Eating Out.
Sedately chewing around me the diners
Enjoying their various courses, abound
In good manners, not clattering china
Or staring at me, as dawdling on down
This immensity, peopled by eaters
I search for any unoccupied chair.
Room overladen with unconcerned feasters'
I suddenly slip, throwing tray in the air
Which crashes almightily, landing in style
After spilling hot soup over the hair
Of someone who's foot was held in the ailse
In plaster-of-paris! ! - now don't you agree
'Eating out' from now on will mean 'picnics' for me!
Related quotes
Paris, Please Accept Me, As A Human Refugee
paris................
o paris................
Y paris................
the patience, eating the happiness
the pain, eating the patience
and the pain, eating the pain
I AM SICK, paris
treat me, sister
paris................
o paris................
Y paris................
exile, on my papers
restrained, ..
in my lines
so free me, paris
treat me, paris
I BELONG TO YOU, ..
sister
my home, the colours of MONET
my room, is a water flower
my air..
is the scent of FRANCE
and my refuge..
is a place by RENOIR shrine
so take me paris..
as your..
renoirian..
REFUGEE.
poem by Ahmed Khaled
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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China
(jack hues / nick de spig)
China, china, on the sea shore
China, china, on the dance floor
China, china, I must have seen your face before
Ive been to cairo and Ive been to khartoum
Ive seen them places from my rented room
Ive been to paris and Ive been to marseille
But that was nothing till I got to cathay
Ive been to new york and Ive been to l.a.
Ive been to delhi and Ive been to bombay
Ive been to venice and Ive been to rome
But now its peking that I think of as home
China, china, on the sea shore
China, china, on the dance floor
China, china, theres no finer place on earth
China, china, I must have seen your face before
song performed by by Wang Chung
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good manners: The noise you don't make when you're eating soup.
quote by Bennett Cerf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A wet slobbery kiss
I was sat dozing in the chair
enjoying my afternoon siesta
quickly I fell into a deep sleep
and into my thoughts came Esther.
She was someone from the past
and she was my very first love
she looked just like an angel
with wings like a heavenly dove.
I was mesmerised by her beauty
and by her long golden hair
and when she whispered my name
I began to float through the air.
She took hold of my hand
and said we're together at last
we don't need the present
we can return to our past.
Then we floated to the ground
and both of our bodies did glow
but a loud voice proclaimed
it's time for you to go.
Esther said before I depart
we must have one final kiss
my heart had been shattered
once again by this beautiful Goddess.
But as I embraced her into my arms
I woke up in my living room chair
with Esther my overweight Labrador
licking my face and chewing at my hair!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Television Man
Im looking and Im dreaming for the first time
Im inside and Im outside at the same time
And everything is real
Do I like the way I feel?
When the world crashes in into my living room
Television man made me what I am
People like to put the television down
But we are just good friends
(Im a) television man
I knew a girl, she was a macho man
But its alright, I wasnt fooled for long
This is the place for me
Im the king, and youre the queen
Chorus
Take a walk in the beautiful garden
Everyone would like to say hello
It doesnt matter what you say
Come and take us away
The world crashes in, into my living room
The world crashes in, into my living room
The world crashes in, into my living room
The world crashes in, into my living room
And we are still good friends...(television man)
Im watching everything...(television man)
Television man...(television man)
Im watching everything...(television man)
Television man...and Im gonna say
We are still good friends...and Im trying to be
Watchin everything...and I gotta say
We are still good friends...you know the way it is
Television man...Ive got what you need
We are still good friends...i know the way you are
Television man...i know what youre tryin to be
Watchin everything...and I gotta say
Thats how the story ends.
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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China (Ronson Vocal)
China, China, the evening's moving in
See you, soon now, the boat moves with the wind
China, China, I can see the harbour lights
Light your, fire, we'll be warm tonight
China, China, the thoughts drift from the sea
I'm dreaming, of you, wear your dress for me
China, China, the oceans on the wheel(?)
The seagulls flying lower now
China I can feel you by my side
Across the bay, across the Tyne
Can you hear me say
China, China, wear your hair down low
Lady, Lady, you're frozen to the bone
China, China, the catch was good today
The oilskins clinging to my back
And the lantern gently sways
Oh don't you cry, the kids to bed
Didn't mean the things I said
China, China, the years go rolling by
Laughter, sorrow, I will not make you cry
China, China, think before you speak
Always remember the ocean hauls as deep
And if I'm tired of feeling low
Don't let me sleep, you know
China, China, the men are on the quay
Drinking, smoking, talking quietly
The water's calmer now
All my work is done
So China, see ya.
