Sandwiches: Tomato And Egg
sandwiches: tomato and egg
and the flask of tea;
ice-cream and a bottle of fizzy orange.
vague consciousness
of women dressing
or undressing
inside the flimsy protection
of giant sized towels
the pursuit of the tide going out;
finding oneself detached in isolation,
left behind pools of shells, crabs, starfishes
and child-like absorption.
poem by John O'connell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Women In Towels
She's looking good in a new towel,
Looking clear in the new crowd,
She's so funny to be with,
So easy to forgive
See you, you see me,
We could be free,
I'll let you know
"Women in towels"
Take a look at the old suits,
Hanging around in the old school,
She's looking good with her hair down,
Feeling high in the fairground
See you, you see me
We could be free,
I'll let you know
So you could breathe
I wish you could just see yourself,
No shame, in pain (again)
"Women in towels"
"Life is work"
"It's not what you are, it's what you do"
See you, you see me
We could be free,
I'll let you know
So you could breathe
I wish you could just see yourself,
No shame, in pain (again)
"Women in towels"
"Women in towels
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Oneself is Known
In the finding of self,
It matters not where or when it is done.
In the finding of oneself.
That 'is' the achievement that comes,
One has won.
And in the finding of self,
Perceptions of others.
Of who that self found should be,
Can not be compared to a comfort known within.
That begins and no one else can see.
But what is known that comes eventually,
Is a feeling that is centered.
And from a core that is believed.
Leaving wherever the place one goes,
Not a place to seek in the search for self.
When oneself is known this shows.
And 'in' no one else,
Can one find self to be shown.
So many seek different environments,
To qualify what they can not identify inside.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Readings in French
1.
Looking into the eyes of Gerard de Nerval
You notice the giant sea crabs rising.
Which is what happens
When you look into the eyes of Gerard de Nerval,
Always the same thing: the giant sea crabs,
The claws in their vague red holsters
Moving around, a little doubtfully.
2.
But looking into the eyes of Pierre Reverdy
Is like throwing the editorial page
Out into the rain
And then riding alone on the subway.
Also, it is like avoiding your father.
You are hiding and he looks for you
Under each vine; he is coming nearer
And nearer. What can you do
But ignore him?
3.
In either case, soon you are riding alone on a subway.
Which is not important.
What is important is to avoid
Looking too closely into the eyes of your father,
That formal eclipse.
poem by Larry Levis
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Dead Stars
dead stars
dead stars
do not shine
they are dead
and the twinklings are
gone
dead stars
all dead
falling to the sea
the moon grieves
stars are
moon's princesses
her diamonds
on her motherly bosom
dead stars
fall to the sea
they refuse
to die
they now live in the sea as starfishes having fallen from the skies
one dark, lonely, evening
of my life
seastars, name them sweetly
but starfishes to the most common fishermen here who make love
to the stinky fish vendors
for once tonight
the moon spreads to a certain fulness of emptiness
trying to hold
seastars
(they are called starfishes by children who smell salt
and rotten sea urchins chasing hemit crabs on the shore
they are burned by the sun
but they already know how to keep themselves safe
they know how to feed themselves
with squids those that sparkle at night in the shallow parts
of the sea)
trying to kiss
them
in fact,
yes the starfishes, all they have are memories of the stars
and they now hide
among the corals and the electric eels
regrets and remorse are always late and they always murmur it to
the oceanfloors
after their fall and no one wants to hear
everyone is busy feeding and escaping away from one another
here in the deeper part of the marine blue seas...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Big Tomato Meets Big Toe
Little did Big Tomato know,
she would meet Mr. Big Toe.
She did not know that Big Toe
had a radio show.
The radio show was called
“Big Toe Wants To Know”
Big Tomato walked through the door, ,
knowing she had an interview at 4.
Waiting in the lobby remembering what to say,
she bumped into doll Melodie Mezoree’.
“Wow, it’s Melodie Mezoree’ how are you today? ”
“Oh great nice to see you Big Tomato,
I was just on the radio show! ”
Big Tomato replied, “I will talk about how I can fly-
how I can fly way up in the sky.”
Then Big Toe walked in,
he was happy to see Big Tomato with a grin.
Both of them shook hands,
and Big Tomato talked and sang,
on the mic behind the stand.
It was Big Tomato’s big day,
every child listened to what she had to say.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Big Tomato Meets Big Toe
Little did Big Tomato know,
she would meet Mr. Big Toe.
She did not know that Big Toe
had a radio show.
