Lemon Cake
The radio plays
Sunny afternoon, it's The Kinks
She's in the kitchen, cooking.
All chaos reigns,
flour, butter, mixing bowls
her, trying to make lemon cake.
She sings loudly
as chefs do in restaurants,
cafes and bakery shops.
It's a lemon cake
like her ma' used to bake
She sings loudly
and the radio's blares,
the telephone rings
and the dog barks.
The neighbour, next door,
throws her watering can about
in protest of the racket.
Fresh lemons fill the air
as I watch from the cat basket
my whiskers twitching
fur bristling, back arched
my eyes -
on the cat flap.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Related quotes
Bowl
Bowls
of chipped
enamel
singing loudly -
Rain brought us huddling together for warmth.
On primus stove, sheep offal is cooking;
dunking bread husks
bowls in use) :
Only
meal.
poem by Suzette Crous
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Heard Santa On The Radio
On Christmas morning you woke up
To static on the radio
Someone must have turned it on
Who...you didn't know
You got up slowly sleepy-eyed
To a tune that stationed in
Turned the dial a little while
Then a voice said "Let the party begin!"
Hey Hey Hey and
Ho Ho Ho and
Now it's time
For the jolly DJ show
I Heard Santa On The Radio
I knew it was Santa on the radio
Mixing up the music like a Santa should
And radio never sounded so good
He was busy finding busting beats
Making it up as he went along
Hip hop, rock, and *****
St. Nick can do no wrong
Turning the rythem inside out
Till the people shook the house
Pretty soon every creature was dancing
Every boy and girl and every mouse
Hey Hey Hey and
Ho Ho Ho and
Now it's time
For the jolly DJ show
I Heard Santa On The Radio
I knew it was Santa on the radio
Mixing up the music like a Santa should
And radio never sounded so good
All the music comes together
All the people just let go
All the world is listening to the jolly DJ show
Hey Hey Hey and
Ho Ho Ho
I Heard Santa On The Radio
I knew it was Santa on the radio
Mixing up the music like a Santa should
And radio never sounded so good
I Heard Santa On The Radio
I knew it was Santa on the radio
Mixing up the music like a Santa should
And radio never sounded so good
I Heard Santa On The Radio
I knew it was Santa on the radio
Mixing up the music like a Santa should
And radio never sounded so good
And radio never sounded so good
song performed by by Hilary Duff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0258 While the enamel holds
I've just made a passable loaf:
the mixing bowl could almost
be called a Thanksgiving Bowl -
maybe, could start a fashion:
it's made, not of catering-trade steel
which spins nicely on the worktop
nor of plastic, but
of enamel, made about 1929 I guess,
by Kockums of Sweden, size 28 cms
it's clearly stamped -
Kockum's whose proud claim is that
'it lasts a lifetime' - if
you're fortunate enough to be able
to test it thus...
my mother used it to make cakes
- I can hear the scratch of sugar, butter, flour, right now;
sometimes the smell of lemon or vanilla too. And
for her, too, gratitude, I guess,
while she used it, hands and thoughts,
although she could not put it to
the Kockum's test...But the silvery marks
of the fork, or whisk, or careful knife that
left little for me to lick,
disappeared from its strong enamel
and now I use it to make bread
wondering how many of
the current users could verify
to Kockum's management
their proud claim
for it was only late in life that
my mother told me that this bowl
this small 28 cm bowl
was my first baby bath
so as I use it with these mixed emotions
mixed together in this mixing bowl
receptacle of love on love
and thanksgiving
I note with some reflection
that recently, one slight chip
in its circular bowl has appeared
due perhaps to carelessness, not in
the preparing but the washing-up...
and think I'd rather think
(you see - the baby turned out intellectual)
my life were rounded by my failures in my care
than the life of an enamel bowl
however guaranteed
perhaps we'll go together...
dust to dust, flour to flour,
flowers falling to nourish
the seeds of flowers to come
I must remember to ask
my executors to write Kockum's
and confirm their not so often
substantiated claim
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Naked Chef (poem/lyrics)
I'm attempting to be nouveau
and trying to update
all my culinary skills
to the modern way.
I really don't like swearing
but chefs, these days all swear,
I'm trying hard to master it
but I don't really care
for I'm becoming expert
at cooking in the nude
although it can be messy
and it feels a little rude.
Before I use my mixing bowl
I discard skirt and top
stockings slip down easily
and then the rest comes off.
