5. Bus into Town
I got on the bus
And went to the shops
Called in at the butchers
For six lean pork chops
Then onto the bakers
A large loaf of bread
Would you like it sliced
The kind baker said
After the slicing
Bought two current buns
A small teatime treat
For our two hungry sons
The greengrocers next
For mushrooms one pound
I don’t like those kilos
They’re awkward I’ve found
With bags fully laden
A paper for reading
Then back on the bus
No more shopping I’m needing
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Picture Of Greed
on one hand
he carries a
big loaf of bread
on the other
he carries a
basket
of the same
loaf of bread
on his head
is another
basket of
the same loaf
of bread
a little child
spreads his
hands for
a loaf of bread
then he speeds
his way
as he bites
a loaf of
bread in
his mouth
the little child
follows him
and there he
is closing the
door of his
house all
made of bread
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sliced Bread
Sliced bread...
Whole wheat and toasted.
Buttered with jam,
And munched.
Either with tea, punch...
Or just plain water for lunch!
Sliced bread...
With cheddar cheese and tomato.
Add Romaine lettuce,
Topped with fried strips of bacon.
This too will certainly do.
Sliced bread...
Oatmeal raisin,
Oven baked and fed.
Sliced bread...
Crumbed to stuff a turkey.
And seasoned to gobble...
With an aftertaste on the tongue,
Deliciously nutmeged!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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After Many Days
I'VE always been a faithful man
An' tried to live for duty,
But the stringent mode of life
Has somewhat lost its beauty.
The story of the generous bread
He sent upon the waters,
Which after many days returns
To trusting sons and daughters,
Had oft impressed me, so I want
My soul influenced by it,
And bought a loaf of bread and sought
A stream where I could try it.
I cast my bread upon the waves
And fancied then to await it;
It had not floated far away
When a fish came up and ate it.
And if I want both fish and bread,
And surely both I'm wanting,
About the only way I see
Is for me to go fishing.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Supermarket Shopping
A pound in the slot and out comes the chain,
It's Saturday supermarket shopping again,
And so I've obtained my large wire trolley,
And when shopping, you certainly need loads of lolly!
The shelves will be stacked with goodies galore,
There are loads to be seen from ceiling to floor,
Things that we need and things for a treat,
Food to have cold and food you must heat.
Bright coloured fruit and vegetables are,
Good for your health and keep you up to par,
Bread, rolls and biscuits, crisps and savoury snacks,
On their own, or in multiple packs.
Cheeses and yogurts, cream, butter and milk,
Some with strong flavours and some smooth as silk,
Sauces and pickles, mustards and dips,
Bacon, eggs, sausages, mushrooms and chips.
What gorgeous thoughts the word 'food' conjures up,
Especially if you're hungry and you wish to sup,
The aromas and spices, and sweet things and sour,
Shortcrust and flaky pastries, both of which are made with flour.
All kinds of fish dishes like haddock and dab,
Sardine, pilchard, tuna, anchovy and crab,
Squid if you like, it is lovely when fried,
It's really delicious to eat, have you tried?
Salmon of course, is the best of the lot,
This is a fish you can serve cold or hot,
With a salad to garnish, the taste is divine,
It's really become a great favourite of mine.
Desserts are mouth watering, they just have to be bought,
From gateaux's with chocolate, or a raspberry torte,
Strawberry pavlovas, or nutty meringues.
Each and everyone of them will answer your pangs.
Bottles of wine, of red and of white,
Champagne to drink on that one special night,
Maybe a gin, a vodka or sherry,
But with all of this, you can soon become merry.
So reaching the 'cash out' you stand there and check,
On all that you've purchased, it's only a speck,
Of what was on offer, one could buy up the lot,
But most likely you're contented with what you have got.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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5. The Baker
I remember in the fifties the baker and his van
He brought many treats for everyone to buy
I remember how he took his time to let you have a look
And pointed out the new lines we should try
I remember all the sliced bread came in paper with a wax
As the unsliced just sat there all crusty bare
I remember all the bread trays with co-op on the side
Holding fresh cream cakes for all of us to share
I remember all the neighbours with kids queued in the street
All the women with their rollers under scarf
I remember paisley pinny’s full of things that they had bought
And the ladies who liked butter in a half
I remember he came twice a week the first call was on tick
He listed everything within a book
I remember at the weekend when he came around again
We had more and settled up for what we’d took
I remember all the things he sold were loose in ones and twos
You could have a look then buy just what you need
I remember as he drove away without a second look
We all rushed inside to have a special feed
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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I Guess You Can Say That I Am Hungry
I GUESS now that i have packed my bags
finally deciding to take this break away from you
for some other place that you need not know
for someone that may show
the care that i need
the love that i badly wish for
I GUESS you can say that i am hungry not for bread
or pasta or steak or
sex,
I AM HUNGRY FOR SOMETHING else
for words for some healthy conversations
for laughter
for silly talks we use to indulge before
for some lighter things,
for anything goes,
i need to loaf i need to float i have been anchored that long
i sense there is something wrong
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As the baker, so the buns; as the father, so the sons.
