Chicken Soup
White haired and gay in London
with that determination born
of fleeing from Vienna
A Jew breaking up her life
Her echoing flat crammed
Zed-beds put-u-ups and bedding
in every room and corner Waiting
Visitors always Welcome Welcome
-
The gas and charnel-house
taking her family future
Remaining bones white-lining paths
Crunching underfoot like sea shells
-
A sister an extended cousin to put up
They stayed a while On breezes floated
one sailed to America
one - hollow-centred - to New Zealand
-
The cruise ship docking in Southampton
to a seventies rail strike Passengers travelling
no further home than London
filled every zed-bed put-u-up and sofa
Partied Welcome Welcome for three long days
Ghosts of Miriam and Hymie Solomon and little David
sharing chicken soup steaming up
hovering above each sleeping person
-
Wresting her body and faith
away from Jehovah's blank face
She put it into people Welcome Welcome
Smiling and laughing fifty years beyond Vienna
-
Ranked in Golder's Green Red brick
Crematorium number four bore the name Gretl
Replaced by someone else's twenty minutes later
Flocked friends remembered her Welcome Welcome
Returning to her home with chicken soup and laughter
22Jan1997 CPR
poem by Charlotte Peters Rock
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Related quotes
Panacea
Panacea for the worlds ills.
Chicken soup in America.
'Mr President, the twin-towers
were destroyed by el caida terrorists.'
The President replies:
'You wouldn't have any chicken soup
on you, would you? '
A cup of tea in England.
'Prime Minister, the nazis have bombed
the shyte out of London.'
Prime Minister replies:
'Bastards, we'd better have a cup of tea
and think about this.'
poem by Jerry Hughes
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Urban
the old crone
slurping up
essence of chicken
soup
as though
it were chicken soup
itself, mis
taking the hum in
her veins
for the ima
gined chicken’s part
ing gift
while
I know it to be
no more
than hot
water’s mo
mentary warming,
and how mo
mentary when even naked
flame would howl
and wiggle
an in
jured fing
er, frost
bitten, coming
too close
to the
waft of de
parting chill.
[From: How Do You Withstand, Body; Publisher: Clearing House, Mumbai, 1976]
poem by Gieve Patel
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London Boys
Cow bell strikes another night
Your eyes are heavy and your limbs all ache
You've bought some coffee, butter and bread
You can't make a thing cause the meter's dead
You moved away
Hold your folks you're gonna stay away
Bright lights, Soho, Wardour street
You hope you make friends with the guys that you meet
Somebody shows you round
Now you've met the London boys
Things seem good again, someone cares about you
Oh, the first time that you tried a pill
You feel a little queasy, decidedly ill
You're gonna be sick, but you mustn't lose faith
To let yourself down would be a big disgrace
With the London boys, with the London boys
You're only seventeen, but you think you've grown
In the month you've been away from your parents' home
You take the pills too much
You don't give a damn about that jobs you've got
So long as you're with the London boys
A London boy, oh a London boy
Your flashy clothes are your pride and joy
A London boy, a London boy
You think you've had a lot of fun
But you ain't got nothing, you're on the run
It's too late now, cause you're out there boy
You've got it made with the rest of the toys
Now you wish you'd never left your home
You've got what you wanted but you're on your own
With the London boys
Now you've met the London boys
Now you've met the London boys
Now you've met the London boys
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hailstone Food
My father loved the rain
Rain with hailstones
Twenty years gone past
When green and blue
Was all I knew
No red of blood
Nor ‘supreme’ of white
Nor ‘beauty’ of black
Just green and blue and love
It rained with hailstones
White stones from heaven
My father knelt down
On wet September grass
His head to the sky
Few stones in his hands
My father said
‘‘Thank you Lord for hailstone food! ”
I recall less of other days
When it didn’t rain
Perhaps such days were spent
Patiently waiting to say
“Thank you Lord for hailstone food! ”
Twenty years long wait
Four hearts waiting, breaking
My father waiting, breaking
Waiting! ?
But every body waited for him
I think my father never knew
About the power within him
To make the rain fall
Down once again
And hailstones to scatter
His September lawn
I know now
He was a patient man
Yesterday I dug a hole
And I closed a chapter
With all my childhood’s tears
I put my father in the ground
Funny this:
As the body went down
The clouds began collecting
As the sand filled the hole
The rain began to fall
And as we left the site
White stones scattered the land
poem by LLM Mbatha
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From the Bush
The Channel fog has lifted –
And see where we have come!
