Toasted
The toasted marshmallows were horrid,
the muffins were burnt and quite naff,
I didn’t go much for the porridge
but your warm, toasty bottom was grand!
poem by Ruth Walters
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Porridge At The Pub
I had my breakfast this morning at a pub in our town,
But my experience there left my face with a massive frown.
I ordered some porridge, topped with banana and honey,
But, despite it being cheap, it was not worth the money.
With me, the bowlful of porridge was not a massive hit,
Because I found eating it, was like eating a bowlful of grit.
The oats and milk, I found, were far from very well mixed:
Though I'm sure this is a problem that can be easily fixed.
On top of that, I thought the porridge tasted a little bit weird,
So, by me, my bowlful of porridge didn't get totally cleared.
About my breakfast experience, I did not like to complain,
But I won't be eating porridge at that particular pub again.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wordplay With Marshmallows
Some days are meant for marshmallows
Such light and puffy stuff
Time for tossing words about
For phenomenal fun with fluff
Infinite interludes for introspection
Imbue innumerable another day
However a taste for marshmallows
Suddenly insinuated itself today
No harm ensues from marshmallows
(No eye need be put out)
As long as one practices prudence
While tossing them about
As with all sugary self indulgence
Some control needs be employed
But no call for complete capitulation
(Marshmallows won’t be denied)
Like clouds they are in substance
(Or at least they so compare)
This froth of egg whites and sugar
When fully whipped with air
Though sticky at inception
Once given a chance to chill
Then danced through dusting of powder
They proceed to a benign thrill
One cannot subsist on marshmallows
(I do concede that singularity)
And some don’t relish their taste
(So I embrace such peculiarity)
But allow me this indulgence
On this extraordinary day
While a penchant for marshmallows
Occupies my wordplay
poem by Mary Havran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Didn't Know What Time It Was
Richard Rodgers / Lorenz Hart
Once I was young --
yesterday, perhaps --
danced with Jim and Paul
and kissed some other chaps.
Once I was young,
but never was naive.
I thought I had a trick or two
up my imaginary sleeve.
And now I know I was naive.
REFRAIN
I didn't know what time it was
then I met you.
Oh, what a lovely time it was,
How sublime it was too!
I didn't know what time it was
you hold my hand.
Warm like the month of May it was,
and I'll say it was grand.
Grand to be alive, to be young,
to be mad, to be yours alone!
Grand tosee your face, feel your touch,
hear your voice say I'm all your own.
I didn't know what time it was
live was no prize.
I whanted love and here it was
shining out of your eyes.
I'm wise,
and I know what time it is now.
VERSE 2
Once I was old --
Twenty years or so --
rather well preserved:
the wrinkles did't show.
Once I was old,
but not too old for fun.
I used to hunt for little girls
up my immaginary gun.
But now I ain for only one!
REFRAIN
I didn't know what time it was
then I met you.
Oh, what a lovely time it was,
How sublime it was too!
I didn't know what time it was
you hold my hand.
Warm like the month of May it was,
and I'll say it was grand.
Grand to be alive, to be young,
to be mad, to be yours alone!
Grand tosee your face, feel your touch,
hear your voice say I'm all your own.
I didn't know what time it was
live was no prize.
I whanted love and here it was
shining out of your eyes.
I'm wise,
and I know what time it is now.
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So I Happen to Prefer Whole Wheat
Of course I'm sleazy!
Isn't that one of the requirements,
I had to admit to get you to date me?
'But I didn't think you were serious when I asked! '
So when did you take notice of it?
Before or after I began to lick,
The crunchy peanut butter off your nipples.
'Yeah...
But do you think holding them,
Between slices of whole wheat bread...
Really accomplishes anything? '
That's a matter of opinion!
So I happen to prefer whole wheat bread.
What's the problem here?
I was going to use the muffins.
Do you want me to use the muffins?
'I'm sensitive to multi-grain.'
