3. A Tall Story
I built myself a time machine
And travelled to the past
Where dinosaurs looked hungry
So my visit didn’t last
I travelled to the future
Where food came in a pill
But apple pie with gravy on
Just didn’t fit the bill
I came back home to present day
Where animals are smaller
And if you want an ice-cream
Here food looks so much taller
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Syrup Sponge
Pour a pint of cream
Upon my spongy bulge!
Scoop me with a
Hefty spoon;
Taste my essence -
Do you swoon?
Feed your self-esteem; indulge
In me until you burst -
Death by syrup sponge - you're cursed!
And as the count in inches gain
Upon your weary waist, the strain
Will tell, but you'll not care -
Steeped in sponge, you're unaware!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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food food food food food food
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Road Well Travelled
A road well travelled does not the journey ease
Nor do well placed signposts aid our itineraries
A road well travelled is rough and rutted where
Others have passed by this way overburdened with their cares
A road well-travelled may be full of risks and dangers
You keep yourself unto yourself and never talk to strangers.
This road well travelled has no final end in sight
It can be sunny in the daytime but quite frightening at night
This road well travelled can sometimes just disappear
And you stop not knowing where to go shivering with fear
This road well travelled sometimes returns you to its start
And leaves you walking round in circles with a sad and heavy heart.
My road well travelled has many toll gates on the way
Each time I ask directions there’s a need to always pay
My road well travelled is a lonely road at times
It is a real road that I know it’s not just a state of mind
My road well travelled is not just my road you see
It’s a road that many others take and it’s called anxiety.
poem by David Keig
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Salad is Incompatible with Life
Yes, my waist is fifty inches -
Big for me because I'm short.
And yes, I like my cheddar cheese
When partnered with a vintage port.
Okay, okay, that double cream
Is always served with pud,
And cake and biscuits with my tea
Are just no bloody good
For my poor hardened arteries,
But see my point of view,
Please dear wifey if you please,
A Salad makes me spew!
I'd rather eat a bowl of air
Than crunch away on greens;
Drink water from the toilet bowl
Or nibble on my jeans!
But salad! Are you there?
You know it makes me snappy -
So let me fill my face with grub,
Stay fat, and die young happy!
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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I will die without foot prints
Resentment of inmates made me leave home.
Sentiments didn’t dry to suit my age;
Hence I went to streets instead of kin’s home.
I didn’t bring with me any past glory.
The cold of contempt didn’t make me shiver;
The heat of humility didn’t make me seat.
Sans qualm, sans shame, I turned a useless straw,
And without pain, nor strain, I begged for food.
Now and then tears of curses washed my eyes
And stale food thrown in bins roughened my tongue.
Grandchildren were completely forgotten.
All possessions were thrown as ill gotten.
When I will die and who will burry me
Went out of my head, eloping with my
Fear of future, fear of vulture and of gods.
I will die with no wish to leave foot prints.
10.0.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Missed Call
Last night
I received
A missed
Call from
My past…
Did I cry?
Yes, I cried
A lot.
Did I call back?
No, I didn't.
For, when I had
Needed my past
To be my present
And my future, it
Wasn't there for me.
It had abandoned me.
So I didn't want to
Go back as in the
Present, I see no
Future with my
Past.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Number 4
Got a phone call today
They said you passed away
You were fine morning
And just yesterday
But now you've got no heartbeat
We have the same name
But I know nothing about you
Just stories, just fame
I didn't cry earlier
Not when I heard
Not a single tear
But now they're here
I had so many chances to visit
Like last year with my cousin
Last month when you were still livin'
But I didn't
I just didn'
I know it wasn't right
That I should've held you tight
At least so I can remember
The last time I told you goodnight
But I can't
I'm sorry I don't know you
I'm sorry I was never near
It's not that I don't care
Now you're part of my prayers
Part of the past
The past is the past
Live in the present
Prepare for the future
That's all I can do
poem by Mariam de Haan
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A Time Machine Mind!
Human mind, dreams, vision and imagination
Can transport one forward and backward in time.
Mind is the time machine to go to past and future
But time never goes backward but only forward;
Also, time never goes in circle but only straight!
Recollection of past is possible in the present;
Visualization of future is possible in the present;
But one cannot go to the past or future ever now!
Hour glass can show the time like clock of today
But it cannot bring back the past to reality now
Or bring to our vision the future of world now!
Mind is the time machine that can read history;
Mind is the same machine to see the future too;
But time never goes to the past but only to future!
poem by Ramesh T A
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The Laughing Apple
Slowly let me tell you a story of a tree
An apple tree,
Once in a summertime garden lived a little apple tree
And the man who owned it wanted it to be picked
So he sent forth to hire me
Well, Ive travelled the mountains, and Ive travelled the sea
But a never in my travelling days
Have I ever seen a little apple smile at me!
