Two Pizzas
TWO PIZZAS
Our kitchen is chill silent
today, this Friday afternoon -
four-burner prestige stove
stays mute, wiped so clean.
no activities seen
for the mid-day meal
wife and children are
chit- chatting in bed;
stories from Russia,
‘hithihasic kahanies'
tit-bits form weeklys
mock-trial make-ups
slowly, I entered in
to inquire the reason,
for a near hartal.
quickly, my wife replied
she has ordered ‘pizzas online'
two plus one, spicy chicken with some add-on
on fifty percent discount coupon
my childhood days were totally different
two pizzas are equal to two months' mess bill
a class iv servant will run his family whole month - but
my children are fortunate, father is a ‘ project leader'.
……two pizzas speaking of contrasting economies.
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sometimes I miss hamburgers, I should say that. I miss the tuna pizzas at Mercer Kitchen.
quote by Marc Jacobs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I do get my pizzas paid for by Linux indirectly.
quote by Linus Torvalds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Spicy Pickle
I wanna tell you about a place
That’s very special to me
It’s called The Spicy Pickle
They serve food so deliciously
There’s salads, soups & sandwiches
With flavors of such delight
You can go there for lunch
Or dinner t’wards the night
They have little crusty pizzas
With what fixins’ you desire
Oh yes, they serve the food
That folks never ever tire
But the very best to me is
The ‘build your own’ meal
So many things to choose from
What a delightful deal
I hope you too will enjoy one day
Or even in the night
The wonderful Spicy Pickle
Where the food is made just right!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Poetry En Masse
like bread in bakeries
like automobiles from factories
like pizzas in boxes for delivery
like ordinary figurines for sale
like drugs in the pharmacy
like pineapples in the farm
like apples in a basket
like inhalers in the nose
like manufactured gadgets
spoons and forks and kitchen utensils
mass produced
without the romance of the personalized work
the interaction of the mind
with the body and soul
must art be?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mass Production
like bread in bakeries
like automobiles from factories
like pizzas in boxes for delivery
like ordinary figurines for sale
like drugs in the pharmacy
like pineapples in the farm
like apples in a basket
like inhalers in the nose
like manufactured gadgets
spoons and forks and kitchen utensils
mass produced
without the romance of the personalized work
the interaction of the mind
with the body and soul
must art be?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Petry En Masse
like bread in bakeries
like automobiles from factories
like pizzas in boxes for delivery
like ordinary figurines for sale
like drugs in the pharmacy
like pineapples in the farm
like apples in a basket
like inhalers in the nose
like manufactured gadgets
spoons and forks and kitchen utensils
mass produced
without the romance of the personalized work
the interaction of the mind
with the body and soul
must art be?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To The Fourth Year Class Preparing For The Major Exams
we are all dead
tired and we are trying to
cope up with each
page and fine prints
of political law
so taxing to the eyes
and so damaging
to our brains,
my dear
class, let us take a
break, we go to
the pizza parlor
order some mugs
of beer and choose
those giant Domino pizzas
with mushrooms,
large tomatoes,
and lots of
shredded mozarella cheese
good luck this sunday.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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More Than Paris
France is more than Paris
This dark, unfriendly French provincial town, only,
a pizza parlour open run by a gloomy, unshaven
person who looked like a reluctant refugee from
Kosovo I wouldn’t like to stay down-wind from.
Everything made of plastic tables, chairs that once
had been white, under the counter rested pieces
of pizzas that was going cold, I had two pieces one
with salami, the other with tuna, washed down with
soft drinks. Finished the meal, the man looked at me
as saying: ” What are you still doing here? I left.