Huh?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cooking Pot
our cooking pot is not made of porcelain
or silver or gold but it is made of the mud
of this earth
hardened by time and fire and too much
waiting
our patience consumed
our waiting had been too long about this cooking
pot, earthen
where we put all our dreams and cook them
like rice
porridge, all of our dreams
fired by the woods of our reminiscence
our longings our loneliness our daily concerns
our future wishes
and then when the time comes to open
and see and smell what rice porridge is
we say we like it we say we love it
only to be repulsed by this visitor in the house
'this is not cooking! This is not good! ' and he stares at us
and says, we need more fire, more wood, more time
to have the perfect porridge
i went out unable to stand this hunger
unable to see what this visitor says
it is our fault we allowed him in
we open our doors and windows and let him sleep in our room
as we lay on the floors and keep ourselves on the stairs.
'this is too much' i said.
'he must leave this house at once' i told you.
this is our pot. this is our porridge. this is our cooking.
and we must eat. we must love what we have.
'get out of my house' i said.
and then i am relieved from an opression.
i am happier now. My pot is earthen. Its bottom is sooty black.
i am blue. And i do not really mind.
This is my porridge. You may take it, if you like.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dogtown
Okay.
The towns dawning, Im the only one awake.
The streets are whistling, I light my fourth cigarette.
I think of my friends, they were once not so dead.
What are they thinking now?
One day Ill be just a little stone,
Nobodyll know that the stone had such emotions.
Anyway, Im always on the run.
Someday Ill be remembered for the phone calls I never made,
Letters I never mailed,
And stories I never finished telling anyone.
The towns yawning, I let my dog walk me around.
He took a shoot and people smiled,
I tried the same and people frowned.
Yes, its a dog, dogtown.
One day lets be a pair of trees,
Nobodyll know that the trees had such a history.
Anyway, wed never be this lonely.
Someday Ill be remembered for the fine words I meant to keep,
A warm smile I meant to leave,
And a true song I meant to finish writing all my life.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Peas porridge luck, peas porridge stuck,
Peas porridge in the pot nine years old.
Some gets paid, some gets grades,
Some stays in the pot nine years old.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Peas porridge loved, peas porridge spoiled,
Peas porridge in the pot nine years old.
Some gets laid, some gets slayed,
Some stays in the pot nine years old.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Dogtown, dogtown, dogtown, dogtown,
Dogtown, dogtown, dogtown -.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dogtown
Okay.
The towns dawning, Im the only one awake.
The streets are whistling, I light my fourth cigarette.
I think of my friends, they were once not so dead.
What are they thinking now?
One day Ill be just a little stone,
Nobodyll know that the stone had such emotions.
Anyway, Im always on the run.
Someday Ill be remembered for the phone calls I never made,
Letters I never mailed,
And stories I never finished telling anyone.
The towns yawning, I let my dog walk me around.
He took a shoot and people smiled,
I tried the same and people frowned.
Yes, its a dog, dogtown.
One day lets be a pair of trees,
Nobodyll know that the trees had such a history.
Anyway, wed never be this lonely.
Someday Ill be remembered for the fine words I meant to keep,
A warm smile I meant to leave,
And a true song I meant to finish writing all my life.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Peas porridge luck, peas porridge stuck,
Peas porridge in the pot nine years old.
Some gets paid, some gets grades,
Some stays in the pot nine years old.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Peas porridge loved, peas porridge spoiled,
Peas porridge in the pot nine years old.
Some gets laid, some gets slayed,
Some stays in the pot nine years old.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Dogtown, dogtown, dogtown, dogtown,
Dogtown, dogtown, dogtown -.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Bad Day
burnt toasted
bread
beside a
moldy
marmalade
bland coffee
and bad news
on tv
welcome
a world in recession.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Miss T
It's a very odd thing -
As odd can be -
That whatever Miss T eats
Turns into Miss T.;
Porridge and apples,
Mince, muffins and mutton,
Jam, junket, jumbles -
Not a rap, not a button
It matters; the moment
They're out of her plate,
Though shared by Miss Butcher
And sour Mr. Bate;
Tiny and cheerful,
And neat as can be,
Whatever Miss T. eats
Turns into Miss T.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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His Life, a Porridge Pool
Sitting on a traditional stool
Starring, ripples in a pool
He stirred porridge with a wooden spoon
Ripples, cause of his spoon
Porridge, had become a pool
His life, a porridge pool.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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I have taken the marshmallows off the sweet potatoes, however. They would make a big pan of sweet potatoes and cover it with marshmallows. My kids would love it if I would do that for them!
quote by Edie Brickell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The sterile
I didn’t steal; I didn’t covet;
I didn’t chase; I didn’t molest.