Here there will be different buns, said the baker, he ""sat down"" on the bread shovel.
Pork Chops are Fun
chop chop chop the pork squeals over dinner
with it's fatty bits and tasty bites
it marinates on a stick over hot coal
who will taste it first who will finish the bowl
Wow Pork Chops with red wine
then dinner will be divine
chop chop chop the pork is done
with ginger, wine and lots of fun
it's time to have with a salty bun
chop chop chop see it go in the oven my friends
it's dinner time lets eat it all
then lets sit together and have a ball
chop chop chop the pork tastes good
with the meat so tender it bloody weel should
sometimes on the pan sometimes as a roast
call your freinds for dinner it's a dish one can boast
chop chop chop the pork is done
sprikle a little wine to make things bright
then the meat put it on light
watch it burn and tremble with delight
chop chop chop my pork chops are done
poem by Anuj Tikku
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5. Memories of Good Grub
I remember in the fifties we had dripping on our bread
Sprinkled well with salt for extra taste
I remember black pork jelly from the bottom of the dish
Was a relish to be savoured not to waste?
I remember fetching winkles always sold to us in pints
That took ages to get out with just a pin
I remember all the winkle shell looked like a load of snails
And the juicy ones that dribbled down your chin
I remember lumpy porridge milk and sugar on the top
Setting hard enough to cut yourself a slice
I remember having nightmares after having two large bowls
To describe it one would never call it nice
I remember red polony in its plastic sort of skin
Tried and tried our best but couldn’t make it spread
I remember trays of faggots from the butchers for our tea
Though some folks called them savoury ducks instead
I remember being told that I’d remember
The good things as well as the bad
I remember those large Yorkshire puddings
Where the best thing that we’d ever had
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Ma Baker
She was the meanest cat
In old chicago town
She was the meanest cat
She really moved them down
She had no heart at all
No no no heart at all
She was the meanest cat
Oh she was really tough
She left her husband flat
He wasnt tough enough
She took her boys along
cos they were mean and strong
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she taught her four sons
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - to handle their guns
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she never could cry
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - but she knew how to die
They left a trail of crime
Across the u.s.a.
And when one boy was killed
She really made them pay
She had no heart at all
No no no heart at all
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she taught her four sons
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - to handle their guns
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she never could cry
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - but she knew how to die
She met a man she liked
She thought shed stay with him
One day he formed with them
They did away with him
She didnt care at all
Just didnt care at all
- here is a special bulletin.
Ma baker is the fbis most wanted woman.
Her photo is hanging on every post office wall.
If you have any information about this woman,
Please contact the nearest police station...
- dont anybody move! the money or your lives!
One day they robbed a bank
It was their last foray
The cops appeared too soon
They couldnt get away
And all the loot they had
It made them mighty mad
And so they shot it out
Ma baker and her sons
They didnt want to hang
They died with blazing guns
And so the story ends
Of one who left no friends
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she taught her four sons
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - to handle their guns
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she never could cry
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - but she knew how to die
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she taught her four sons
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - to handle their guns
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - she never could cry
Ma ma ma ma - ma baker - but she knew how to die
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Critical Notebook 1.
in the small shop
adult people
they are doing
the shopping
on a graph-paper
exercise book
owner lightly
is smiling
he will
sometimes add
the free slice
of bread
this bread
is tasting
best with tears
when quietly you
are cutting with
the sharp knife
...
poem by Maria Barbara Korynt
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My Shopping List
I write my shopping-list in rhyme.
It doesn’t take me too much time,
and always helps me to remember.
(I’ve been doing it since last September.)
Wholemeal bread
low-fat spread
strawberry jam
dry-cured ham
Cheddar cheese
frozen peas
free-range eggs
chicken legs
grape jelly
pork belly
lamb chops
lemon drops
fillet steak
chocolate cake
cookie mix
seafood sticks
tortilla chips
salsa dips
instant coffee
treacle toffee
dried sultanas
ripe bananas
runner beans
a bunch of greens
new potatoes
vine tomatoes
and (really urgent)
liquid detergent.
That’s my shopping-list in verse.
Not very good? Could have been worse!
poem by Paul Hansford
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Pane Caldo
Rising in the morning
like warm bread,
from a bed
in America,
the aroma
of my baking
reaches you
in Italy,
rocking in your boat
near the Ponte Longo,
cutting through the glitter
of yesterday's moonlight
on your sunstruck
canal.
My delicious baker-
it is you
who have made
this hot bread
rise.
It is you
who have split the loaf
and covered it with butter.
I prayed to the moon
streaking the still lagoon
with her skyblue manna;
I prayed for you
to sail into my life,
parting the waters,
making them whole.