Turned, looked into dirty windows, and thought” If this
is hell I better start saying my prayer now.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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NSS (Training in Social Service at college level)
NSS (Training in Social Service at college level)
Radiant faces in Pantaloon chhudi, tops
Pedaling their way on a picnic outdoor
humming a film tune in a louder chorus
NSS girls, heading for their maiden service
reaching the target (village) , roamed the lanes and bye lanes
test visit into the thatched dwelling house
chit chatting with those rustic mermaids
yawning gaps in between their living life styles
a class on alphabets and a slice advice on HIV
hygiene techniques, do-it-yourself demos and magic
lecture on breast feed, supply of napkins, live group hand-wash
de-addiction mock camps, tit bits of social laws & Dandia practice
do pahar ka khana arrives hot from the Dabba
half-starved children perched on the tree tops
are counting the menus right by the very aroma
singing, dancing, photographs and closed -door counseling
at dusk, the girls jump back onto their bicycles
…….waving and leaving the village in the same semi-darkness -
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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Clarence Fawcett
The sudden death of Eugene Carman
Put me in line to be promoted to fifty dollars a month,
And I told my wife and children that night.
But it didn't come, and so I thought
Old Rhodes suspected me of stealing
The blankets I took and sold on the side
For money to pay a doctor's bill for my little girl.
Then like a bolt old Rhodes accused me,
And promised me mercy for my family's sake
If I confessed, and so I confessed,
And begged him to keep it out of the papers,
And I asked the editors, too.
That night at home the constable took me
And every paper, except the Clarion,
Wrote me up as a thief
Because old Rhodes was an advertiser
And wanted to make an example of me.
Oh! well, you know how the children cried,
And how my wife pitied and hated me,
And how I came to lie here.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Mona Lisa
MONA LISA
All through the days of the week
Double-busy with my table work
I can return home little earlier, but
Have to sit with my son's homework
And if I am really free at home
My kind wife would order some jobs for me
Dusting the windows, cleaning the ceiling,
Washing the gas-stove and scrapping the sump clean
But for her duties as merely a housewife
She keeps a servant full-time on all meals basis
Just as a ‘mistress' she does only supervise
With her starched Kota sarees' crease never shuffling
Scientists make bombs but politicians use it
Whatever, I earn hard, my spouse so freely expends
You are a machine with no powers to revolt
Nor to halt or question anything you suspect
Vexed by these features, I opted to ‘sanyas'
And am to board a train to night to 'Kailash'
In search of peace, respect and freedom
But, ….my charming sister-in-law has only just come
……I need to cancel at once the whole thing!
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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I guess the real reason that my wife and I had children is the same reason that Napoleon had for invading Russia: it seemed like a good idea at the time.
quote by Bill Cosby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wife- better half of life
Wife is the better half of life
Give wife love affection as soul-mate
Wife is not glorified maid as said
Wife do not want money salary honorarium
Do not make hulla gulla and do not beat drum.
Mian bibi relationship should not be commercialized
Third party intervention in family relation vandalized.
Wife is not a domestic labourer
Wife is backbone of the family
The maile stone of the family
Wife is the torchlight of the family
Wife is the colorful star
Do no put any question to her.
Wife is there to give everything
Wife is not to take anything in return
Wife is the goddess.
Only mad man can say wife is a domestic servant
Make wife a wife life-partner better half
And enjoy life freely.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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No Work No Pay
NO WORK NO PAY
A new servant girl steps in
For an interview by my wife
Few questions asked, but historic replies
No means verify the versions thus heard
Wage negotiation is tough & takes little time
With perks and privileges spelt out and ratified
Servant now goes around for a self-inspection
Quickly comparing with other options held
Lastly, she accepts, but on a single condition
That she be paid 50% in advance payment
Collecting the money, she announces her schedules
Weekly rests and no cut if she absented herself
Days passed but, she didn't turn up
As per terms, we are not to hire a casual hand
Another intelligent lady nearby, rushes into confess
That the same has occurred to her with 50% lost
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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And Mushy peas for J.T.Ellison
A fragrance carried on the breeze
which sets my saliva to flow.
Aroma guaranteed to please.
The finest fast food that I know.
Traditional English fish and chips
served up with salt and vinegar.
The smell can make me lick my lips
although I smell it from afar.
Kebabs, Chinese and Pizzas too
appeal to some but not to me.
There’s only fish and chip will do
To suit my mood adequately
Fine English food for Englishmen
I can enjoy time and again.