The radio show was called
“Big Toe Wants To Know”
Big Tomato walked through the door, ,
knowing she had an interview at 4.
Waiting in the lobby remembering what to say,
she bumped into doll Melodie Mezoree’.
“Wow, it’s Melodie Mezoree’ how are you today? ”
“Oh great nice to see you Big Tomato,
I was just on the radio show! ”
Big Tomato replied, “I will talk about how I can fly-
how I can fly way up in the sky.”
Then Big Toe walked in,
he was happy to see Big Tomato with a grin.
Both of them shook hands,
and Big Tomato talked and sang,
on the mic behind the stand.
It was Big Tomato’s big day,
every child listened to what she had to say.
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Like Tomato Sauce
i like tomato sauce
and so i keep lots of
and different kinds of
tomato sauces inside
the ref and when i open
it one night i thought
tomato sauce are also
water and i am in a trance
of some sort or something
i drink tomato sauce
and i remember you:
saucy, so saucy
i thought i am floating
in the river filled with
tomato sauce, yes,
my point is: be proud
i always think of you.
saucy, yes, so saucy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Without A Priority
Finding oneself...
Might take a lifetime.
And,
Finding one's life...
May not be...
Any need.
But...
Finding one's happiness,
Without a wanting...
May be possible.
But without a priority,
How can this succeed?
Finding oneself and untieing the knots,
May take a lifetime.
And finding one's life without a tear to drop,
May not be a need.
But...
Finding one's happiness without a crave,
May be possible.
But without a priority,
How can this succeed?
Without priority,
How this succeed?
Finding oneself...
Might,
Take a lifetime.
And finding one's life may not,
Be...
Anybody's need,
And...
Finding one's true happiness,
Without a wanting...
May be possible.
But without priority...
How can one succeed?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Answers
I need a bottle of answers
Or at least a flask
A richness of remedy
To finish a task
A surfeit of solution
An excess of replies
A ream of resolution
Answers to all the lies
Mayhaps a windfall of wisdom
Perhaps a deluge of devotion
Perchance a proof for my puzzle
Of my mysterious emotion
Pray tell… a bright light of knowledge
And in it’s knowing I can bask
I need a bottle of answers…
Or at least a flask.
poem by David Whalen
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The Free Trader's Lament
Oft from a trading-boat I purchased spice
And shells and corals, brought for my inspection
From the fair tropics-paid a Christian price
And was content in my fool's paradise,
Where never had been heard the word 'Protection.'
'T was my sole island; there I dwelt alone
No customs-house, collector nor collection,
But a man came, who, in a pious tone
Condoled with me that I had never known
The manifest advantage of Protection.
So, when the trading-boat arrived one day,
He threw a stink-pot into its mid-section.
The traders paddled for their lives away,
Nor came again into that haunted bay,
The blessed home thereafter of Protection.
Then down he sat, that philanthropic man,
And spat upon some mud of his selection,
And worked it, with his knuckles in a pan,
To shapes of shells and coral things, and span
A thread of song in glory of Protection.
He baked them in the sun. His air devout
Enchanted me. I made a genuflexion:
'God help you, gentle sir,' I said. 'No doubt,'
He answered gravely, 'I'll get on without
Assistance now that we have got Protection.'
Thenceforth I bought his wares-at what a price
For shells and corals of such imperfection!
'Ah, now,' said he, 'your lot is truly nice.'
But still in all that isle there was no spice
To season to my taste that dish, Protection.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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A Lovely Lavender Day
Purple, everything purple, purple
the colour I love, everything packaged
in purple – tile cleaner in a purple
container for lavender sweetness
Also power-cleaning cream for lavender-
fresh effects, the bottle appealing in a
soft purple hue, fabric conditioner in purple
too, accompanied by lavender promises
And my purple hot water bottle – I bought
Nici a purple fleece; a purple coverlet
on my bed, my favourite chocolate in a
purple wrapper
Purple is spiritual in the division of
seven chakra colours – red is earthed in
primitive desire, followed by orange, yellow,
green – the colour of love – and
Blue – the colour of communication, then
purple for third-eye enlightenment - purple
adds lustre and the sweetness of vague
mistiness to everything on which it appears;
Wishing you a lovely lavender day
in all hues of purple and blue!
poem by Margaret Alice
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Miss A La Cream
Waiting is worth the while
Miss A La cream, a la cream
The lady of magnificent style
The woman of many a mans dream
A natural born striker
Every man in turn likes her
The queue up in flashy little cars
It doesn’t get them really any far
Miss A La cream, a la cream
The lady of posh self-esteem
At day, she’s in the sauna wrapped in towels
At day she’s at the hairdressers draped in jewels
At night, she can be found at many a brothel
But don’t you ever ask, what is a vowel?