Round all the world we've drifted,
A hundred years from "home".
The fields our parents longed for –
Ah! we shall ne'er know how –
The wealth that they were wronged for
We'll see as strangers now!
The Dover cliffs have passed on –
In the morning light aglow –
That our fathers looked their last on
A weary time ago.
Now grin, and grin your bravest!
We need be strong to fight;
For you go home to picture
And I go home to write.
Hold up your head in England,
Tread firm on London streets;
We come from where the strong heart
Of all Australia beats!
Hold up your head in England
However poor you roam!
For no men are your betters
Who never sailed from home!
From a hundred years of hardships –
'Tis ours to tell the cost –
From a thousand miles of silence
Where London would be lost;
From where the glorious sunset
On sweeps of mulga glows –
Ah! we know more than England,
And more than Europe knows!
Hold up your head in London,
However poor you come,
For no man is your better
Who never sailed from home!
Our "home" and foreign fathers,
Where none but men dared go,
Have done more for the White Man
Than England e'er shall know!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Into White
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice
Tables of paper wood, windows of light
And everything emptying into white.
A simple garden, with acres of sky
A brown-haired dogmouse
If one dropped by
Yellow delanie would sleep well at night
With everything emptying into white.
A sad blue eyed drummer rehearses outside
A black spider dancing on top of his eye
Red legged chicken stands ready to strike
And everything emptying into white.
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice...
And everything emptying into white
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Summary History of Lord Clive
About a hundred and fifty years ago,
History relates it happened so,
A big ship sailed from the shores of Britain
Bound for India across the raging main.
And many of the passengers did cry and moan
As they took the last look of their old home,
Which they were fast leaving far behind,
And which some of them would long bear in mind.
Among the passengers was a youth about seventeen years old,
Who had been a wild boy at home and very bold,
And by his conduct had filled his parent's hearts with woe,
Because to school he often refused to go.
And now that he was going so far away from home,
The thought thereof made him sigh and groan,
For he felt very sad and dejected were his looks,
And he often wished he had spent more time at his books.
And when he arrived in India he searched for work there,
And got to be a clerk in a merchant's office, but for it he didn't care;
The only pleasure he found was in reading books,
And while doing so, sad and forlorn were his looks.
One day while feeling unhappy he fired a pistol at his own head,
Expecting that he would kill himself dead;
But the pistol wouldn't go off although he tried every plan,
And he felt sorry, and resolved to become a better man.
So Clive left his desk and became a soldier brave,
And soon rose to be a captain and manfully did behave;
For he beat the French in every battle,
After all their foolish talk and prattle.
Then he thought he would take a voyage home to his friends,
And for his bad behaviour towards them he would make some amends;
For he hadn't seen them for many years,
And when he thought of them he shed briny tears.
And when he arrived in London
The people after him in crowds did run;
And they flocked to see him every minute,
Because they thought him the most famous man in it.
And all the greatest people in the land
Were proud to shake him by the hand;
And they gave him a beautiful sword because he had fought so well
And of his bravery the people to each other did tell.
And when his own friends saw him they to him ran,
And they hardly knew him, he looked so noble a man;
And his parents felt o'erjoyed when they saw him home again,
And when he left his parents again for India it caused them great pain.
But it was a good thing Clive returned to India again,
Because a wicked prince in his territory wouldn't allow the british to remain,
And he resolved to drive them off his land,
And marched upon them boldly with thousands of his band.
But the bad prince trembled when he heard that Clice had come,
Because the British at the charge of the bayonet made his army run;
And the bad prince was killed by one of his own band,
And the British fortunately got all his land.
And nearly all India now belongs to this country,
Which has been captured by land and by sea,
By some of the greatest men that ever did live,
But the greatest of them all was Robert Clive.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Our House With The Rotary Phone
I sit in a room that no longer exists
On a chair long since splintered and gone
While I pick at a meal I once would devour
in our house with the rotary phone.
I sit in the room that doesn’t exist
Enjoying my choice of ice creams
Recalling the window in Tiffany glass
Forgive an old man his daydreams
A simple “A” frame with three beds and a bath,
obsolete, yes, but our home.
