Biscuits and Bread
Though moulded of the same dough,
were all cast of a different mould,
most rise soft and springy as bread,
other misfits end up as biscuits instead,
yet none wants to be the thing that they were born and bred,
to be,
and it baffles me, the irony,
that though there's time for each,
in any ordinary bakery,
bread soon tries to harden,
and winds up stale instead,
and biscuits crumble, become brittle,
soon as they try to soften,
and be bread.
poem by Kevin Gachuma Waithaka
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Bread Hair
Im a wigged-out daddy with bread on top
I dig an easy-bake granny with a whiskey mop
If you love me, you neednt the whole wheat crop
cause they had a useless battle andll never stop
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Youre drivin all my hope away
Im a pumpernickel-do for you, dough you do
Use a yarmulka of hallah bread if youre a jew
I belong to cayope*, I be the wheat for you
Yeast and flour, bake an hour, its annoying shampoo
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Drivin all my hope away
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Bread hair, oh boy, oh boy
Youre drivin all my hope away
Thats a gone rug, buddy
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XIII:The light that rises from your feet to your hair
The light that rises from your feet to your hair,
the strength enfolding your delicate form,
are not mother of pearl, not chilly silver:
you are made of bread, a bread the fire adores.
The grain grew high in its harvest of you,
in good time the flour swelled;
as the dough rose, doubling your breasts,
my love was the coal waiting ready in the earth.
Oh, bread your forehead, your legs, your mouth,
bread I devour, born with the morning light,
my love, beacon-flag of the bakeries:
fire taugh you a lesson of the blood;
you learned your holiness from flour,
from bread your language and aroma.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Bacon Biscuit Blues
Put your biscuits in the oven
Honey, put your buns in bed
I wanna come inside your kitchen
Wanna taste your shortening bread
I want to jump into your skillet
Honey, tickle your home fries
I gotta hambone working fill it
Wont you try it on for size
Uh uh uh uh uh
Baby ask me no questions
Ill tell you no lies
Put your biscuits in the oven
Honey, watch my dumplin
Rise up - early in the morning
Rise up - late at night
Rise up - gotta get me a warning
Rise up - gonna whet your appetite
Gonna shake and bake you honey
I want a catcher in the rye
I wanna sop up all your gravy
From your deep dish apple pie
So open up your menu
I wanna slice your honey dew
I love it honey when you
Do me like you do
Uh uh uh uh uh
And if you ask me no questions
And tell me no lies
Put your biscuits in the oven
Honey, watch my dumplin
Rise up - early in the morning
Rise up - late late late at night
Rise up - giving me no warning
Rise up - gonna wet your appetite
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry as bread - In the spirit of Rumi 28
Poetry is like bread – daily bread,
like ‘Irish’ soda bread, best eaten on its day:
In the bakery of the heart and mind,
the baker’s woken early before dawn,
refreshed and clear of purpose, full of the day’s promise;
brings air to flour, moulds and shapes;
as the sun rises, so the bread.
Here it is, warm from the heart,
smell it – this is the smell of goodness, isn’t it?
Touch it, both crisp and soft by turns;
taste its goodness, beauty, truth, its very being;
this is not yesterday’s bread, with which you toy
while waiting between courses, your head’s straying mind
in a thousand other places; this is here and now;
coming warm from the heart; eat it with your heart;
this is the heart’s nourishment; tomorrow it may serve
tomorrow’s mind; today, it is your daily bread,
your nourishment – this poem, warm from heart to heart.
And when you've eaten it - the bread has disappeared -
only your satisfaction remains, beyond all sense;
as these words, already staling on the page,
exposed to all the wanderings of the mind;
only the love that they were made with, still remains;
this, is your daily bread.
[from a metaphor in Rumi's writings]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Sexy Ginger Bread Man
On his body is a ginger bread thong
To soften you up he sings a sweet sugar song
If you hit on him he’ll play along
He’s the sexy ginger bread man
He’ll seduce you with candy wine
One a scale from 1-10 he is a 9
Girls look at him and say, “He’s so fine”
He’s the sexy ginger bread man
On his face are peanut butter eyes
He has powdered sugar on his manly thighs
He will reel you in with his seductive lies
He’s the sexy ginger bread man
On this neck is a chain of candy
Around the house he can be handy
If you add frosting he can be pretty randy
He’s the sexy ginger bread man
Out of the batch he is the pick
He has a giant ginger bread stick
It has rainbow sprinkles on it
He’s the sexy ginger bread man
You bite the chain and swallow the thong
Eat the stick which is very long
You gobble him up till he’s all gone
NO MORE sexy ginger bread man
poem by Paul Celano
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Bread is wiser
Butter is richer than bread
But can’t replace bread.
But butter is better with bread
For which is not sad the bread.
Wives are not wiser than bread.
05.02.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Gingerbread
'Gingerbread,
Go to the head.
Your task is done;
A soul is won.
Take it and go
Where muffins grow,
Where sweet loaves rise
To the very skies,
And biscuits fair
Perfume the air.
Away, away!
Make no delay;
In the sea of flour
Plunge this hour.
Safe in your breast
Let the yeast-cake rest,
Till you rise in joy,
A white bread boy!'
poem by Louisa May Alcott
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Feathers on head
The one who sings on God does so for one’s bread.
The one who spells gospel does so for one’s bread.
The one who serves God does so for one’s bread.
You give them bread and keep them on your head.
16.01.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Don't Risk Your Biscuits
Don't risk your biscuits.
Keep those biscuits mystic.
If they're found delicious,
Keep the people licking their lips.
Do not risk those biscuits,
For suggestions or tips.
From others who just want them to be,
Buttered and split!
When you took them out the oven,
You knew then the flavor would...
Bring joy to some.