And here you come,
half captain, half baker-
& the warm aroma of bread
crosses
the ocean
we share.
poem by Erica Jong
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I Don't Recommend Sardines
I use to love my cabbage with potatos,
Buttered and baked.
And with fired pork chops!
Crispy too!
And that's what I ate.
Until I rediscovered,
A fresh salad with tomatos.
And...
With a slice of pound cake.
To me this was great.
But I don't recommend sardines,
For certain people.
Or acquiring a taste for rare steak...
Served to drip,
With a bleeding done on paper plates.
No...
I don't recommend sardines,
For certain people.
Or acquiring a taste for rare steak...
Served to drip,
With a bleeding done on paper plates.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Shopping Bags
I hate these shopping bags
They weigh my body down
They keep me on the beaten track
They break every bone in my back
To a doctor's note i must defer
My life, I do concur
For what may be must be
And what may not be cannot see
I'll throw away my shopping bags
And see how far you throw me
To Guava, Java, Bali, Mali
To study, to lecture, to teach, to hurt
To suckle the teat of wisdom that does not exist
But whatever the sucklers say
The revolution has begun
It is within our hearts and minds
Because if one human, not a man nor a woman
Can preach like John Paul to mass
Like Darwin to a class
Like Kennedy to a nation
Like King for a tiny piece of salvation
Then we can all dropp our shopping bags
poem by Matt Pocock
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Reservation For One
This is my tree, my tree, my tree,
My one lone tree, pear tree,
It grows, overflows, it grows it’s fruit,
Alone, only for me.
If I could go to a far-away place,
With just me and my tree, pear tree,
I’d pack my bags, my bags I’d pack,
I’d pick up my bags and flee.
There’s nothing at all, no nothing,
At all, that films me more with glee,
Than those globes, those globes,
Of precious fruit in my tree, pear tree.
I sit beneath, beneath I sit,
Its laden canopy, I polish it’s leafs then,
Set a table of fruits,
Of wine, and bread and brie.
This tree, my tree, could feed the world,
Find me a wife and camaraderie,
It’s powers, it’s powers are vast but I
Can’t pass on its secret sadly.
I’d tell the world, the world I’d tell,
If they weren’t all so hungry, you see.
But my fruit, my fruits, my laboured.
Fruits, I grew only for me, for me,
No none are as hungry as me.
poem by Suzanne Louise Bishop
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6. Must Have
Special offers at my superstore
Get bigger every day
With savings on their bulk buys
Reducing what we pay
I bought a pack of toilet rolls
Fifteen’s but paid for twelve’s
It seemed a super bargain
Taking three more from the shelves
Lots of chocolate biscuits
If you buy one get one free
This also seemed a super deal
So I bought another three
If you bought a jar of coffee
With extra you got bigger
Two of those instead of one
Would change our shopping figure
I bought some bread and butter
With a great big leg of lamb
Fifty mini picnic pies
Plus slices of cooked ham
Lots of things I didn’t need
Filled high my shopping barrow
I’d only gone to buy some milk
And I’d even bought a marrow
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Fat Man in Love
Did you ever think that some fat old git
Would start behaving as if you're
The best thing since sliced bread?
And think about you all the time?
I can tell you this guy's really, really hungry
And it's not for sliced bread! !
Do you think I'm saying what shouldn't be said?
I'm lying here alone in bed
And even the cat's giving me a cold shoulder!
Perhaps I should pray to the Virgin Mary
That I could be pure in heart!
I love you so much, dear friend,
I love you so much I could eat you alive! !
Give me a chance and don't throw me
Into that infernal lake of loneliness and broken hearts!
Take my love and don't trample it into the dust.
Have mercy on me,
How my heart bleeds and bleeds!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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What for is money?
I thought on how could be the life
Without having to work for money.
After all this is the money which we work for.
Had we only have enough money to spend
We won’t have to toil our body or brain.
Solution also seemed very easy to me.
Just have a lot of mints to mint money.
Make as much money as may people need
Give them as much as may people want.
All problems are seemingly soon gone.
The root of all evils I thought could be
the root of happiness of all kind instead.
“How could this easy way out be overlooked? ”
Thinking furthermore I thought.
We need mints and we need paper and ink.
We need banks and a lot of ATMs.
People will get money and go for shopping
So we need ample shops. In shops we need products.
We need make shops and we need make products.
but we also need people to run them.
So some people will make paper and some ink.
Some other will work in mints and banks.
Some will work in shops and making products.
Rest all the people will only happily buy things.
Thinking up to here my thought jumbled.
People needed money so they worked.
If money was available for doing no work
Then why should there be anyone to work?
If no one works then where from comes paper and ink?
Where from comes money, banksand ATMs?
Where from then comes products?
Without products how could then we live and enjoy?
So we need products and for products we need to work,
to get people into the works we need money.
So it was that money could not be made free.
I thought 'People have already thought it before me.'
poem by Palas kumar Ray
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