It stood with its’ sisters on Queens borough Hill,
where the L.I.E. jams are well known.
I had known for some time that her best days were gone
A plywood fence circled our home
Title had passed to a contractor’s hands
Neglected, our house looked forlorn
My past like a picture ripped from its frame
They left not a stone on a stone
Not even the numbers on wood painted green
of our house with the rotary phone.
Our house and its twin have been wrecked and removed
And replaced with a modern brick “home”
So pardon my tear as I stand at the bier
Of our house with the rotary phone
poem by John F. McCullagh
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An American in Europe
'Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,
To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the kings, --
But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.
So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;
But when it comes to living there is no place like home.
I like the German fir-woods, in green battalions drilled;
I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled;
But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a day
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her way!
I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack:
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free, --
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.
So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea,
To the blessed Land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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America for Me
'Tis fine to see the Old World and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,
To admire the crumblyh castles and the statues and kings
But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.
So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;
But when it comes to living there is no place like home.
I like the German fir-woods in green battalions drilled;
I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing foutains filled;
But, oh, to take your had, my dear, and ramble for a day
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her sway!
I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack!
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free--
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.
Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!
I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea,
To the blessed Land of Room Enough, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Ode to Chickens
An Ode to Chickens
Oh chicken, oh chicken,
With orange little feet,
All white and fluffy,
So good to eat,
Oh chicken, oh chicken,
I will get you so fat,
Then I will kill you,
And eat you at last
poem by Trevor Cummins
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The London Boys
Cow bell strikes another night
Your eyes are heavy and your limbs all ache
Youve bought some coffee, butter and bread
You cant make a thing cause the meters dead
You moved away
Hold your folks youre gonna stay away
Bright lights, soho, wardour street
You hope you make friends with the guys that you meet
Somebody shows you round
Now youve met the london boys
Things seem good again, someone cares about you
Oh, the first time that you tried a pill
You feel a little queasy, decidedly ill
Youre gonna be sick, but you mustnt lose faith
To let yourself down would be a big disgrace
With the london boys, with the london boys
Youre only seventeen, but you think youve grown
In the month youve been away from your parents home
You take the pills too much
You dont give a damn about that jobs youve got
So long as youre with the london boys
A london boy, oh a london boy
Your flashy clothes are your pride and joy
A london boy, a london boy
You think youve had a lot of fun
But you aint got nothing, youre on the run
Its too late now, cause youre out there boy
Youve got it made with the rest of the toys
Now you wish youd never left your home
Youve got what you wanted but youre on your own
With the london boys
Now youve met the london boys
Now youve met the london boys
Now youve met the london boys
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dilema Of Going Home
Two decades now
Have I lived in America
And my mother
Calling from far away Africa,
Also my little sister
She propably was told of America
They all weap in my
dreams these days,
They want me back in Africa
To build the threshold of my father
That is far gone in decadence.
.
Home, I am coming home
To see my mothers face again
And my little sister Franscisca
She must be a woman by now.
But tell me brothers;
How could I ever go back to Africa
When I yet do not have wings for flight?
.
What would I say to the hungry
eyes of my mother, my sister?
What would I say to friends I left
behind my Africa ten years ago?
What would I say when they asked:
What have you brought for old
buddies you left behind ten years ago.
.
Ten years is long enough time
to be away from home,
And yet have nothing to show
for the labours.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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3 Days After You Were In School
It landed on Mars! !
And,3 days after you were in school;
Oh yes, you started school 3 days after 'Curiosity' landed on Mars.
He won the 100 Metres in London and,
3 days after you were in school;
She won the 100 Metres in London and,
3 days after you were in school;
And like the muse of the green men and the green women!
But, the green room is now waiting for the children.
The white light came in to direct you!