Whipping cream is risky
and makes an awful mess
it flies about all over me
and lands upon my - chest
Of course I take a shower
after every single dish
But I must say that it's worth it
being naked and a chef
Before I use my mixing bowl
I discard skirt and top
stockings slip down easily
and then the rest comes off.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Fufu Momo and Kottu
Noises of different tongues
Occupying stoves in the kitchen
It is not belonged to any one
But belonged to a time
Spreading smells of continents
It is the global identity of art
Every one washes in same sink
Using the water in common
Asia Africa Arabia and Eastern Europe
People in the kitchen being refugees
Using material in same some extent
Make and cook the identity of own
Using flour and flour made
Decorate in an exhibition hall
Like amateur painters pain
Create noises and silence in mixture
Identity of meat flour and leaves
Transformed into their own
On and in the cooking pots
Steam becomes smells
Fufu in the vessel
Pasta in very common
To be well cooked
An African guy in a struggle
Momo like oysters
Made in art by a Tibetan woman
A Nepali prepares Chapatti
Burnt culture of secularity
Leeks, Carrots and green chilly
Cutting into pieces Rotti
In a war like their home
Making Kottu in loud
Everyone looking in surprise
Occupied Sri Lankans noise in kitchen
In two three hours war of kitchen
Gradually becomes calm
One of the oldest in the camp
In midnight begins to cook
Washing everything in psychiatric clean
Cooks Halal singing a song
He is called ex- mayor in his land
Midnight ghost of different rhythm
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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Agony
And in spoonful oil
Kitchen is busy frying
Mustard and lentils two tablespoons each
And chillies hundred grams
And a pack of cigar or raw tobacco
In added two tablespoons of oil
Then to grind with lemon size tamarind, salt
To make tobacco chutney
And the water soaked tobacco
Kitchen is busy grinding
With salt and cashews handful
To make balls, be deep fried in oil
Be added to a masala tomato puree
To make tobacco kofta curry
And to the cooked rice
Kitchen is busy seasoning
With fried clove, cardamom, and cinnamon
Onion and ginger-garlic paste, salt
Sauted well with flavoured tobacco
Then to garnish with cut cigar pieces
To make tobacco biryani
Tobacco chutney, tobacco curry
Tobacco biryani..what next..
Forgotten Kitchen hurrying
To make more koftas
Be put in sugar syrup
To make tobacco jamuns
Then you see, exhausted Kitchen
Under the wildly running fan rests
Wildly coughing out
Her heart despite its rapidness
Awaiting patiently her lover
Who's been chained to her delicious cooking
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Escape
At times you want
To escape
Yourself,
You think
May be
Switching on the
TV set will work.
But it doesn’t,
So I head
For the kitchen
And bake a fresh loaf of bread,
A new recipe from my kitchen shelf.
It takes me
Out of myself.
Cooking I find always helps
It uplifts my mood,
And ah, the aroma of fresh food.
It whets my appetite,
And I get some respite
From the chaos
In my mind.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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On the Breadline
In the baked dough of flour, water and yeast
they were chatting merrily while baking.
The robust baker listens; ' flour said' I was in a big field
and then after the crop they took me to a mill and they grind.
Water laughed and said' I don't know where I have come from? '.
Yeast said 'I was a fungus dear; not only in the bakery
in the brewery too a good demand for us.
I heard that they make bread, cake and so many varieties out of us.
Our price goes high everyday and a poor cannot afford.'
History says; Marie.Antoinette said to the poor
'if you cannot eat bread then why don't you try cake? '
And the following day they invaded the fortress Bastile.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Lemon Parade
I wish I'd seen you as a little girl
Without your armor to fend off the world
I would have kept you underneath my wing
I would protect you from everything
Make way for the lemon parade
Make way for my girl
Make way for the lemon parade
Make way for my girl
Did the boys all tease you when they had
the chance
Always left standing when it came time
to dance
Did you hide behind your books girl
Did you find your secret friends
Always I'll want you
Always 'till the end
Make way for the lemon parade
Make way for my girl
Make way for the lemon parade
Make way for my girl
song performed by by Tonic from Lemon Parade
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Butter?
