Citatepedia^®.com

A rotten fish pollutes the whole kitchen.

Senegalese proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Oxymoron

Oxymoron:
fresh fish

*********

JBO:

'The beach at Sanibel... an Arlington Cemetery of shells.'
*
Every suffocated or strangled fish is first given
waterboarding sensations.
*
Fishes more frequently than
mammals or birds are cut open
alive, while their eyes watch
the knifing of others and their
gills struggle for absent air.

Fish cannot scream.
Greed for suffocated fish flesh causes seals to be clubbed in Canada, Norway, S Africa etc., dolphins to be knifed in Japan, whales to be murdered by
Norwegian Japanese Icelandic and American Inuit fishermen, bears
to be murdered in Alaska, untold thousands of fishermen to
be lost in tsunamis,700 Bangladesh fishermen lost in just 1 storm, Thai fishermen working for slave wages, tens of millions around
the world to die of stomach cancer, food poisoning etc.**

What's in fish? unreported Mad Fish
Disease, nuclear toxins a million
times more concentrated than in
sea water, AIDS from unprocessed
human waste dumped into
the oceans, hepatitis, anaphylactic shock, ecoli,
and other food poisoning,
throat, stomach and other cancers,
mercury, lead, cadmium, arsenic, pbb's, pcb's, thousands
of carcinogenic industrial waste products, and heavy metal sired
brain damage, pfiesteria (red tide) which poisons the fishes

FISH CAN'T SCREAM, FISH TOXINS, FISH STORIES

Are all anglers stranglers?

Dick Gregory: Eating fish liver oil is like eating the filter out of a car.

[...] Read more

poem by O. Anna Niemus
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Gareth And Lynette

The last tall son of Lot and Bellicent,
And tallest, Gareth, in a showerful spring
Stared at the spate. A slender-shafted Pine
Lost footing, fell, and so was whirled away.
'How he went down,' said Gareth, 'as a false knight
Or evil king before my lance if lance
Were mine to use--O senseless cataract,
Bearing all down in thy precipitancy--
And yet thou art but swollen with cold snows
And mine is living blood: thou dost His will,
The Maker's, and not knowest, and I that know,
Have strength and wit, in my good mother's hall
Linger with vacillating obedience,
Prisoned, and kept and coaxed and whistled to--
Since the good mother holds me still a child!
Good mother is bad mother unto me!
A worse were better; yet no worse would I.
Heaven yield her for it, but in me put force
To weary her ears with one continuous prayer,
Until she let me fly discaged to sweep
In ever-highering eagle-circles up
To the great Sun of Glory, and thence swoop
Down upon all things base, and dash them dead,
A knight of Arthur, working out his will,
To cleanse the world. Why, Gawain, when he came
With Modred hither in the summertime,
Asked me to tilt with him, the proven knight.
Modred for want of worthier was the judge.
Then I so shook him in the saddle, he said,
"Thou hast half prevailed against me," said so--he--
Though Modred biting his thin lips was mute,
For he is alway sullen: what care I?'

And Gareth went, and hovering round her chair
Asked, 'Mother, though ye count me still the child,
Sweet mother, do ye love the child?' She laughed,
'Thou art but a wild-goose to question it.'
'Then, mother, an ye love the child,' he said,
'Being a goose and rather tame than wild,
Hear the child's story.' 'Yea, my well-beloved,
An 'twere but of the goose and golden eggs.'

And Gareth answered her with kindling eyes,
'Nay, nay, good mother, but this egg of mine
Was finer gold than any goose can lay;
For this an Eagle, a royal Eagle, laid
Almost beyond eye-reach, on such a palm
As glitters gilded in thy Book of Hours.
And there was ever haunting round the palm
A lusty youth, but poor, who often saw

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Jubilate Agno: Fragment B, Part 2

LET PETER rejoice with the MOON FISH who keeps up the life in the waters by night.