With words of care and the works of peace;
However, you were in school 3 days after 'Curiosity' landed on Mars.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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London
Through the satellites, I fight with you
That loca l brew is spillin
I know just how you spend your time
I want to get my hands on him
Somebodys party in a london flat
Youre where its at and I know
You want to see me lose my mind
Im tired of chasing after you
The residue is jealous
See me on the d ark side of your mind
I want to get my hands on him
To a club thats pounding in the london rain
The world could end we wouldnt hear it
I know just whats on your mind
I see the way your face has changed
Were no good for each other
You tricked me into coming here
So let go, I dont want to go to london
I told you I dont care
I dont want to go to london
To live there
I dont want to go to london
All your friends afflicted
I dont want to go to london
Shes addicted
I saw you with h im
I know where youve been
That nose is broken wide open
Your way has got me out of line
I want to get my hands on him
You so... to make me
Prove it takes a fight to move you
I know just whats on your mind
Its been this way a thousand years
We torture each other
So why the helld you call me here
When you know
I dont want to go to london
I told you I dont care
I dont want to go to london
Live there
I dont want to go to london
All your friends afflicted
I dont want to go to london
Shes addicted
I dont want to go to london
I told you I dont care
I dont want to go to london
Cause youre not there
I dont want to go to london
Even when I see you
Somewhere else in london
I dont want to go to london
song performed by by Third Eye Blind
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Cook
They had a cook with them who stood alone
For boiling chicken with a marrow-bone,
Sharp flavouring powder and a spice for savour.
He could distinguish London ale by flavour,
And he could roast and boil and seethe and fry,
Make good thick soup and bake a tasty pie...
As for blancmange, he made it with the best.
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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For Years Now
For years now
I have been dreaming about returning home.
For good.
For years now
I have been packing my bags.
in my thoughts.
For years now
I have been going home when I become nostalgic
and to rest from everything.
For years now I have been at home
and I go to London
when I want to bring more life to my life.
poem by Vida Nenadic
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Need A Piece Of Your Love Machine
Its been seven hours and sixteen days
Since pollination has come my way
I sit around like dirty cups n the spoons
Stacking up around your room
Are you gonna come and pick me up
Stick your finger in my buttercup
Whats wrong with me?
Just need a piece of your love machine
The yellow sun is just like chicken soup
Both are wasted if they dont get used
Im like a petal that needs to be plucked
Come on daddy, lets duck
All resistance like vietnam
You be my trader
Ill be your viet cong
Whats wrong with me
Just need a piece of your love machine
You were my romeo
I was your juliet
Hiding in the trash can
We both got wet
You fed me chicken chow-mein
Our love was spicy, yet plain
You built a giant ship and you sailed with it
But now youre gone
Gone
Gone
Whats a rose if it wont be smelled
Whats a texture if it wont be felt
You wear a plaid like there no tomorrow
It spills out of the closet
I think that Ill borrow
Some pants or some underwear
Theres a trace of you under there
Whats wrong with me
Just need a piece of your love machine
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Australian Rose
For Betty Backhouse
Where ever you may be.
Way back in 1959
my parents, my sister and I.
Sailed from New York harbour
passed the Statue of Liberty
on an ocean liner called the RML Ivernia.
It was on this liner I met a girl slightly older than me,
who completely captivated me.
She was travelling with her parents and her brother.
They were from Australia
and her name was Betty.
She reminded me so much of my Canadian rose,
and the resemblance was uncanny.
The trip to England took seven nights and seven days.
Within those days,
she swept my heart completely away.
My biggest regret now is
I forgot to ask them where they lived in Australia.
When we docked in Southampton
in the December of that year,
amidst the rush and excitement
of returning to the land of my birth
I looked around and they were gone.
I often wonder how Betty and her brother ever got on.
That was almost fifty years ago
and hopes of ever seeing them are gone,
but I will always remember that Australian rose
until my final breath is taken away.
Should they ever read this by chance one day.
I hope that life has been wonderful to them both,
Betty and her brother where ever they may be.
3 June 2008
poem by David Harris
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Tempting (Love Poem)
It’s five in the morning and five legs from La Paz,
Leaving you is so hard to do these days,
Vienna apartment bed is too tempting and warm.
Lufthansa to London is ice cold Teutonic charm,
Followed by an endless walk in terminal three.
A cosmopolitan coagulated soup of human cargo,
Onomatopoeia of Chicoutimi en route to Chicago,
In “The Bank Job” bad guys got away - that’s new.
Then it’s First to Miami and missionaries on 922,
Dowdily intent on saving souls in the land of coca.
It’s five in the morning again in airless El Alto at last,
A million peasants to save and salteña for breakfast,
Good for me that they all still need to call for advice,
To say “Hi”, “Bye” and “Why? ” in this socialist paradise,
The challenge of change and the pursuit of profit.
poem by Ian Beckett
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