Instincts have been burnt.
I am worse than the sterile ones.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Those Kept On The Bottom Relate
Those kept on the bottom keep keeping on.
Those kept on the bottom keep keeping on.
Those kept on the bottom keep keeping on.
Those kept on the bottom,
Relate.
Keeping patience for them,
Has a message to send.
'Cause,
People feel more pinned in.
'Cause,
Struggles for them don't end.
'Cause,
Promises don't pay the rent.
Or decisions not to eat,
Because they wish to look thin.
Those kept on the bottom relate.
Those kept on the bottom relate.
Those kept on the bottom relate.
Those kept on the bottom,
Relate.
Those kept on the bottom keep keeping on.
Those kept on the bottom keep keeping on.
Those kept on the bottom keep keeping on.
Those kept on the bottom,
Relate.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Perfect Match
warm chocolate
in a cup
beside a toasted
whole wheat
bread
on a rainy
day
and a poem
to read
silently
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cordova
words and music by amy ray
The volunteers come for your prayers
and some souvenirs,
With ivory skin and boycott lessons
Year after year.
Well I'm tracing your face up in the space of the bottom bunk,
Oh Cordova.
Where I cried and I cried,
I knew I was trading on things that I didn't have,
The things that I didn't have.
Now you come to me
With revolution's infidelity,
With blacklisted friends and tupperware kin,
And your big history.
Well I'm tracing your face up in the space of the bottom bunk,
Oh Cordova.
Where I cried and I cried,
I knew I was trading on things that I didn't have,
The things that I didn't have.
I memorize the lullabies
of dwindling lives.
The lay of the land, the touch of each hand
We lose by and by.
I'm tracing your face up in the space of the bottom bunk,
Oh Cordova.
Where I cried and I cried,
I knew I was trading on things that I didn't have,
The things that I didn't have.
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Excerpt –
'This famous wicked little tale
Should never have been put on sale
It is a mystery to me
Why loving parents cannot see
That this is actually a book
About a brazen little crook...'
'...Now just imagine how you'd feel
If you had cooked a lovely meal,
Delicious porridge, steaming hot,
Fresh coffee in the coffee pot,
With maybe toast and marmalade,
The table beautifully laid,
One place for you and one for dad,
Another for your little lad.
Then dad cries, 'Golly–gosh! Gee whizz!
'Oh cripes! How hot this porridge is!
'Let's take a walk along the street
'Until it's cool enough to eat.'
He adds, 'An early morning stroll
'Is good for people on the whole.
'It makes your appetite improve
'It also helps your bowels move.'
No proper wife would dare to question
Such a sensible suggestion,
Above all not at breakfast–time
When men are seldom at their prime.
No sooner are you down the road
Than Goldilocks, that little toad
That nosey thieving little louse,
Comes sneaking in your empty house....'
'...(Here comes the next catastrophe.)
Most educated people choose
To rid themselves of socks and shoes
Before they clamber into bed.
But Goldie didn't give a shred.
Her filthy shoes were thick with grime,
And mud and mush and slush and slime.
Worse still, upon the heel of one
Was something that a dog had done.
I say once more, what would you think
If all this horrid dirt and stink
Was smeared upon your eiderdown
By this revolting little clown?
(The famous story has no clues
To show the girl removed her shoes.)
Oh, what a tale of crime on crime!
Let's check it for a second time.
Crime One, the prosecution's case:
She breaks and enters someone's place.
Crime Two, the prosecutor notes:
She steals a bowl of porridge oats.