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Last Mango In Paris
Last mango in paris
By: jimmy buffett, marshall chapman, will jennings, michael utley
1985
"for all the living legends i've had the pleasure to know. there's
Still so much to be done."
I went down to captain tony's
To get out of the heat
Then i heard a voice call out to me
"son come have a seat"
I had to search my memory
As i looked into those eyes
Our lives change like the weather
But a legend never dies
Chorus:
He said i ate the last mango in paris
Took the last plane out of saigon
Took the first fast boat to china
And jimmy there's still so much to be done
I had a third world girl in buzios
With a pistol in each hand
She always kept me covered
As we moved from land to land
I had a damn good run on wall street
With my high fashion model wife
I woke up dry beneath the african sky
Just me and my swiss army knife
Chorus:
I ate the last mango in paris
Took the last plane out of saigon
Took the first fast boat to china
And jimmy there's still so much to be done
We shot the breeze for hours
As the sun fell from the sky
And like the sun he disappeared
Before my very eyes
It was somewhere past dark-thirty
And i went back to the head
I read upon the dingy wall
The words the old man said:
I ate the last mango in paris
Took the last plane out of saigon
Took the first fast boat to china
And jimmy there's still so much to be done
I ate the last mango in paris
Took the last plane out of saigon
Took the first fast boat to china
And jimmy there's still so much to be done
That's why we wander and follow la vie dansante
- notes:
Background vocals: timothy b. schmit
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time To Sit
A time to sit, the doctor said.
The room silent,
the walls a dull grey,
painted God knows when.
The chair uncomfortable,
hard on the arse.
You look around,
cock your ears,
sniff the air.
Tell me, the doc said,
do you hear voices?
The carpeted floor
beneath the feet.
The shoes touch it.
You push hard down on it.
Not springy.
A small window high up
lets in light. The air is stale.
Body smell, sweat.
As if many have sat here
just like you on this chair.
The mind is a complex thing,
the doc said, layer upon layer
of memories and sensations
are buried there.
As if you didn’t know.
He spoke with an Irish lilt.
Just like you. Softer though.
Photographs were on his desk in his room.
You gazed at them as he spoke.
The wife of his some posh bit,
clothes aplenty, eyes just staring.
And two kids staring at you
from another photo: well fed,
nothing much wrong with them.
No screw loose, all right in the head.
The sitting in the room does you no good.
The voices are back,
never been away.
Good day, good day, they say.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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China
(ian hunter)
(transcribed by colin ford
China, china, the evenings moving in
See you, soon now, the boat moves with the wind
China, china, I can see the harbour lights
Light your, fire, well be warm tonight
China, china, the thoughts drift from the sea
Im dreaming, of you, wear your dress for me
China, china, the oceans on the wheel(? )
The seagulls flying lower now
China I can feel you by my side
Across the bay, across the tyne
Can you hear me say
China, china, wear your hair down low
Lady, lady, youre frozen to the bone
China, china, the catch was good today
The oilskins clinging to my back
And the lantern gently sways
Oh dont you cry, the kids to bed
Didnt mean the things I said
China, china, the years go rolling by
Laughter, sorrow, I will not make you cry
China, china, think before you speak
Always remember the ocean hauls as deep
And if Im tired of feeling low
Dont let me sleep, you know
China, china, the men are on the quay
Drinking, smoking, talking quietly
The waters calmer now
All my work is done
So china, see ya.
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dipped In Superstitions
My mind has been dipped in superstitions.
From the day that I was born to breathe.
Black cats and cracks on dirty sidewalks...
And splitting poles when walking with people!
My mind has been quick to mend a quarrel.
With those who may not agree to speak!
But grandma always spoke to neighbors...
Even if they stoled her peaches off the trees!
'Good manners and respect will save.
You don't want to take evil meanness...
To your grave! '
Sometimes I sit and pick my memory!
Of things my grandma said to me.
She told me don't talk bad of people...
'Bite your lip and watch them slip,
Off the steeple to their knees! '
Huh?
'Good manners and respect will save.
You don't want to take evil meanness...
To your grave! '
My mind has been dipped in superstitions.
From the day that I was born to breathe!
And when my grandma grabbed the spatula...
I knew when it was time for me to leave! !
'Good manners and respect will save.
You don't want to take evil meanness...
To your grave! '
OKAY...I'm outta here!
'Good manners and respect will save.
And don't pretend your heart is golden...
Before the cookies are baked! '
Huh?
And what is that suppose to mean?
'You'll figure it all out!
Long after your 'teens'...
Good manners and respect will save!
Not pretending that your heart is golden...
Before a cookie is baked! '
Whatever...