But don’t you ever attempt to make her to spell
Natural yellow, gold and blonde
With an exquisite scent from beyond
A La cream, a la cream
She can pander a whole football team
Up in the mountains or down by the streams
When she walks the street with her heels
Mouths open, hearts relentlessly dream
Notwithstanding her heart is stronger than steel
That’s why she is Miss A la cream, A la cream
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Another view
if i could afford the world
a view of another world
through my verses like the
ocean that hides yet magnifies
a world so glorious of its own -
freewheeling corals, zizagging fishes,
multihued starfishes, shells that grant
the ocean a contest of geometric elegance
giant meditative clam that turns out a luxurious
ochreous pearl impervious to the pounding waves
a monk zooming on zero desires for nirvana -
my life as a poet would have been well rewarded
the rainbow the sun never fails
to illuminate in the fall of heavenly
sweats and tears
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Isolation
In fear every day, every evening,
He calls her aloud from above,
Carefully watched for a reason,
Painstaking devotion and love,
Surrendered to self preservation,
From others who care for themselves.
A blindness that touches perfection,
But hurts just like anything else.
Isolation, isolation, isolation.
Mother I tried please believe me,
I'm doing the best that I can.
I'm ashamed of the things I've been put through,
I'm ashamed of the person I am.
Isolation, isolation, isolation.
But if you could just see the beauty,
These things I could never describe,
These pleasures a wayward distraction,
This is my one lucky prize
Isolation, isolation, Isolation, isolation, isolation.
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sea has Many Moods
poetry in progress
the sea has many moods
you need more than one
canvas to paint them all
and an imagination cresting
like waves sweeping onto shores
the sea has many moods
it presents dawn with
streaks of luminous hope
and slowly breaks through
the menacing bleakness of night
to give us a new day -
a fresh new born, his eyes
gleaming like angel and that
first cry which opens to us
a new terrace for love - a chill
that slowly builds into a warmth
between us knowing that it
is a blessing from beyond
- tears or cheers
the sea has many moods
you need to see them all
to portray them on your canvas
there is a hint of melancholy
especially after a tempest when the beach
is strewn with all things from the
bowels of the sea; old coins,
broken porcelains, dead little turtles,
wine bottles that have crossed continents,
one shoe, slipper, sandal like partners
lost in war, and shells of all kinds,
some shining with a strain of hynotism
you wish they have not been torn
by the force of the sea
bits and pieces of everything here and
there to remind us of how life can be
as turbulent when the mighty tide works against us
the sea has many moods
you have to live by one to
experience them all
the cheers that brighten up the day
when every beach feels like a fresh
new summer, another mediterranean
the waves gallop like horses on
an an emerald to take us to their
adventures of mermaids in love,
of palace made of beautiful corals,
of gold and diamonds in sunken ships,
of romances, of aliens, of
finding a new angle to life,
so that the past is just another
wave disappearing on the beach
to recharge the self that has been
left to vegetate and muffled
in the race for survival
the sea has many moods
you need more than one canvas
to paint them all
the tide turns low on some days
enabling walks on seabed, and
to the next shore, before inch
by inch, the tide starts coming in
water swirling like a man sipping
and blowing onto his tea, inch by inch
like a hungry animal, the sea starts to
swallow up old territories as its own,
and in such haste, rage and chagrin,
one hour is all it needs to take it all in
there are those who, lost in their fun,
forget about the tide and are trapped
and swept away forever remaining on the
chiling and heartwrenching lost-at-sea list
walking the seabed is a walk through
the backstage of a theatre
you see all the theatrics of the sea
anemones in a range of red stick
their heads out on the sand like a vulgar thing
and here and there are broken corals
after having served as colourful dancers swaying
gracefully and serenading fishes
now with faded lustre they surrender to their fate
on the sand, a mound here and there
in the rhythm of the waves
as you walk, a pensive mood envelops you, a peace
and a quiet you dont savour on ordinary days by the beach
the wind feels like God caressing and whispering
to you his story of creation, his joy when everything is over
so that you can walk on a seabed to take it all in
the sea may be rough but it too, affords a time
and a space when it bares all to help you meditate on
its enlightened side, something it does not unveil to us
unless the tide takes an all about turn to the sea