Crime Three: She breaks a precious chair
Belonging to the Baby Bear.
Crime Four: She smears each spotless sheet
With filthy messes from her feet.
A judge would say without a blink,
'Ten years hard labour in the clink!'
But in the book, as you will see,
The little beast gets off scot–free,
While tiny children near and far
Shout 'Goody–good! Hooray! Hurrah!'
'Poor darling Goldilocks!' they say,
'Thank goodness that she got away!'
Myself, I think I'd rather send
Young Goldie to a sticky end.
'Oh daddy!' cried the Baby Bear,
'My porridge gone! It isn't fair!'
'Then go upstairs,' the Big Bear said,
'Your porridge is upon the bed.
'But as it's inside mademoiselle,
'You'll have to eat her up as well.'
poem by Roald Dahl
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Hot Chocolate
Black Butterscotch, Caramel
Coconut In A Cup
Cookies-N-Cream, Brown Sugar
With A Vanilla Scent Of Lust
Let Me Spin My Straw In You
And Watch The Waves Swirl Through
With A Thick Blast Of Honey Almond
It's A Hot Chocolate Whirlpool
So Hot The Heat Could Melt Marshmallows
And Make Our Bodies Feel Warm
I Could Feel The Temperature Level Rising
In Your Soft Steamy Form
When I Get You On The Table
Or On The Counter Top
You Are A Simply Delicious Delight
From Your Bottom To Your Top
Down To The Last Drop
I Just Don't Want To Stop
Hot Chocolate..... Hot Chocolate.....
So Many Flavors To Savor
Every Time I Finish
You Keep Me Coming Back Later
Addicted To Sweet Sips
By The Touch Of The Tongue
I Believe That I Need You
Hot Chocolate Got Me Sprung! ! ! !
poem by Cortez Maurell Lewis
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Winter is coming............
Children awaken me in the early light;
'Winter is coming' they shout in unison
'The leaves have danced off the limbs and the the trees are going to sleep, Mama.' says one.
'Winter is coming' claps two and three as they parade around on my bed
'Hot chocolate' screamed one
'with marshmallows' yelled two
'I will pop the popcorn' states three
'Winter is coming, Mama, we had our first frost. I thought it was dew, but it crunched under my feet.' says one with bright open eyes and cold feet on my toasty legs.
'Winter is coming, Mama, no more mosquitoes to bite us when we play.' cried two in excitement
'Winter is coming, Mom, I better go out and chop some wood for the family.' states nostalgic three
Yawn
Stretch
pull the covers closer
Sleepy answers
'Oh good, Winter is coming. I can crochet you a new scarf.' pointing to one
'I can make you a new doll' pointing to two
'And for you' beaming at three, 'I will bake some fresh bread for you my darling'
Hugs all around
Wiggle
Jump
Skip
'Winter is coming! '
'Winter is coming! '
Hooray! ! Winter is coming! '
poem by Shala Drake
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In The Warm Room
In the warm room
Her perfume reaches you.
Eventually youll fall for her.
Down youll go
To where the mellow wallows.
In the warm room
Shell touch you with your mammas hand.
Youll long to kiss those red lips,
But when you do
Itll feel like kicking a habit.
Shell tell you that shell stay,
So youd better barricade the way out.
Shell tell you shes true.
Shell tell you she loves you.
Shes waiting in that warm room.
In the warm room
She prepares to go to bed.
Shell let you watch her undress,
Go places where
Your fingers long to linger.
In the warm room
Youll fall into her like a pillow.
Her thighs are soft as marshmallows.
Say hello
To the soft musk of her hollows.
Shell tell you that shell stay,
So youd better barricade the way out.
Shell tell you shes true.
Shell tell you she loves you.
Shes waiting in that warm room.
In the warm room.
Shes waiting in that warm room.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Porridge
Why is there no monument
To Porridge in our land?
It it's good enough to eat,
It's good enough to stand!
On a plinth in London
A statue we should see
Of Porridge made in Scotland
Signed, "Oatmeal, O.B.E."
(By a young dog of three)
poem by Spike Milligan
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