My mother is such a lousy cook that Thanksgiving at her house is a time of sorrow.
quote by Rita Rudner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cook Of The House
Ground rice, sugar, vinegar, seco salt, macaroni too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
The salads in the bowl,
The rice is on the stove.
Green beans in the colander and where the res is heaven only knows.
Cinnamon, garlic, salt, pepper, corn-bread, curry powder, coffee too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No, matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best.
cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
Where the rest is heaven only knows.
Matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house.
Cook of the house,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Servent Cook
mother
Cook
with love...
father
Cook
With taste...
Brother
Cook...
With enjoy...
sister
Cook
Simply fine...
Servent
Cook
A boor...
A woor...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Mothers’ Day ‘08
North or south; east or west;
A mother’s love is always best!
Throughout its childhood, cleaned and dressed,
A mother gives baby, good rest.
A mother is the love-pillar;
A father is the source of strength;
A child is like caterpillar,
Metamorphosing in its length!
A mother keeps the home happy;
A mother cleans the babe’s nappy;
A mother tends to dear daddy;
A mom-less home cannot be sweet!
The angel in the house is mom!
The toiler of the home is mom;
The cleaner in the house is mom;
She knows all problems but keeps mum!
The chief-cook in the house is mom;
The teacher in the house is mom;
The care-taker is also mom;
She knowingly is sometimes dumb!
A spoilt-kid’s mom had spared the rod;
As children’s friend, mother looks odd;
For most things, mothers give the nod;
A mother is a demi-god!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-11-2008
poem by John Celes
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Thanksgiving
Time to put our problems aside and get along for
Thanksgiving
With family, friends, and relatives
We all have something to be thankful for
I'm thankful for my family, friends, and God
Without them I won't be here today
I feel so lucky and grateful for what I have
Some of us are less fortunate and don't get to celebrate
Thanksgiving
It time to give back
You will feel great about yourself
It make you think about life
Some of us don't care about this holiday and we should stop and think and care
That we all are so forunate and grateful for what we have
Some of our tradition we do are watch football, family dinner or party
Thanksgiving
It time when we all get together, laugh, eat, smile, and have a great time
Thanksgiving
Gobble, gobble
I wish you all Happy
Thanksgiving
I hope you all have wonderful time because I'm going to have fun, and be thankful for what I got now
Thanksgiving
poem by Christina Phan
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Maiden Cook
A young pretty bride, very coy,
Entered her new house with joy;
She was highly educated, quite,
Bereft of the house-hold chores, right.
Next day her dear mother-in-law,
Beckoned her to the kitchen and saw
Her taking charge of the cooking.
The girl was aghast at the booking!
However, she made up her mind to cook,
And thought she'd take the cook book;
The menu for lunch was given,
As per the book she was driven.
Every often she ran to her mother-in-law,
And took her advice too, for she was raw.
On the dining table the fare was laid,
To partake, the other members she bade.
One by one, the items were tasted,
In appreciation, their heads nodded;
When they came to the greens to taste,
One, in a hurry got up and ran in haste,
One to the sink went to vomit,
The other took off his hands to wash it!
The girl was in a fix, with great worry,
As the mother-in-law tasted the greens curry!
‘My God'! she spit it out, and cried,
‘What is it you've done, my child'?
‘The greens, did you thoroughly wash, do tell'?
‘Yes, Ma, thrice, I did wash with ‘Surf Excel'!
.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Happy Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is one Holiday
where your taste buds get the gift
There is lots of cooking
the smell of pie is adrift
There will be turkey and dressing,
cranberries and other side dishes you adore
Dinner rolls will top your plate
And in pain, you go back for more
Some will try to save room
for that special pumpkin pie
And have a slice, room or not
with each bite just say, my oh my
Most will loosen their belt
or maybe undo a button or snap
Then head for the couch
and a Thanksgiving Day nap
There will be leftovers
we will enjoy and share
For on Thanksgiving
no cupboard should be bare
With these simple words
I wish you and yours the best
And I hope in this time of uncertainty
Thanksgiving, passes the test
Terry M
Holiday poem-Give thanks
Thanksgiving, think about this oustanding holiday
give thanks in a very special way
you should be thankful for everything you have
dance, sing, be jolly, and laugh
Thanksgiving isnt like the christmas season,
but it is a goood reason
to give thanks
HAPPY THANKSGIVING! !