Let Andrew rejoice with the Whale, who is array'd in beauteous blue and is a combination of bulk and activity.

Let James rejoice with the Skuttle-Fish, who foils his foe by the effusion of his ink.

Let John rejoice with Nautilus who spreads his sail and plies his oar, and the Lord is his pilot.

Let Philip rejoice with Boca, which is a fish that can speak.

Let Bartholomew rejoice with the Eel, who is pure in proportion to where he is found and how he is used.

Let Thomas rejoice with the Sword-Fish, whose aim is perpetual and strength insuperable.

Let Matthew rejoice with Uranoscopus, whose eyes are lifted up to God.

Let James the less, rejoice with the Haddock, who brought the piece of money for the Lord and Peter.

Let Jude bless with the Bream, who is of melancholy from his depth and serenity.

Let Simon rejoice with the Sprat, who is pure and innumerable.

Let Matthias rejoice with the Flying-Fish, who has a part with the birds, and is sublimity in his conceit.

Let Stephen rejoice with Remora -- The Lord remove all obstacles to his glory.

Let Paul rejoice with the Scale, who is pleasant and faithful!, like God's good ENGLISHMAN.

Let Agrippa, which is Agricola, rejoice with Elops, who is a choice fish.

Let Joseph rejoice with the Turbut, whose capture makes the poor fisher-man sing.

Let Mary rejoice with the Maid -- blessed be the name of the immaculate CONCEPTION.

Let John, the Baptist, rejoice with the Salmon -- blessed be the name of the Lord Jesus for infant Baptism.

Let Mark rejoice with the Mullet, who is John Dore, God be gracious to him and his family.

Let Barnabus rejoice with the Herring -- God be gracious to the Lord's fishery.

Let Cleopas rejoice with the Mackerel, who cometh in a shoal after a leader.

Let Abiud of the Lord's line rejoice with Murex, who is good and of a precious tincture.

Let Eliakim rejoice with the Shad, who is contemned in his abundance.

Let Azor rejoice with the Flounder, who is both of the sea and of the river,

Let Sadoc rejoice with the Bleak, who playeth upon the surface in the Sun.

[...] Read more

poem by Christopher Smart
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Kalevala - Rune V

WAINAVOINEN'S LAMENTATION.

Far and wide the tidings travelled,
Far away men heard the story
Of the flight and death of Aino,
Sister dear of Youkahainen,
Fairest daughter of creation.
Wainamoinen, brave and truthful,
Straightway fell to bitter weeping,
Wept at morning, wept at evening,
Sleepless, wept the dreary night long,
That his Aino had departed,
That the maiden thus had vanished,
Thus had sunk upon the bottom
Of the blue-sea, deep and boundless.
Filled with grief, the ancient singer,
Wainamoinen of the Northland,
Heavy-hearted, sorely weeping,
Hastened to the restless waters,
This the suitor's prayer and question:
'Tell, Untamo, tell me, dreamer,
Tell me, Indolence, thy visions,
Where the water-gods may linger,
Where may rest Wellamo's maidens?'
Then Untamo, thus made answer,
Lazily he told his dreamings:
'Over there, the mermaid-dwellings,
Yonder live Wellamo's maidens,
On the headland robed in verdure,
On the forest-covered island,
In the deep, pellucid waters,
On the purple-colored sea-shore;
Yonder is the home or sea-maids,
There the maidens of Wellamo,
Live there in their sea-side chambers,
Rest within their water-caverns,
On the rocks of rainbow colors,
On the juttings of the sea-cliffs.'
Straightway hastens Wainamoinen
To a boat-house on the sea-shore,
Looks with care upon the fish-hooks,
And the lines he well considers;
Lines, and hooks, and poles, arid fish-nets,
Places in a boat of copper,
Then begins he swiftly rowing
To the forest-covered island,
To the point enrobed In verdure,
To the purple-colored headland,
Where the sea-nymphs live and linger.