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Expensive Chair - Its A Beautiful Thing B-side
Your face is looking like
Someone you forgot you used to know
You were looking for rhymes and reason
They forgot the things you used to know
You came to rely on good fortune
Your mothers screaming low
With the sky in the eye
And jump through the window
Youve made your own room at the top
Well its getting thin on air
Still you look at me from your most expensive chair
And when youre feeling fit to drop
And you find theres no one there
Still you look at me from your most expensive chair
You dont wanna shout about it
When theres nothing you care to know
Your friends they just laugh about it
In the places that you never go
You cannot deny your good fortune
Your friends they wont let go
See your hair is in place
And see away from the window
Repeat chorus
Youre the judge how high it hangs
When your castles made of sand
Because the people who kill the king
Are the people who move from within
You cant rely on good fortune
Your friends are crying low
Kick your feet from the chair
And let it slip from the gallow
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sky Seasoning
A piece of sky
Broke off and fell
Through the crack in the ceiling
Right into my soup,
KERPLOP!
I really must state
That I usually hate
Lentil soup, but I ate
Every drop!
Delicious delicious
(A bit like plaster),
But so delicious, goodness sake--
I could have eaten a lentil-soup lake.
It's amazing the difference
A bit of sky can make.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Famous Man
he was observing from the
upper part of his terrace
an old woman down the street
eating a ripe mango
without slicing them
using her bare hands
peeling it and sucking
the pulp
savoring every sap
she is enjoying it
she is enjoying it
she is enjoying it
that is what he says
he writes, she is enjoying it
and yet he is so famous
in this city
munching what fame is
there
tailored for him
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Chewing Gum
chewing gum
wondering where i've been and what i've done
wondering where i'll go and where i'll run
hide myself away from everyone
chewing gum
doesn't ['does it'] bother you that you're not the one
keeps you up at night in a fear of dream
to count the silver bullet of your misty
it's yours to keep
chewing gum
innocence lost in electric smiles
perfectly cast in desperate clouds ['colds']
loving with under
city lights
with all their {miles}
and all i need
is you
by my side
by my side
by my side
chewing gum
wondering where i've been and what i've done
wondering where i'll go and where i'll run
hide myself away from everyone
chewing gum
got myself a piece of
chewing gum
got myself a piece of
chewing gum
got myself a piece of
chewing gum
got myself a piece of
chewing gum
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Sixties Childhood
Scrumping apples and kicking footballs
climbing trees and scaling walls
playing marbles in the street
I wonder what became of my mate Pete?
Lots of picnics in the sun
Uncle Stan being so much fun
chasing Butterflies and catching frogs
throwing sticks for our two dogs.
Fishing for Sticklebacks in the stream
licking lollies and eating ice-cream
doing wheelies on my bike
I wonder what became of my pal Mike?
Father playing Cricket on the village green
Mother always washing and keeping the house clean.
the garden colourful with a beautiful scent
and a man in a suit collecting the rent.
Watching T.V. in black and white
all gathered round on a Saturday night
it being so quiet on the day of rest
me and my sister in our Sunday best.
Fell out of the tree hurting my legs
dangerous hobby stealing bird's eggs
Woodpecker, Wren, Starling, and Thrush,
Mother says I'm as daft as a brush.
Now here I sit alone in my chair
with varicose veins and thinning white hair
running and laughing and full of such joy
oh how I wish I was that little boy.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Sun & Soup
You hold the spoon
over the tureen
watching the soup
drip back with a plop.
You know Francis
will enter soon,
and stand watching
over you, him being
master of the kitchen,
wondering if you had
dipped your finger
and tasted the soup
with your tongue
and say, I hope you
haven’t dipped your finger
in and tasted, it isn’t
the done thing;
and he’d give you
such a look, as if you would,
as if Mother had not
taught you kitchen manners
with its dos and don’ts;
and as you look up
at the high windows,
sunlight leaks through
the coloured glass pane
throwing its golden finger
across the tureen’s hold.
poem by Terry Collett
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Dog Trap
s/he got a new dog &
like many dogs before it,
it shed & it jumped up on the
sofa, the comfy chair in the
living room, etc.-
in regards to the prior dogs in
her/his life, s/he had
"suffered" the hair deposits,
the smell of dog, be it dry or
wet, and the rest of the
litany of petty problems
which dog owners will claim
when going to great lengths
to tame & beat their happy dog
into submission-
one day,
s/he came up with an idea
as to how to get the dog off the
chair & the sofa-
s/he got up early in the morning,
wrapped the chair in a sheet &
then subsequently wrapped that
sheet in electrical tape, masking
tape &
that really sticky gray duct tape,
all with the adhesive side facing up-
after the chair was engulfed in tape,
s/he left the house &
went to work.