poem by Maria Herron
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My Real Goddess
Today my mother
Came to my house
With lots of blessing
And full of good wishing
To live long
Happy and healthy
Progressive and wealthy
My mother
My sweet mother
My beautiful mother
My loving mother
My real goddess
My ever goodness
My first lady I loved
My life my mother
My soul my mother
My God-gift my mother
My pride my mother
My aim my mother
My teacher my mother
My friend my mother
My preacher my mother
My daughter's face look-like my mother
My daughter my little mother
O the Absolute Almighty
Give me my mother
Again and again
And again and again
My mother
Only my mother.
poem by Dr. P. K. Verma
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I know only two words of American slang, 'swell' and 'lousy'. I think 'swell' is lousy, but 'lousy' is swell.
quote by J.B. Priestley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet For Our Mother Nature
Mother Nature
We love you
So much
Mother Nature
You brought us
Fall
So fast
Mother Nature
You will be
Celebrating
Thanksgiving
With us
poem by Aldo Kraas
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My best efforts were some modern things that looked like very lousy Matisses. Thank God I had the sense to realize they were lousy, and leave Paris.
quote by Norman Rockwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heart Of The House
you are the original template
you are the original exemplary
how seen were actually?
how revered were you (honestly) at the time?
why pleased with you low maintenance?
you loved us more than we could've loved you back
where was you ally your partner in feminine crime?
oh mother who's your buddy?
oh mother who's got your back?
the heart of the house
the heart of the house
all hail the goddess!
you were "good ol'"
you were "count on 'er 'til four am"
you saw me run from the house
in the snow melodramatically
oh mother who's your sister?
oh mother who's your friend?
the heart of the house
the heart of that house
all hail the goddess!
we left the men and we went for a walk in the gatineaus
and talked like women to women would
womyn to womyn would "where did you get that from?
must've been your father your dad"
I got it from you I got it from you
do you see yourself in my gipsy garage sale ways?
in my fits of laughter?
in my tinkerbell tendencies?
in my lack of color coordination?
song performed by by Alanis Morissette from Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Landlords
Bless is your house as you move in,
Bless is your house as you walk around,
Bless is your house as you cook and wash,
Bless is your house as you take a rest,
Bless is your house as visitors come and go,
Bless is your house as you switch off at night,
Bless is your house every day and night.
UK.
poem by Enitan Onikoyi
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A Poem for Mothers, and Mine
The love of a mother is beyond compare
One who dearly loves and is always there
From scraped knees
To falls from trees
A mother cares for all
From “I told you so”
To “That’s a no-no! ”
A mother answers the call
Mothers cook, mothers clean, some even work a job
Even with all their strength, a mother still knows how to sob
Mothers should be honored for all they have done
Every day of the year, not just one
There is nothing better than a mother’s love
For her time on this earth thank God above
A mother’s love endures forever
Its unbreakable bonds no on can sever
No matter how much I have grown
My mother’s love is always shown
She has become a mentor and a guide
Within her always I am able to confide
No better payment for her I can find
Then to love her with heart, and with mind
To the one who bore me; I share my emotion
To the one who raised me; Absolute devotion
To this woman I express my joy
You will always be my “mommy” and I your “baby boy”
poem by Glaedr the poet
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(Mother poems) To his mother the kitchen meit
Mother, Mother
D'you see that there
Beer hall
I don't want to go there
Mother, mother
Do you see those there boys and girls
Into that abandoned house they go
To make babies as if baby making
Is going out of fashion
Protect me mother I don't
Want to run with the wrong crowd
Mother, mother
Do you see that man
He carries death
In the bulging bag slung casually on his
Broad shoulders
He sells drugs and illicit booze
Stand close to me mum I don't want
To fall into the clutches of the bootleggers
And the merchants of death the drug lords
Mother, mother
Do you see that inviting
Jail house
Be with me mother
Give me the tons of your love
I don't want to miss you in jail
Mother, mother
Do you see that silent cemetery
Stand by my side mother
For I am scarred
And the cemetery is so silent
So discouraging for those who don't
Want to die young
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Random things about my Mother
My mother whose eyes were strained
By a sadness that stained her eyes
With grey and blue hue
My mother who never blew
Out candles on a birthday cake
My mother who never knew
The thrills of flying in an airplane
My mother who forever threw
Her pearls to swine
My mother who knew
No contentment in living
My who mother never lived
To be even seventy two
My mother who it is true
Stopped living long before she died
My mother from whose mouth flew
Words of disappointment and fury
My mother whose lips
Tasted bitter tears
My mother sat impatiently
In sorrow through her years
My mother who like Kunta Kinte
Was tamed by Diabets
My mother who was tamed
By my father
My mother who was captured by my father
My mother who fought with my father
The two them struggling false teeth piercing each others flesh
My mother who my father told to go and cook the mint
My mother who would beat us and cause wounds and bruises to our skin
My mother who love to walk about
My mother who gave a toe
A day away
My mother who kiked with her stump of a leg after she lost her foot
My mother who was a great dresser
My mother who could sing
Sang on the church choir
My mother who would be at the front of the church earliest every Saturday
My mother who insisted I be baptized and save by the holy ghost
My mother had beautiful handwriting
My mother who had nine children for five different men
My mother who tried to settle down with my father
My mother who could never swim
My mother who loved to sing
My mother who would tie us up on leashes and take us for long walks through the town
My mother who sought out hand me-downs – for our clothing
My mother who was active in the Welfare Society at church so she could cream the crop for her family
My mother who instigated many a conflicts with her numerous friend was left with only a few in the end.