it is a blessing for those who happen to chance
upon it and take it to its full advantage
the sea has many moods
you have to live by one to see them all
there are one thousand and one creatures
who are ever ready to share with you their fun
tenants of the white sand, sea, and breeze
and an occasional full moon, oh no two moons
the plovers and starfishes are friends
coral fishes sprint to and fro under a branch
waiting for the tide to ferry them out
mudskippers hop on the tail of the waves
like clowns at a circus, a head so huge and two short fins
one wonders how they anchor themselves so well at sea
little crabs run the lightness of breeze
and here and there little holes that gently
remind me of the tenants with claws
they are all so round these crabs
of orange, brown, green, yellow must have
been well trained by the divinity of their task
a conical shell is a soul in medtiation
an ear listening to its own sacred calling
seaweeds paint some parts a bright green
while an outcast the jellyfish is always
a sorry affair, sprawled and helpless
its see-through mass of shrunken body
transmit a fetid scent no one would love to have
children are told not to play around with them
as the toxins in the soft textured creature
can be just the opposite of its appearance
starfishes
like the setting sun over the hill
that turn the whole
like the poet swept with
a hope for that
one poem that would land
on the print to meet all
the sea has many moods
you have live by her to
see them all
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Isolation Is Deadly
Love without compassion,
Skills with no use for others,
And wealth kept for oneself
Will send you to isolation.
Isolation is deadlier
Than the warmth of poseesion.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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In Alabama
In Alabama
In Alabama
There’s red clay dirt
Those people pray
Not just on Sunday
In Alabama
There’s Nascar Racing at Talladega
In Alabama
The Crimson Tide play’s football outside
In Alabama
Lake Guntersville
It’s a thrill
Right there, Bass fishing
Is the best in the world
In Alabama
Near the Tennessee River
You’ll find Muscle Shull’s
Some great musician’s
In Alabama
We eat fried bologna
And sliced tomato sandwiches
We thank God for the meat
Between the bread in Alabama
poem by E.Marie AldrichCreasy
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For Warren And Igor...
firebird rites
dog eared bites
on the seventh sunday
when the walls come down
I'll be there
singing with you
like
a left-handed clown
in resplendent
isolation
on impermanent vacation
and I'll bring sandwiches....
poem by that's how I intended to ... delilah contrapunctal
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Sehnsucht
Whence are ye, vague desires,
Which carry men along,
However proud and strong;
Which, having ruled to-day,
To-morrow pass away?
Whence are ye, vague desires?
Whence are ye?
Which women, yielding to,
Find still so good and true;
So true, so good to-day,
To-morrow gone away.
Whence are ye, vague desires?
Whence are ye?
From seats of bliss above,
Where angels sing of love;
From subtle airs around,
Or from the vulgar ground,
Whence are ye, vague desires?
Whence are ye?
A message from the blest,
Or bodily unrest;
A call to heavenly good,
A fever in the blood
What are ye, vague desires?
What are ye?
Which men who know you best
Are proof against the least,
And rushing on to-day,
To-morrow cast away.
What are ye, vague desires?
What are ye?
Which women, ever new,
Still warned, surrender to;
Adored with you to-day,
Then cast with you away,
What are ye, vague desires?
What are ye?
Which unto boyhood’s heart
The force of man impart,
And pass, and leave it cold,
And prematurely old,
What are ye, vague desires?
What are ye?
Which, tremblingly confest,
Pour in the young girl’s breast
Joy, joy, the like is none,
And leave her then undone,
What are ye, vague desires?
What are ye?
Ah yet! though man be marred,
Ignoble made, and hard;
Though broken women lie
In anguish down to die;
Ah yet! ye vague desires,
Ah yet!
By Him who gave you birth,
And blended you with earth,
Was some good end designed
For man and womankind;
Ah yet! ye vague desires,
Ah yet!
The petals of to-day,
To-morrow fallen away,
Shall something leave instead,
To live when they are dead;
When you, ye vague desires,
Have vanished;
A something to survive,
Of you though it derive
Apparent earthly birth,
But of far other worth
Than you, ye vague desires,
Than you.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Let's Make Sandwiches
Lately, I've been hungry,
Starving to have my fill,
So let's make sandwiches.
All upset and angry,
Empty stomachs seem ill,
So let's make sandwiches.
If our tastes would agree,
I'd be ready to grill,
So let's make sandwiches.
We could enjoy our food,
The flavors we've pursued,
So let's make sandwiches.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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