[...] Read more

poem by Elias Lönnrot
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Whipping Something In My Kitchen

When the Sun wakes me up.
And it is at the crack of dawn?
I feel it appropriate,
On some days...
To lay in bed and enjoy it my way.

Using the mind all the time,
Is a 'burning-out-of-mind' doer.
And I had been done...
To be 'done' to do that over again!
With a winning of 'anything' as a destination.

I longer deliver to myself those messages.

When the Sun wakes me up.
And it is at the crack of dawn?
I feel it appropriate,
On some days...
To lay in bed and enjoy it my way.

And do nothing but...
Whatever I wish.
And do nothing but...
Nibble a bit.
And do nothing but...
Chip and dip!
If I'm not whipping up,
Something in the kitchen.

Or do nothing but...
Whatever I wish.
And do nothing but...
Nibble a bit.
And do nothing but...
Chip and dip!
If I'm not whipping up,
Something in the kitchen.

Using the mind all the time,
Is a 'burning-out-of-mind' doer.
And I had been done...
To be 'done' to do that over again!
With a 'I Have To Win' attitude.

I longer deliver to myself those messages.

When the Sun wakes me up.
And it is at the crack of dawn?
I feel it appropriate,
On some days...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

100 STD's 10,000 MTD's

There are STD's, sexually transmitted diseases.
and then there are MTD's, meat transmitted diseases.

The latter take a lot more lives.

*********

In Animal Flesh: Blood Sweat Tears as well as Carcinogens Cholesterol Colon Bacteria

Animal products kill more people annually in the US than
tobacco, alcohol, traffic accidents, war, domestic violence,
guns, and drugs combined. USAMRID wrote that consumption of pig flesh caused the world's most lethal pandemic in WW1,
euphemistically called flu. Anthrax
used to be called wool sorters'
disease. Smallpox used to be called
cow pox or kine pox because of
its origin in animal flesh.
.

WHAT'S IN A BURGER? BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS (AS WELL AS BIOTERRORISM)

POISONS IN ANIMAL AND FISH FLESH... A PARTIAL LIST

a partial list in alphabetical order

acidification diseases
addiction (to trioxypurines)
adrenalin (secreted by terrorized
animals before and during slaughter)

ANTIBIOTICS (too many to list) (crowded factory farm animals standing in their own feces are often infected)

BACTERIA
creiophilic bacteria survive
the freezing of animal flesh
thermophilic bacteria survive
the baking boiling and roasting

bacteriophages (viruses FDA allows to
be injected)
blood
colon bacteria.. euphemistically
called ecoli animals defecate
all over themselves in terror
John Harvey Kellogg MD studied
the exponential rate into the billions

BSE DISEASES, PRIONS IN SPECIES FROM GELATIN (JELLO ETC)
Mad Chicken

[...] Read more

poem by O. Anna Niemus
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Fish Out Of Water

I feel so out of place here
With this high society
These high fallutin people
Dont know what to make of me
I feel like a minnow in a sea of moby dicks
A small fry in a big pan
Theyre caviar -- Im fish sticks
Fish out of water
I know I dont belong
Fish out of water
Everything I do is wrong
My style of hair, the clothes I wear
The way I speak, the things I eat
The way I act, my lack of tact
Nothin seems to fit
Fish out of water
Flounderin round
Out of my element
But Im just as good as they are
Why do I feel second rate
Its like, sorry charlie,
We want only tuna with good taste
I guess you could say wal-mart
Is quite a way from guccis
Im timex, theyre rolex
Im captain ds, theyre sushi
Fish out of water
Ive had it to the gills
Fish out of water
With these yuppie-guppie frills
Yeah, Im a square in a round hole
A catfish in a goldfish bowl
A little fish with lots of soul
Out of my element
Fish out of water
Flounderin round just for the halibut
Save me, save me
S.o.s. somebody
Save me, save me
Somebody rescue me
Fish out of water
Somebody throw me in
Fish out of water
On a scale of one to ten
Im a two, perhaps a three
Compared to the big fish in the sea
Im washed ashore so save me please
Im in an awful fix
Fish out of water
Rescue me

[...] Read more

song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Is it really like fishing?