14-May-08
http.blog.myspace. com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Family Planning
FAMILY PLANNING
My wife is
In her family way
And is
likely to deliver
In a week or so
The birth of a
new one may be
a news for you -
but, in its arrival
I run the risk
of a good fortune
hence,
you will lend me
a sum repayable
before I opt
for the next offspring
The hospital bills
are the real checkmates
cutting your
family down to the size
with permissible members,
to stand at ease
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If there's God why I die
‘’Is there God then why I die’’
Wife of ant says
‘’ Why wife of ant says if there’s God
Why I die, filthy feminine house I will
Burn down and leave’’
God says
‘’Is there God then why my children die’’
Wife of ant says’’
‘’Why wife of ant says if there’s God
Why my children die, filthy clitorising rain giraffe, I will sow seed of hairy itching grass under her feet, will grow to waist’’
God says
Wife ant opened her head to sun
She asks
‘’ Is there anything worst on earth than
Soaking of my waist in mourning tears for years
Wuw nothing’’
God rubbed his nose, nguu….
Says ‘’I will see who’s strong
Me or wife of ant
Ninety days later
Wife of man whom God nickname as ant
Whelped puppy
Strange, horrible and unnatural
‘’O God, why my wife give to puppy’’
Man prayed
‘’ To teach your wife lesson
So tomorrow she’ll not mock me again
If she attempt, I wipe off her eyes in world
And her seed will not grow on earth
My land’’
God says
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Weekend Fatherhood
Out of all of life's raw deals
Weekend fatherhood is the rawest
48 hours to undo 5 days of propaganda
'I do love you, no matter what your mother says'
Try to do the impossible, squeeze 7 days of love, caring and fatherhood into 2 measly days
Days that fly by faster than the speed of light
No sooner do you pick them up, it's time to take them home
Weekend fathers, you see them everywhere
They're easy to spot by the attention they pay to their children
Their smiles and laughter, tears they so bravely try to hide
After bringing their children back to their mothers
The malls are full of this special breed of man
Buying their children anything and everything
Especially if they say 'Mom won't let us have this' 'Keep it at my house, and don't tell your mom'
From Monday 9AM to Friday 5PM
You're just a man, one of millions, nothing special
But 6PM Friday you become a father again, picking up your children and taking them for the weekend
And if you're one of the lucky ones
Their Mother, your ex-wife
Won't take your children and move away
Halfway across the country
And your weekends along with them
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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Lviii
I thy servant, and to thy servant born
I speak of fathers who stick to their deeds
To guide their children through a field of thorns
This I pray is the father’s only creeds
To love and protect, to guild by God
To teach thee the way of the holy Lord
To shine his light upon every done fraud
To praise him with every award
I am a father, to a father born and
Pledge my life to thee, my only true song
I am my brother’s keeper, love in hand
Never shall I accuse a man done wrong
My wife, my children, my Lord praised
My God, my family to thee I pay.
poem by David E. Patton
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Shopping Sickness
My shrewd wife has just
returned from a ‘Top Class Retail Mall ‘
with a loud rejoice that she has
‘saved' a big three thousand four hundred
by shopping only in ‘discount sale, '
at the end of 3 hour afternoon ‘marathon'
curiously, I peeped into the
a meter-length printed bill -
final tally was seven thousand one hundred.
she did'nt return to me,
the so-called, cosy discount in cash:
‘how sensible I am'- She is shouting back
from the dressing room, in a triumphant slang
She immediately, rang up her mother in Manamadurai
to proclaim the gains, she managed
from the three-tier hunting floors
Basmati rice, Badam milk, Jamoon mix,
Razor blades, ready-mix powders, no-good soups
failed cosmetics, fast expiring, unmoved stocks & fancy
Kargil blankets, rejected ready-mades, air- tight plastics,
things thrown overboard from a sinking ship
one plus one and two plus one, of no regular use
are under distress sale, christened as ‘bargain sale'
I am also at loss to know
how the ‘discount' works
in terms of my budgetary share,
her casual shopping for rupess
seven thousand - is one fifth
of my take-home pay.
………..how I will manage, to the Heavens I pray.
poem by Santhana Louis
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