy sex
We do not sleep and drowse
We do not tell lies
And refrain from talking too much
Because these are some of God’s qualities
During the month of Ramadan
We perform more Salat
Than any other month
Because Salat is the best worship
And it safeguards us
From doing evil things
During the month of Ramadan
We give alms and charity
To the needy ones more than ever
Because God is the Kind and Giver
During the month of Ramadan
War is forbidden for the Muslims
Because God loves peace
In the month of Ramadan
The prestigious night exists
So that we can satisfy God
And become successful
poem by Asif Andalib
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He cannot lead a good life who serves without wages.
We were raised in an Italian-American household, although we didn't speak Italian in the house. We were very proud of being Italian, and had Italian music, ate Italian food.
quote by Francis Ford Coppola
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Scoops Of Soup
Once it has been discovered,
Who's pot you've been dipping to get...
Those scoops of soup,
Served to your guests.
It is going to be very hard to convince anyone,
That cook you had fired from the kitchen...
Is not as qualified as you profess.
And you may not be aware of this...
But a great cook,
Seldom leaves recipes behind.
Not those originating from an inventive mind.
And a great cook...
Has no problems finding,
Those who are seeking something better...
They know will stay with them that is craved.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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