No Butter? (when a country practice monopoly)
“Butter, the chef said, I can’t fry a snitzel without butter? If I use margarine
it gets too salty and tastes like whale, if I use olive oil, it gets a Portuguese
flavour, a snitzel is Austrian. How can you fry an egg without using butter,
one loses the taste of clover and rural idyll, farm yards and chickens looking
for worms? ” ” Sorry the restaurant manager said, but we have no butter,
you gotta use margarine and anyway the guests are not chefs they will not
notice the difference.”The chef looked aghast, put down his ladle and said:
“You can’t mean that, has all my work comes to nothing? ” Took off his apron,
had tears in his eyes, ready to walk out into the cold night and not return.
“Hang on the manager said, without you I can’t run this place, it is the caring
way you prepare food that our guests like you they know there is a butter
shortage, but they don’t mind as long as they now you are the chef.”
Mollified the cook took his apron back on lifted his ladle and said, “Ok, but
see if you can get some butter even if you have to buy it from the Danes.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Making Memories
Come I will teach you a new recipe’
Said a friend visiting from overseas.
Give me apples, cinnamon and a pie dish
Long ago you asked me you wish
To learn how to make an Apple Pie
So here we are both going to try
Her face intent, was smeared with the flour
She looked funny; what fun we had for one hour
Mixing the dough vigorously, with her hands
You will always remember this day, she said
Eyes twinkling and joining me uttered, silly
It’s not just a pie, we are making memories.
we talked, as we waited in the kitchen,
the aroma told us when it was done
That was twenty years ago, I recall
Pie came out well and we had such a ball.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Too Many Cooks In The Kitchen
Theres too many cooks in the kitchen
Theres too many minds on the job
Theres too many cooks in the kitchen
Everybody wants a piece of the action
Cooking the books and getting their fractions wrong
What we need is law and order
Everybody knows
Cant have chiefs without the injuns
Stepping on their toes
Theres too many cooks in the kitchen
Theres too many daps in the pie
Theres too many cooks in the kitchen
Everybody needs a place in the rat race
Playing games of power, its only a cat chase
Too many too many too many etc.
Too many cooks in the kitchen
[by the colonel]
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Song...
This sweet melody on air
It still reminds me of your hair
So soft and gentle to the touch
Just like this song we love so much
This sad old tune the radio plays
It holds all our memories stay
It brings me back to happier days
When we had our love have its way
For as every note that it sings
Hits a special chord in my strings
I remember the joy that it brings
This love song that we used to sing
This sweet old song that plays on air
This sad love song the radio plays
Reminds me of how we used to be
Fills me with memories of you and me…
matthewedanolivernpalma->>>>>
poem by Matthew Edan Oliver Palma
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When Ida Puts Her Armor On
When Ida puts her armor on
And draws her trusty blade
The turnips in the bin turn pale,
The apples are afraid.
The quiet kitchen city wakes
And consternation feels,
And quick the tocsin pealeth forth
In long potato peels.
When Ida puts her armor on
The pots and pans succumb,
A wooden spoon her drum-stick is,
A mixing pan her drum;
She charges on the kitchen folk
With silver, tin and steel
She beat the eggs, she whips the cream,
The victory is a meal.
When Ida puts her apron on
Her breast-plate is of blue.
(Checked gingham ruffled top and sides)
Her gauntlets gingham, too;
And thus protected from assault
Of batter, stain and flour
She wars with vegetable foes
And conquers in an hour.
When Ida puts her armor on
She is so fair to see
Her battle with the kitchen folk
Is reproduced in me;
So sweet she is, armed cap-a-pie,
So good her kitchen art
I hardly know which loves her best
My palate or my heart.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Pancakes and With Baked Salmon
I do have this 'thing'
For my own homemade pancakes.
And with baked salmon!
What a treat to eat.
You are not going to get any that I make!
But here is the recipe.
You can do it just like me.
First beat an egg in a mixing bowl,
Add a tablespoon of baking powder.
A third teaspoon of salt
A full teaspoon of sugar.
And about a third cup of vegetable oil.
Beat that all together.
Now you want to add the flour.
About a cup...maybe more...
If you're serving more than two people.
I choose to use evaporated milk.
At least a cup.
Whip all this stuff up.
Heat that frying pan or griddle.
Medium to hot.
Add some olive oil if you got it.
Vegetable oil will do.
With a slice of butter added too!
OH! I almost forgot the salmon!
I use salmon steaks.
Preheat the oven 350 degrees.
After rinsing the salmon...
Rub with apple vinegar.
Salt and pepper if you please.
Lay on tin foil since this is what I use.
Add butter and a bit of oil!
Enclosed that salmon within the foil.
Baked twenty minutes.
That's all it takes!
ENJOY!
Use syrup on the pancakes.