They say there is many fish in the sea to choose from.
But have you ever gone fishing?
They say do not worry they are like fish you lose one then get a fresh one.
But have you actually gone fishing?
They say you can be picky when fishing your fish.
But have you been in the sea and fished?
They even say some actually smell like fish.
But have you really smelled a fish?
They say there is plenty of fish in the sea.
But have you actually gone and counted the fish in the sea?
They say once you catch that perfect fish, you are bound for a good life.
But have you caught that perfect fish they all speak of?
They say some fish can be beautiful.
But have you seen any beautiful fish?

How can one compare a fish?
They are not alike.
How can one say it is as easy as finding a fish?
It is not a simple task.
How can they say there are so many fish in the sea?
When there are so many fishers who have yet to catch.

Can you really compare life and love to a fish?
The answer is of course not.
You can’t.
Impossible.
Unreal.
Not imaginable.
Unbelievable.
Unrealistic.
A fairy tale.

poem by ReubenJames Rodriguez
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Something Rotten

It seems were here i
Miss you something rotten
The stinks are here
Its guaranteed alls forgotten
Down here
Down here its clear that your uncut
Dont fear
Dont fear, keep all this forgotten
Face down
Face down
Face down, I miss you something rotten
Face down
Face down, this crown is broken rotten
Down here, down here, I know its not, its all forgotten
Down here, down here, face down, I miss you something rotten
Down here, down here, it stinks, it stinks of something rotten
Dont fear, dont fear, keep all this forgotten
Theres something rotten down here
Theres something rotten down here
Theres something rotten down here
Theres something rotten down here...

song performed by Placebo
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

31

A fish that drinks like a fish, that is a fish in excess
A fish that fishes in troubled waters, that is a fish taking advantage of another fish in trouble
A fish that fishes or cuts bait, well, to be or not to be, to retreat or to attack, that is the fishy question
A fish that is neither fish nor fowl, is a fish that is neither one nor the other, lacking some convictions
A fish out of water, is a fish feeling left out, no longer in his accustomed environment

Do you have other fish to fry for now?

Is there other matter requiring my attention?

Poor fish,
the lake is finally fished out from his fishy mind.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Some things that can happen with a fish

A fish that drinks like a fish, that is a fish in excess
A fish that fishes in troubled waters, that is a fish taking advantage of another fish in trouble
A fish that fishes or cuts bait, well, to be or not to be, to retreat or to attack, that is the fishy question
A fish that is neither fish nor fowl, is a fish that is neither one nor the other, lacking some convictions
A fish out of water, is a fish feeling left out, no longer in his accustomed environment

Do you have other fish to fry for now?

Is there other matter requiring my attention?

Poor fish,
the lake is finally fished out from his fishy mind.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

If My Fish Could Speak

If my two goldfish could speak
they would surely have long conversations
about the weight of pebbles in water
or the buoyancy of plastic plants.
I wonder what they would say as they play together:
nudging back and forth and swimming under and around each other’s feathery-fan tails.
“I love you more.”
“Noooo, I love you more.”

If my fish could brag
they’d tell you about their bowl on the window ledge and
how they watch the cars drive around the parking lot like a crazy human aquarium,
how the sun shines into their bowl in the afternoon,
and how it’s just like swimming through watery gold-dust.
They flutter around, showing off the way their orange skin gleams in the rays of light
that pour around the fake lotus flower I put in there.
(They love that too.)

