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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Making A Candle
i pick up the pieces
of melted candle
these are the wastes
left-overs of those already used
burned, i cut them with a sharp knife
like bread crumbs and
put them all in a small kettle
a little fire melts all of them
i got a thread a slice of tin
as weight inside a mold
i pour the melted candle there
and set the newly formed one aside
i reflect upon life
i reflect upon the people with wasted lives
vis-a-vis
the new candle that i made.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Litany
You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon
You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.
However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.
It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.
And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.
It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.
I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.
I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.
poem by Billy Collins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Litany
You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon
You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.
However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.
It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.
And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.
It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.
I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.
I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.
Anonymous submission.
poem by William Taylor Collins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Have Taken Your Slice Of Bread
i have taken your slice of bread
from the table
it is for you
as i have already eaten mine
early
this morning
forgive me
i have learned
to eat more
and took
without so much
thinking
your share
the slice of bread
one half bigger
than mine
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I am Going Shopping
I am going shopping
But I will not see Mr. Smith,
Even Mrs Velnet would not
Cross my sight today
Today, she would not ask to me
‘How are you? ’
‘How is your mother? ’
‘Tell her I will see her tomorrow
At the seniors’ citizens club meeting’
Imagine,
I am going shopping
Without buying a bread at Mr
And Mrs McBride’s bakery
That’s unbelievable
Did you know?
Mr Smith’s butchery has been
Demolished
Mrs Velnet’s fruit and vegetable’s
Shop has closed down because
She’s gone bankrupt
From now on, the Smiths,
The McBride’s and the Velnets
Would discover poverty
Which was alien to them
For two hundred years
All that…for what?
It’s for me to shop in comfort
It’s for me to get everything
Under one roof
Well, what should matter to me?
Is it the ‘hello’ of Mrs McBride
Or ‘buy one get one free’?
www.frederickyamusangie.org.uk
poem by Frederick Kambemba Yamusangie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Bread-Knife Ballad
A little child was sitting Up on her mother's knee
And down down her cheeks the bitter tears did flow.
And as I sadly listened I heard this tender plea,
'Twas uttered in a voice so soft and low.
"Not guilty" said the Jury And the Judge said "Set her free,
But remember it must not occur again.
And next time you must listen to you little daughter's plea,"
Then all the Court did join in this refrain.
Chorus:
"Please Mother don't stab Father with the BREAD-KNIFE,
Remember 'twas a gift when you were wed.
But if you must stab Father with the BREAD-KNIFE,
Please Mother use another for the BREAD."
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The King's Breakfast
The King's Breakfast
The King asked
The Queen, and
The Queen asked
The Dairymaid:
"Could we have some butter for
The Royal slice of bread?"
The Queen asked the Dairymaid,
The Dairymaid
Said, "Certainly,
I'll go and tell the cow
Now
Before she goes to bed."
The Dairymaid
She curtsied,
And went and told
The Alderney:
"Don't forget the butter for
The Royal slice of bread."
The Alderney
Said sleepily:
"You'd better tell
His Majesty
That many people nowadays
Like marmalade
Instead."
The Dairymaid
Said, "Fancy!"
And went to
Her Majesty.
She curtsied to the Queen, and
She turned a little red:
"Excuse me,
Your Majesty,
For taking of
The liberty,
But marmalade is tasty, if
It's very
Thickly
Spread."
The Queen said
"Oh!:
And went to
His Majesty:
"Talking of the butter for
The royal slice of bread,
Many people
Think that
Marmalade
Is nicer.
Would you like to try a little
Marmalade
Instead?"
The King said,
"Bother!"
And then he said,
"Oh, deary me!"
The King sobbed, "Oh, deary me!"
And went back to bed.
"Nobody,"
He whimpered,
"Could call me
A fussy man;
I only want
A little bit
Of butter for
My bread!"
The Queen said,
"There, there!"
And went to
The Dairymaid.
The Dairymaid
Said, "There, there!"
And went to the shed.
The cow said,
"There, there!
I didn't really
Mean it;
Here's milk for his porringer,
And butter for his bread."
The Queen took
The butter
And brought it to
His Majesty;
The King said,
"Butter, eh?"
And bounced out of bed.
"Nobody," he said,
As he kissed her
Tenderly,
"Nobody," he said,
As he slid down the banisters,
"Nobody,
My darling,
Could call me
A fussy man -
BUT
I do like a little bit of butter to my bread!"
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Velvet Atmosphere
Sunday morning 5 September 2008
Ah, the velvet atmosphere of
our own local shop, cosy and
small, finding everything easily
While the big, new supermarket
is garish and cold, a shopping
trip becomes a marathon walk
Buying a specific product becomes
a mind-boggling exercise, the check-
out till a hostile place without goodwill
While our local shop stocks fairies and
writing material at the pay-point - I can
feast my eyes and delight my mind
Waiting in line to pay; soft lighting, a
smiling cashier, a warm atmosphere...
poem by Margaret Alice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An Invitation To Tea (A Dark Comedy) Part 2
(It is advisable you read part 1 first)
Charles Latimer broke up the slices of bread he brought and scattered them across the path. “You’ll never guess what Grace Forbes said to me this morning. She said that I would have made some lucky woman a wonderful husband. Of course, she doesn’t really know me. I mean, if she did she wouldn’t have said that, now would she? ”
The pigeons didn’t reply. They just moved about from one piece of bread to another and chasing off any sparrow who tried to snatch up a crumb.