My mother whom I so wanted to help evolve
My mother who I helped to live
My mother who I had to let die
My mother who lives in me
poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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Alankar (Decor) -30
Kitchen clash (Double Rondeau)
How difficult it is to cook
In hot summer how a wife to cook
'Take rest, shall buy food from outside'
He says with concern on her side
Wife is happy she need not cook
Happy so life runs like a brook
Variety food, pleased they look
Seasoned hot, they know kitchen's stride
How difficult
Time in hand changed is her outlook
Changed is also her old cook-look
Styleless to stylish in set glide
Makes her new with glow to her pride
She can speak on her strife to cook
How difficult
How difficult but back a cook?
Daughter visits with siren look
There, stirs in dad's heart a high tide
Sneaks'cooking has been set aside
These days mom does not at all cook'
Enough for her to word and hook
Daughter counsels mom back to cook
To be in shifty husband's stride
How difficult!
Luck is but a wheel in life-book
So such a wife can't overlook
And mom vows never to abide
Honeyed words but put them aside
Blamed wife telling herself 'to cook
How difficult! '
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Woman branches.
Spouses of sisters are at ease
In each other’s house.
Brothers aren’t at that ease
In each other’s house.
Mother’s mother is like mother.
Father’s mother trails behind
Relations branch out from women.
06.11.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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An Apple from Walt Whitman
There's never been a poet where I live,
but I grew up in the shade of Whitman's name:
born in West Hills—our hills—he would have walked
our paths along the crest. I walked Whitman Road,
crashed the Whitman Drive-In, stole a book
from the sci-fi rack at the Melville-Whitman Pharmacy,
even played lacrosse against Whitman High;
we lost three times, the guys from Halfway Hollow,
to young men with Whitman in white on their varsity jackets.
My mother tells a story about Thanksgiving,
back when kids went begging in rags and blackface:
how Carrie Wicks's sister said she got
an apple from Walt Whitman, right at his house,
an old man with a beard. The big kids laughed,
knowing the white-haired caretaker was no one.
I set no foot inside the Whitman House
or Leaves of Grass till after I went away,
but I'm better having grown up with the name,
the house and hills of a poet everyone knew,
a poet big enough in the mothers' stories
for a girl to believe he came to the door with a long
white beard and smiled and handed her an apple.
If a poet the size of Whitman named our few
square miles and a few in Jersey it's going to take
a lot more big ones to hand us all a welcome
sweet as a Thanksgiving apple from Walt Whitman,
white-haired care-taker, seed of mothers' stories,
Appleseed of our poetry: nourishment, shade.
poem by Eric Torgersen
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Yet I Am A Mother
18years is all I am and yet I am a mother
A mother so young
A mother so immature
A mother who can't take care of the responsibilities
But yet I am a mother
A mother who bergs from parents when she's in need
But what was I doing not thinking about the consequences of my action leaving todays and not tomorrow's satisfaction.
One visit to his house and now I am a mother
A mother so young
A mother still in school
A mother so immature.
poem by Nomusa Promise Ndimande
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