If my fish could sing,
they would be hard to understand (singing underwater is a challenge-even for fish) .
My fish would know all the words to the newest Kelly Clarkson album,
The Garden State Soundtrack, and all of Prince’s dirtiest songs.
If my goldfish liked Prince, they’re favorite song would be Soft and Wet:
“You're just as soft as a lion tamed/You're just as wet as the evening rain/How will I take it when you call my name? /Your love is driving me...you're driving me insane”

If my fish could hear,
they’d tell you that I talk to myself.
They’d probably also tell you that they’re tired of me talking to them.
Most likely, I’ve assigned them the wrong gender
and they’re pissed about being called
he when it should be she, and she when it should be he.
Luckily for me, my fish are the tolerant kind,
and forgive me of this mistake.

If my fish could read,
they might compare me to Roald Dahl’s The BFG
and call me The BFS: Big Friendly Sara.
Although, as far as size goes, I am much bigger than the real BFG.
(The BFG was about 6 times bigger than Sophie, and I’m 63 times the size of my fish.)
Even though, in this scenario, I’m the taller of the two giants, I am not the superior. When I go to Dream Country to catch dreams, I come back only with bad ones
and I wouldn’t want to keep these in jars on my shelves, even if I could.

If my fish could drive,
they’d fly down the highway
not knowing where it would take them.
They’d snap photos (if fish could snap photos)
of sun rises and sunsets, of road signs, and of bugs that got smashed on the windshield.
They’d laugh and compare the car to their bowl on the window sill,
joking about getting wheels put on it for better parking-lot viewing.
And they’d wish that I was with them on the road.

[...] Read more

poem by Sara Waalkes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Menhaden

Unfortunately, the menhaden
will soon be more extinct that Latin,
since they are fast-depleting assets
which, overfished for fatty acids
with which we our lipstick and our paint
and salmon feed without constraint,
no longer thrive, and can’t be found
where they once were. Long Island Sound
is muddy now, like Chesapeake,
the Bay where fishers used to seek
these fish that filter water and
make sure it isn’t full of sand
and algae that cause it to be
as fresh as they every sea
should be. Their loss should sadden
our hearts more than the loss of Latin.
Few people now care for the Aenid,
and for the sea, when algae green it,
will care still less, and once we’re forced
to give up fish for liverwurst,
until all livers are depleted,
we’ll realize that we’ve been cheated
by being led to think that there
will always be some food somewhere
to eat. Perhaps there won’t be any.
Not long ago there were so many
menhaden, but we’ll have to fast
once we found out we’ve killed the last.

Inspired by an article on the disappearance of the menhaden by Paul Greenberg, the author of “Four Fish: The Future of the Last Wild Food” (“A Fish Oil Story, ” NYT, December 1,2009) :
If you are someone who catches and eats a lot of fish, as I am, you get adept at answering questions about which fish are safe, which are sustainable and which should be avoided altogether. But when this fish oil question arrived in my inbox recently, I was stumped. I knew that concerns about overfishing had prompted many consumers to choose supplements as a guilt-free way of getting their omega-3 fatty acids, which studies show lower triglycerides and the risk of heart attack. But I had never looked into the fish behind the oil and whether it was fit, morally or environmentally speaking, to be consumed. The deal with fish oil, I found out, is that a considerable portion of it comes from a creature upon which the entire Atlantic coastal ecosystem relies, a big-headed, smelly, foot-long member of the herring family called menhaden, which a recent book identifies in its title as “The Most Important Fish in the Sea.” The book’s author, H. Bruce Franklin, compares menhaden to the passenger pigeon and related to me recently how his research uncovered that populations were once so large that “the vanguard of the fish’s annual migration would reach Cape Cod while the rearguard was still in Maine.” Menhaden filter-feed nearly exclusively on algae, the most abundant forage in the world, and are prolifically good at converting that algae into omega-3 fatty acids and other important proteins and oils. They also form the basis of the Atlantic Coast’s marine food chain. Nearly every fish a fish eater likes to eat eats menhaden. Bluefin tuna, striped bass, redfish and bluefish are just a few of the diners at the menhaden buffet. All of these fish are high in omega-3 fatty acids but are unable themselves to synthesize them. The omega-3s they have come from menhaden. But menhaden are entering the final losing phases of a century-and-a-half fight for survival that began when humans started turning huge schools into fertilizer and lamp oil. Once petroleum-based oils replaced menhaden oil in lamps, trillions of menhaden were ground into feed for hogs, chickens and pets. Today, hundreds of billions of pounds of them are converted into lipstick, salmon feed, paint, “buttery spread, ” salad dressing and, yes, some of those omega-3 supplements you have been forcing on your children. All of these products can be made with more environmentally benign substitutes, but menhaden are still used in great (though declining) numbers because they can be caught and processed cheaply.