Perhaps a little Vadalia Onion Dressing,
On the salmon.
And if you don't like this...
You definitely will love,
My brown sugar/mustard roasted chicken.
But I'm not sharing that right now!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sit There And Eat It
OH!
So you want to 'mince' something?
You come in here ready to dice...
With me?
Well...
Let me tell you something right now...
You take this knife!
You see that roasted garlic?
Vadalia onion, parsley and garden tomato?
You dice them first!
You mince that together.
See that sauce pan?
DO YOU?
Put some olive oil in that pan!
Add some seasalt.
Now you add some fresh ground pepper.
Wait until that oil heats!
DO YOU HEAR ME?
DO YOU?
Do you see that cod sitting over there?
Get the butter!
Get the unsalted butter.
What do you mean there is only salted butter?
Then USE it!
Melt it separately.
Dip that cod in that butter.
Throw that diced stuff in that oil.
Sizzle all of it!
Now put that cod in!
YES! Put that in there! In that pan!
And...
When that is finished cooking,
I want you to sit there and eat it!
Every dropp of it!
WHY are you smiling?
I didn't do a thing!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sunny Afternoon
The tax mans taken all my dough,
And left me in my stately home,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
And I cant sail my yacht,
Hes taken everything Ive got,
All Ive gots this sunny afternoon.
Save me, save me, save me from this squeeze.
I got a big fat mama trying to break me.
And I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
In the summertime
In the summertime
My girlfriends run off with my car,
And gone back to her ma and pa,
Telling tales of drunkenness and cruelty.
Now Im sitting here,
Sipping at my ice cold beer,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
Help me, help me, help me sail away,
Well give me two good reasons why I oughta stay.
cause I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
In the summertime
In the summertime
Ah, save me, save me, save me from this squeeze.
I got a big fat mama trying to break me.
And I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
In the summertime
In the summertime
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Drilling Holes
(HogarthKellyMosleyRotheryTrewavas)
A man came to drill holes in the afternoon
And by the evening
Most of the afternoon had gone
I seem to have slept through the morning
But in the afternoon
A morning is yet to come
A girl came to help out in the kitchen
And by the evening
We found we were all washed up
We ate on the lawn
With the insects
We burned incense
Most of the band turned up
It was just one of those days
When the mind strays
One of those days
When everyone plays
One of those days
When everyone stays
And all of the dreaming goes on
A woman arrived in a panic
With a picnic
Better to give than receive
A man came to pick holes in the logic
He wore plastic
And shoes you would hardly believe
The evening arrived
Slightly early like a pygmy
Chewing the wrong kind of leaves
We ordered extra tea
Listened to XTC
Under a shady tree
Went back to bed at three
It was cool
As can be
(two sugars for me..)
It was just one of those days
When the mind strays
When everyone plays
One of those days
When everyone stays
And all of the dreaming goes on
One of THOSE days.
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunny Afternoon
Sunny afternoon
By: ray davies
1966
The taxmans taken all my dough
And left me in this stately home
Lazin on a sunny afternoon
And I cant even sail my yacht
Hes taken everything Ive got
All Ive gots this sunny afternoon
In the summertime...
Chorus:
Save me, save me, save me from this squeeze
Ive got a big fat momma tryin to break me
And I love to live so pleasantly
Live this life of luxury
Lazin on a sunny afternoon
In the summertime...
My girlfriends run off with my car
And gone back to her ma and pa
Tellin tales of parrotheads and parties
And now Im just sitting here
Sippin on this ice-cold beer
Lazin on a sunny afternoon
In the summertime...
Help me, help me, help me sail away
Well, give me two good reason why I ought to stay
cause I love to live so pleasantly
Live this life of luxury
Lazy on a sunny afternoon
In the summertime...
In the summertime...
In the summertime...
Chorus:
Save me, save me, save me from this squeeze
Ive got a big fat momma tryin to break me
And I love to live so pleasantly
Live this life of luxury
Lazy on a sunny afternoon
In the summertime...
In the summertime...
In the summertime...
In the summertime...
Taxmans taken all my dough (in the summertime)
Gonna find that passport and outta here I go
(in the summertime)
--spoken:
Catch me a flight to st. somewhere and get out of this cold
Weather. go somewhere where no body knows my name
Gotta keep my mouth shut. try to go to confession at least once
A week. somewhere preferably south of the equator, I believe.
Where its summertime, where winter spends the summer. somewhere
Like that.
(in the summertime...)
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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