low & behold,
when the once-frustrated dog owner
returned to her/his abode that evening,
there was a whimper coming from the
living room-
the dog, a shaggy dog whose resemblance
to a frayed towel
was uncanny,
had gotten itself stuck on the tape &
the pulling of its hair in the attempt to escape
the tape-engulfed chair,
was too much for the poor dog,
who had been undergoing the pain for
who knows how long-
the satisfied owner
talked conceitedly to the dog,
asking it what the problem was
(as if the poor dog had any idea what
this horrible human was babbling) &
then got down on her/his knees to
help the dog from the trap that had
worked out just the way the owner
suspected that it would,
because the dog never set foot on the
chair or the sofa again.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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Paris Song
Paris so beautiful at night
And during the day is beautiful also
The Eiffel Tower is located in the center of Paris
But all the flowers in Paris are blooming in the parks
And at la seine
Yes spring is heret in Paris
And I am enjoying the spring
But the flowers in the parks here in Paris are beautiful
Because they are a show of colors
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Dear friends, we surely all agree
'Dear friends, we surely all agree
There's almost nothing worse to see
Than some repulsive little bum
Who's always chewing chewing gum.
(It's very near as bad as those
Who sit around and pick the nose).
So please believe us when we say
That chewing gum will never pay;
This sticky habit's bound to send
The chewer to a sticky end.
Did any of you ever know
A person called Miss Bigelow?
This dreadful woman saw no wrong
In chewing, chewing all day long.
She chewed while bathing in the tub,
She chewed while dancing at her club,
She chewed in church and on the bus;
It really was quite ludicrous!
And when she couldn't find her gum,
She'd chew up the linoleum,
Or anything that happened near–
A pair of boots, the postman's ear,
Or other people's underclothes,
And once she chewed her boy friend's nose.
She went on chewing till, at last,
Her chewing muscles grew so vast
That from her face her giant chin
Stuck out just like a violin.
For years and years she chewed away,
Consuming fifty packs a day,
Until one summer's eve, alas,
A horrid business came to pass.
Miss Bigelow went late to bed,
For half an hour she lay and read,
Chewing and chewing all the while
Like some great clockwork crocodile.
At last, she put her gum away
Upon a special little tray,
And settled back and went to sleep–
(She managed this by counting sheep).
But now, how strange! Although she slept,
Those massive jaws of hers still kept
On chewing, chewing through the night,
Even with nothing there to bite.
They were, you see, in such a groove
They positively had to move.
And very grim it was to hear
In pitchy darkness, loud and clear,
This sleeping woman's great big trap
Opening and shutting, snap–snap–snap!
Faster and faster, chop–chop–chop,
The noise went on, it wouldn't stop.
Until at last her jaws decide
To pause and open extra wide,
And with the most tremendous chew
They bit the lady's tongue in two.
Thereafter, just from chewing gum,
Miss Bigelow was always dumb,
And spent her life shut up in some
Disgusting sanatorium.
And that is why we'll try so hard
To save Miss Violet Beauregard
From suffering an equal fate.
She's still quite young. It's not too late,
Provided she survives the cure.
We hope she does. We can't be sure.'
poem by Roald Dahl
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The Ballad Of Lucy Jordan
The morning sun touched lightly on
The eyes of Lucy Jordan
In her white suburban bedroom
In a white suburban town,
As she lay there 'neath the covers,
Dreaming of a thousand lovers,
Till the world turned to orange
And the room went spinning 'round.
At the age of 37
She realized she'd never ride
Through Paris in a sports car
With the warm wind in her hair.
So she let the phone keep ringing
As she sat there, softly singing
Little nursery rhymes she'd memorized
In her daddy's easy chair.
Her husband is off to work,
And the kids are off to school,
And there were, oh, so many ways
For her to spend the day:
She could clean the house for hours
Or rearrange the flowers
Or run naked through the shady streets,
Screaming all the way!
At the age of 37
She realized she'd never ride
Through Paris in a sports car
With the warm wind in her hair.
So she let the phone keep ringing
As she sat there, softly singing
Little nursery rhymes she'd memorized
In her daddy's easy chair.
The evening sun touched gently on
The eyes of Lucy Jordan
On the roof top, where she climbed
When all the laughter grew too loud.
And she bowed and curtsied to the man
Who reached and offered her his hand,
And he led her down to the long white car
That waited past the crowd.
At the age of 37
She knew she'd found forever,
As she rolled along through Paris
With the warm wind in her hair.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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