12/16/09

poem by Gershon Hepner
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Fish Year

Marico brought back a tank with salt water from Brazil,
Wnetta bought small stones and water plants from pet store,
The red fish and black fish were got from
Hua’s backyard pond,
After Chris checking the filter
and water temperature,
everything is set,
and the fish is ready to grow and bred.

Gundi feeds the fish everyday,
and watches them day and night.
The red fish swim up and down,
The black fish swim down and up,
The green water plants swing their long leaves
upside down.

We can hear the talk from the tank:
One lady, two ladies, three ladies…
One man, two men, three men…
American, German, Chinese, Brazilian,
Indian, Russian…
The fish is counting! ! !
Counting the people in the lab!
Maybe they learned the counting from Gundi,
Gundi is a great mathematician,
She always counts when she watches them:
One fish, two fish, three fish…
Red fish, black fish, red-black fish…

That’s our first fish year,
we expect to have the second, the third,
and then for ever.

poem by Dongming Zhou
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Finn's Favorite Fish (Long Tongue Twister)

Finn's favorite fish's favorite food fell flat.
Finn's favorite fish's favorite food falls for fluid.
Finn's favorite fish's favorite food fed Finn's favorite fish.
Finn's favorite fish falls for Finn's favorite fish's favorite food.
Finn's favorite fish's favorite food falls for Finn's favorite fish.
Finn's favorite fish's favorite food fills Finn's favorite fish.
Finn fishes for Finn's favorite fish's favorite fish food for Finn's favorite fish!

poem by Rebecca Ryan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Pickthorn Manor

I

How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day!
A steely silver, underlined with blue,
And flashing where the round clouds, blown away,
Let drop the yellow sunshine to gleam through
And tip the edges of the waves with shifts
And spots of whitest fire, hard like gems
Cut from the midnight moon they were, and sharp
As wind through leafless stems.
The Lady Eunice walked between the drifts
Of blooming cherry-trees, and watched the rifts
Of clouds drawn through the river's azure warp.

II

Her little feet tapped softly down the path.
Her soul was listless; even the morning breeze
Fluttering the trees and strewing a light swath
Of fallen petals on the grass, could please
Her not at all. She brushed a hair aside
With a swift move, and a half-angry frown.
She stopped to pull a daffodil or two,
And held them to her gown
To test the colours; put them at her side,
Then at her breast, then loosened them and tried
Some new arrangement, but it would not do.

III

A lady in a Manor-house, alone,
Whose husband is in Flanders with the Duke
Of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, she's grown
Too apathetic even to rebuke
Her idleness. What is she on this Earth?
No woman surely, since she neither can
Be wed nor single, must not let her mind
Build thoughts upon a man
Except for hers. Indeed that were no dearth
Were her Lord here, for well she knew his worth,
And when she thought of him her eyes were kind.

IV

Too lately wed to have forgot the wooing.
Too unaccustomed as a bride to feel
Other than strange delight at her wife's doing.
Even at the thought a gentle blush would steal
Over her face, and then her lips would frame
Some little word of loving, and her eyes

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Part 7 of Trout Fishing in America

THE PUDDING MASTER OF

STANLEY BASIN

Tree, snow and rock beginnings, the mountain in back of the

lake promised us eternity, but the lake itself was filled with

thousands of silly minnows, swimming close to the shore

and busy putting in hours of Mack Sennett time.