Laugh, oh laugh a little apple
Autumn is waitin, youd better be careful,
For it will bring you down
If it ever sees you wearing a frown
So laugh, laugh a little apple
Well all the apples were hidin
Frightened that they might be plucked
And everytime that somebody passed
All except that one little apple ducked
Well, Ive travelled the mountains, and Ive travelled the sea
But a never in my travelling days
Have I ever seen a little apple smile at me!
Laugh, oh laugh a little apple
Autumn is waitin, youd better be careful,
For it will bring you down
If it ever sees you wearing a frown
So laugh, laugh a little apple
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Few Chore
The future is here
I'll say it again
The future is here
Two thousand ten
Flying cars, time-warps
Food comes in pill-form
Robots n' teleports
Progress is still-born
The future came and went
I guess thats the past
The future is coming
I bet it won't last
The past is tomorrow
Or will be next week
Time's a mother****er
The future is bleak.
poem by Les Wordsmore
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Overweight with Food
Are you just a tub of lard and
Vastly overweight?
Do you think that when you die you'll
Need a piano crate
To act as coffin for your frame? -
Chosen as you die in shame, with
Only you to take the blame
For years of eating much the same:
A daily calorific fest
Gourmands of your ilk digest!
Is your heart in final fling and
Nearly set to burst?
Are your arteries bunged and clogged and
Feeling now the worst
For wear? - your aneurysm fit to blow
While blood as thick as rising dough
Cries 'Halt! ' to any hope of flow:
A dreadful state to put on show
In front of any nurse!
Best you hail a hearse.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Gas
my grandmother had a serious gas
problem.
we only saw her on Sunday.
she'd sit down to dinner
and she'd have gas.
she was very heavy,
80 years old.
wore this large glass brooch,
that's what you noticed most
in addition to the gas.
she'd let it go just as food was being served.
she'd let it go in bursts
spaced about a minute apart.
she'd let it go
4 or 5 times
as we reached for the potatoes
poured the gravy
cut into the meat.
nobody ever said anything,
especially me.
I was 6 years old.
only my grandmother spoke.
after 4 or 5 blasts
she would say in an offhand way,
'I'll bury you all!'
I didn't much like that:
first farting
then saying that.
it happened every Sunday.
she was my father's mother.
every Sunday it was death and gas
and mashed potatoes and gravy
and that big glass brooch.
those Sunday dinners would
always end with apple pie and
ice cream
and a big argument
about something or other,
my grandmother finally running out the door
and taking the red train back to
Pasadena
the place stinking for an hour
and my father walking about
fanning a newspaper in the air and
saying, 'it's all that damned sauerkraut
she eats!'
poem by Charles Bukowski
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No Food
I wake up every morning
stomach growling
No food to eat but
Momma won't let me tell nobody
Not even Jesus
When Momma leaves I'm happy because
For a second I think
That when she comes back
She'll have something to eat
But still-no food
The Roman Noodles are gone
Momma ate the last pack this morning
And I'm getting weaker
By the moment
Because there is no food
And when I get to school
I sneak to the bathroom and cry
My friends ask what's wrong
I tell them it's something in my eye
And- they believe me
And when I go home
Which is this abandoned house off in the woods
I hug my Momma because I know she did
The best she could with what she had
It just didn't work out
I didn't blame her because she
Put her trust in a man who
Not only verbally abused her but beat her, too
Which is why I entitle this poem No Food
She apologizes to me everyday
I ask het the reason why
But all she does is close her eyes and cry
And I wash those tears from her eyes
No food
Momma there's no reason to cry
I tell her; and she holds my hand
As tight as she possibly can
And says one day I will understand
And still- we have no food
She dies
Right there in my arms
Ironically the same place she held
Me- in her arms
The day I was born
No food, no lights,
No one around to hear
Finally, all her pain is gone
After all of these years
poem by Ebony Davis
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Your Outsourcing Abilities
Calm down!
What is the matter with you?
You look exasperated.
Irritated AND annoyed.
What happened?
'I arrived home.
And everything was gone.
All of my food.
Icecream and my favorite cookies.'
Gee.
Really?
I saw your buddies doing that.
But...
I didn't think anything about it.
'You witnessed it?
And didn't say a thing about it to them? '
Why should I?
Those are your friends.
Your allies.
And besides on my last visit to your home,
You declared you would do absolutely anything...
To get your hands on season tickets.
Do you remember this?
'Well...
Yes.'
Do you remember telling your 'friends',
Whatever they wanted from you...
They didn't even have to ask.
And whatever it was had been up for grabs?
And all they had to do was to take it from you?
'Well...?
Sorta...kinda.
Why didn't you stop me?
You could have said something.'
I did.
I called you a fool.
And then what did you say,
As your friends looked at both me and you?
'I said...
If anyone knew anything about outsourcing.
It was 'me' and not you who should be calling 'you' names.'