“Of course she is a lovely woman her. I am surprised that she never married. There was talk that she was engaged once. It’s said that the chap ran off with her best friend, but at least she has her sister to keep her company.” His voice lowered to almost a whisper when he noticed someone coming.
Removing another couple of slices of bread from the bag, he broke them up. He scattered the pieces in a semi-circled at his feet. Several more birds landed. Squabbles broke out.
“Its all right fellows I have more bread, “he said and broke up another slice. “ Now where was I? Oh, yes. I was telling you about Grace and her sister. They are so lucky to have each other. Myself I was an only child. It can be lonely at times when your parents are gone. Of course you wouldn’t understand that.”
The pigeons moved about picking at the bread always watchful for a larger another might have. Several sparrows swooped in picked up a pieces and then flew off. Charles watched them scattering more bread until the bag was empty. Slowly the last pieces disappeared and the birds left.
Glancing at his watch Charles noticed it was nearly twelve. He must pick up his shopping and go home. He folded the bag he carried the bread in and slipped it into his pocket. He moved out of the park and towards the corner shop. The tiny doorbell chimed s he entered.
Grace smiled and lifted a brown paper bag onto the counter. “Your groceries Mr Latimer. How were the pigeons today? ”
“Their usual self. They can be bullies at times especially where the sparrows are concerned.” he replied. “How much do owe you? ”
“That will be five pounds and sixteen pence. I am sorry it’s so much, but everything goes up almost daily.”
“I know. It is dreadful.” He said opening his wallet and playing her.
“Mr Latimer, Charlotte and I were wondering.”
“What is that Grace? ”
“If you would do us the honour of coming around for tea one evening. As you live, alone you might like some company. Or dear Mr Potter would love to meet you.”
“Mr Potter? I thought you and Charlotte lived on your own.”
“Mr Potter was a friend of our late Aunt. That is the only reason why we agreed to have him here“
“Oh, I don‘t know.”
Grace put on he most disarming smile. “You know we would dearly love you to come.”
“Well, yes.”
“Good we will see you this evening. Let us say about six o’clock. How is that? ”
Charles forces small smile. “Yes I guess that would be all right..”
“We will see you at six then.”
To Be Concluded
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love's Coming
QUIETLY as rosebuds
Talk to thin air,
Love came so lightly
I knew not he was there.
Quietly as lovers
Creep at the middle noon,
Softly as players tremble
In the tears of a tune;
Quietly as lilies
Their faint vows declare,
Came the shy pilgrim:
I knew not he was there.
Quietly as tears fall
On a warm sin,
Softly as griefs call
In a violin;
Without hail or tempest,
Blue sword or flame,
Love came so lightly
I knew not that he came.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Theory Of Time And Space
Time &
Space is a Big Loaf of Bread
There Peacefully put
on top of your dining table
The knife's sharp edge
cuts through it
and Puts you There
There is an illusion
for the Moment
You see a river flowing
towards the sea
You hear the voice of surging
The rage against the rocks
the sliding upon the banks
Inside that Big Loaf of
Bread are all the ingredients,
The past, the present and the Future
and You may taste it at once
What you have is a moment of illusion
that you cannot be here and there at the same time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Sorows Of Werther
WERTHER had a love for Charlotte
Such as words could never utter;
Would you know how first he met her?
She was cutting bread and butter.
Charlotte was a married lady,
And a moral man was Werther,
And for all the wealth of Indies,
Would do nothing for to hurt her.
So he sigh'd and pined and ogled,
And his passion boil'd and bubbled,
Till he blew his silly brains out,
And no more was by it troubled.
Charlotte, having seen his body
Borne before her on a shutter,
Like a well-conducted person,
Went on cutting bread and butter.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sorrows of Werther
Werther had a love for Charlotte
Such as words could never utter;
Would you know how first he met her?
She was cutting bread and butter.
Charlotte was a married lady,
And a moral man was Werther,
And, for all the wealth of Indies,
Would do nothing for to hurt her.
So he sighed and pined and ogled,
And his passion boiled and bubbled,
Till he blew his silly brains out,
And no more was by it troubled.
Charlotte, having seen his body
Borne before her on a shutter,
Like a well-coducted person,
Went on cutting bread and butter.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
Neighbours
My neighbour has a field of wheat
And I a rood of vine;
And he will give me bread to eat,
And I will give him wine.
And so we are a jolly pair,
Contentedly unwed,
Singing with supper as we share
Red wine and crusty bread.
Now venison is mighty meat
And so is trout and hare;
A mallard duck is sweat to eat
And quail is dainty fare.
But such are foods for festal day,
And we will not repine
While on the table we can lay
Crisp bread and rosy wine.
A will to till one's own of soil
Is worth a kingly crown,
With bread to feed the belly need,
And wine to wash it down.
So with my neighbour I rejoice
That we are fit and free,
Content to praise with lusty voice
Bread, Wine and Liberty.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Recipe For A Hippopotamus Sandwich
A hippo sandwich is easy to make.
All you do is simply take
One slice of bread,
One slice of cake,
Some mayonnaise
One onion ring,
One hippopotamus
One piece of string,
A dash of pepper -
That ought to do it.
And now comes the problem…
Biting into it!
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!