The minnows were an Idaho tourist attraction. They

should have been made into a National Monument. Swimming

close to shore, like children they believed in their own im-

mortality .

A third-year student in engineering at the University of

Montana attempted to catch some of the minnows but he went

about it all wrong. So did the children who came on the

Fourth of July weekend.

The children waded out into the lake and tried to catch the

minnows with their hands. They also used milk cartons and

plastic bags. They presented the lake with hours of human

effort. Their total catch was one minnow. It jumped out of a

can full of water on their table and died under the table, gasp-

ing for watery breath while their mother fried eggs on the

Coleman stove.

The mother apologized. She was supposed to be watching

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Brautigan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Kitchen Poem

An Elegy for Tristan Tzara

In the hungry kitchen
The dog sings for its dinner.
The housewife is writing her poem
On top of the frigidaire
Something like this:

    'Hear in the kitchen
    The crows fly home
    Into the red-robed trees
    That walk across the sky.

    Hear under the floor
    The three fountains rising and
    Trickling through the bridge
    Into the sea of poems.'

In the kitchen the housemother
Pours soup for her thousand children
As her man eats his silence
And the dog swallows its poem.

In all. the kitchens of Europe
The radio shouts good news:
'Millions have had no accident today
All wars have come to an end
An honest politician
In another country
Wants to become a plumber
All men will be equal, next year
Volcano vomits ice-cream
A silent poem has been invented.'

    In my holy kitchen
    I draw the blinds of night
    On the homes of sleep.
    I hold the world in my palms.
    Now that I am old
    I can measure life with words.
    There's a nightingale in my coffee.
    My bread is buttered with memories.
    Since the old woman died
    I have two souls.

When I was small we had a lucky black cat.
We had a magic horse-shoe on the wall,
It was rusty and brought no luck
But fetched the fields into the kitchen
And made us not forget horses.

[...] Read more

poem by Francis Scarfe
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Something Interseting Sestina #1

as long as you live, there is love
but in the recceses rise hate
all these words I draw with passion
with nothig to support me, except my faith
but to others my philosophy seems fake
so I go eat in a kitchen

build me a broken kitchen
that can be worsen by love
a kitchen that make all truth fake
one that is made whole with hate.
There I can vehemently laugh at those with faith,
there I have no time for passion

I have no time for you because you have no time for me dear passion
that's why you can't be a recipe in my kitchen
an the essence in my food is not threw faith
don't love
lie, loath, be livid, and hate
understand such rules with sincerity, don't be fake

yes I say that because the mind of the world is fake
no true passion
much mocked hate
but all is genuine and true in my kitchen
no false love
and lots of thrawted faith

tried faith
and to others this isn't fake
the situation is as real as love
and love as real as unforgiven passion
and both passion and love will destory my uncanny kitchen
which is established by raw hate

that word hate
miss understood by those that don't know the meaning of its faith
but all my creations thrives on it in my kitchen
and yes I will assure you no thing is fake
plus all creations are made without passon
and all creations in my kitchen are mained by love

So come in with hate, and finally take in all creation that's not fake
renew and change your faith, and here make lame all passion
in my kitchen, the place that no one love.

poem by Victoria Lee
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Swedish Fish

Green or red, goodnight, remember
Green is best of all the flavours
Go ahead, its only water
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
Hes my secret wish
Talk to me, I need attention
Tell me all of your confessions
Tell me if I cease to mention
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
Hes my pisces gift
Im never coming back
I am too far gone
Wont you be heading this way
Before too long?
Im holding on you
To you
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
Hes my secret wish
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
I love my swedish fish
Hes my favourite gift

song performed by Veruca Salt
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!