Exactly.
And you are right.
Apparently calling you a fool,
Was not enough.
Especially when you issued each one of your 'buddies',
A set of your house keys...
To come and go as they please.
'But I didn't think they would do anything like this to me.'
Well...
You did show 'your' outsourcing abilities,
At the expense of feeding yourself.
And I hope you are not here,
To accuse or blame me for your activities?
You and your friends do that 'feast or famine' thing together.
Do not involve me.
I am going to sleep, eat and live my life quietly in peace.
Would you like a sandwich?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dog Power
Dog Power
Abandoned she was and hungry so I took her home. she was scared and hid under
the kitchen sink. I put water and food out and went to bed. She ate it all.
In the morning she came out and made it clear she wanted to go out. Well she did
her business and came back in. When she was two years old she grabbed a packet
of cigarettes from the table and tore it up. So I stopped smoking. People had
implored me to stop, no awhile, she did the trick. I never liked having visitors in
the evening but was too polite to say so. Well. She fixed that to. The only thing she
hated was having a bath. After having one she pretended I didn’t exist until
neighbour told her how nice she looked. She didn’t like female dogs, male dogs
she made short shrift of. She woke me up in the morning and if I sat still too long
writing she took me for walk. She had trained me so well that the day she died
I felt quite helpless and didn’t know what to do the following day.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Ballade: Legacy
Within a stalk of fennel hid,
Prometheus took fire for
some poor ancestral hominid,
infuriating Zeus in lore.
Our forbears lived by nature's law
and myth to truth is paradox,
yet when they cooked their food from raw,
they travelled paths unorthodox.
Zeus fashioned clay in counterbid,
first woman, cursed with moral flaw.
Pandora batted sweet eyelid,
Prometheus refused, wherefore
Zeus chained him, while an eagle tore
his liver flayed upon the rocks.
When Titan sought mankind's rapport,
he travelled paths unorthodox.
Zeus gave a jar and then forbid,
Pandora look into it's maw.
Of course, she peeked inside the lid
and helpless, watched the ills outpour.
Does hope remain for us in store?
the vessel, be it jar or box.
When prying led her to explore,
she travelled paths unorthodox.
Shall we live happy evermore?
our bodies shaped by boon and pox.
Will future beings add encore?
They travelled paths unorthodox.
poem by Diane Hine
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Faye the eye of the Storm Part 4
I used to take her out once a month for her food stamps.She didn't even appreciate what I did for her. Thanks to me she didn't lose the food stamps because I told the social worker. She really needed her food stamps live on. written 8/17/08 Posted 11/9/08
poem by Susie Sunshine
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Somewhere between 50 to 60 percent of the food you eat has been touched by immigrant hands, and it is fair to say some of them are not here as they should be here. But if you didn't have these folks, you would be spending a lot more - three, four or five times more - for food, or we would have to import food and have all the food security risks.
quote by Tom Vilsack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pavlov's Dog: Advanced Lesson
Pavlov was a psychologist, I think
Who supplied his dogs with food and drink
But always preceded the giving of the victuals
By ringing a bell, that was his ritual
The dogs became conditioned and would be begin salivating
Upon hearing the bell, which to the food they were relating
Their mind was programmed by this little tinkle
Though they didn't realise it, they had no inkle
The noise of a bell, though it didn't taste or smell like food
Got these dogs in a very hungry mood
Just like smokers are conditioned to relax and unwind
By inhaling noxious fumes which only confuse their mind
(Sydney, Australia - 2006)
poem by Alessandra Liverani
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Food is god
Food is god
for poor people...!
God is not
Only food...
Rich home
Dog is eat
Nice food...
That food is god...?
yes that also
A god...
Good food is
God...
What is good food...?
Given good health
Always good food...
So...
Non veg
Or veg...
Every good food
Is god...
Simply sit
Silentely eat food
With out hot
And cool drinks...
Food is not only
Poor's god...
With each and
Every one also
food is god...
Give respect and
Take food...
Happley too try too
Thank for god...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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25 Minutes
After some time I've finally made up my mind
She is the girl and I really want to make her mine
I'm searching everywhere to find her again
To tell her I love her
And I'm sorry 'bout the things I've done
I find her standing in front of the church
The only place in town where I didn't search
She looks so happy in her wedding dress
But she's crying while she's saying this
Chorus:
Boy I missed your kisses all the time but this is
Twenty five minutes too late
Though you travelled so far boy I'm sorry you are
Twenty five minutes too late
Against the wind I'm going home again
Wishing be back to the time when we were more than
friends
Still I see her in front of the church
The only place in town where I didn't search
She looks so happy in her wedding dress
But she's cried while she's saying this
Chorus
Out in the streets
Places where hungry hearts have nothing to eat
Inside my head
Still I can hear the words she said
I can still hear what she said
song performed by by Michael Learns To Rock from Colours
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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