Like no others had done.
And when they jellied up those biscuits,
With a favorite beverage...
A stirring had begun.
Making your biscuits their number one.
Do not risk those biscuits,
For suggestions or tips.
From others who just want them to be,
Buttered and split!
Eaten and enjoyed.
Making a habit of it!
You can choose and decide,
If you want them addicted!
But...
When you took them out the oven,
You knew then the flavor would...
Bring joy to some.
Like no others had done.
So...
Don't risk your biscuits.
Keep those biscuits mystic.
If they're found delicious,
Keep the people licking their lips.
Knowing only you,
Can do these biscuits like this!
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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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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Heat of Hunger
'Jesus took the Loaves,
Gave thanks,
And distributed them.'
In a bakery the poor baker rolls the dough with water and his sweat.
Bakery owner is a registered miser among the poor folks
Who never throws a bread crumb to a crow.
The stray smoke rises from chimney to the helpless sky in its usual rhythm
And I see a man who sits on the pavement just opposite the bakery.
He must be a homeless and he thinks if he's the baker
Then he could have swallow a cookie easily.
Saliva comes out from his toothless mouth
Like in a leaked urban tap.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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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Crying For Bread
"Please, lady! please pay my Ma for her sewing;
The suit fits you splendidly--that you'll allow.
Oh! don't say tomorrow! I see you are going;
But this will not hinder long--please pay me now.
Ma work'd all night for you! ev'ry minute;
Now she lies groaning with pain in her head;
And there by the pantry (with not a thing in it),
Sits poor little Theodore crying for bread!
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!"
"On! driver, on! they have all gone before us,
And I will not be late at the ball," Beauty said;
And wintry winds echoed her answer in chorus
With poor little Theodore crying for bread!
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!
"Please lady! please pay my Ma for her sewing;
I'll run and get change for you. Don't call me bold--
But how could you dance tonight all the time knowing
That we were left suffering, hungry and cold?
Ma looks so wild! she keeps calling for Daisy;
That was the name of my sister that's dead.
Oh! what shall I do, with my Ma going crazy,
And poor little Theodore cryiing for bread?
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!"
"Please lady! please pay my Ma for her sewing;
She must have some medicine--that let me buy.
Now, don't speak of beggars! 'tis money you're owing:
Do please, pay me part of it--else we must die."
On the wheels roll'd, and Fidele returned weeping;
Ah! in her absence a spirit had fled,
And morning light found her a weary watch keeping,
With poor little Theodore crying for bread!
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!"
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Shortenin Bread
Mamas little baby loves shortenin shortenin
Mamas little baby loves shortenin bread
Mamas little baby loves shortenin shortenin
Mamas little baby loves shortenin bread
Put on the skillet
Slip on the lid
Mammys gonna make us some shortenin bread
And that aint all
Our mammys gonna do
Shes gonna cook us some coffee, too
Mamas little baby loves shortenin shortenin
Mamas little baby loves shortenin bread
Mamas little baby loves shortenin shortenin
Mamas little baby loves shortenin bread
Mamas little baby loves shortenin shortenin
Mamas little baby loves shortenin bread
I slipped in the kitchen
Raised up the lid
I stole me a mess o that shortenin bread
I walked up to a pretty girl and I said
Baby howd you like some shortenin bread
Mamas little baby loves shortenin shortenin
Mamas little baby loves shortenin bread
Mamas little baby loves shortenin shortenin
Mamas little baby loves shortenin bread
They caught me with the skillet
They caught me with the lid
They caught me with the girl eatin shortenin bread
Six months for the skillet
Six months for the lid
Now Im doin time for eatin shortenin bread
Mamas little baby loves shortenin shortenin
Mamas little baby loves shortenin bread
Mamas little baby loves shortenin shortenin
Mamas little baby loves shortenin bread
Shortenin
Shortenin bread
Shortenin
Shortenin bread
Mamas little baby loves shortenin shortenin
Mamas little baby loves shortenin bread
Mamas little baby loves shortenin shortenin
Mamas little baby loves shortenin bread
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By pounding the dough the bread will rise.
South African proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Daily Bread
"Give me my daily bread.
It seems so odd,
When all is done and said,
This plea to God.
To pray for cake might be
The thing to do;
But bread, it seems to me,
Is just our due.
"Give me my daily toil,"
I ought to say -
(If from life's cursed coil
I'd time to pray.)
Give me my daily sweat,
My body sore,
So that bread I may get
To toil for more.
"Give me my daily breath,"
Through half a sob,
Until untimely death
Shall end my job.
A crust for my award,
I cry in dread:
"Grant unto me. Oh Lord,
My daily bread!"
poem by Robert William Service
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Contentment
Bed and bread are all I need
In my happy day;
Love of Nature is my creed,
Unto her I pray;
Sun and sky my spirit feed
On my happy way.
To no man I bow the head,
None may master me;
I will eat my crust of bread
Lauding liberty;
And upon my truckle bed
Glory to be free.
You who grab for sordid gold,
You who fight for fame,
Shiny dross your fingers hold,
Empty is your aim.
--Soon we fatten graveyard mould,
Rich and poor the same.
So from world of want and woe
I retreat with dread;
Tuned to Nature glad I go
With my bite of bread:
Praising God I lay me low
On my truckle bed.
poem by Robert William Service
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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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Eat A Bagel
The circle of bread happens to us in reality,
I call mine a bagel, you call yours something;
Rolls I withstand til the end of Time,
The differently baked food is always mine.
The real cooks have gin and all the wandering
In the kitchen, like the ones that do a job.
May we extract rolls and loaves from their hands
As we have from our predecessors, like that.
The circles of bread are finer to behold
Than the ones of stickiness and dough.
poem by Naveed Akram
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